#if any of these topics trigger you please do not read because it is not my fault if these triggers and warnings are ignored

[amberjazmyn]

decade 💔🥹

pairing : f1 grid x driver!reader

summary :  aston martin driver elouisa holland is great at keeping her composure in front of the judgemental and ruthless eyes of the formula 1 media circus. that is until she gets asked about why she only has her mum and siblings at her races but not her dad even though everytime she did speak about her dad, it was positive. those who knew why her dad wasn't present at races were worried for how elouisa would respond until the room fell silent when she explained since they clearly couldn't understand or recognise the tense in which she spoke about him. 

warnings : mention of parental death, dark humour, f1 grid press conference, driver x female!reader, platonic x f1 grid, driver reader x max verstappen

a/n :  i have to admit, this was slightly self-indulgent because, fyi, my own father died a decade ago this year and this is exactly what i feel like i'd respond with if someone asked me where my dad was if i talked about him in such a positive light and them not recognising the tense in which i spoke about him. and, also, yes, i have elouisa as an aston martin driver because, no hate but, i'm not the biggest fan of lance stroll so he's just not part of the grid and elouisa is instead but all the other drivers are still in the grid though with a special guest appearance of sebastian vettel. 

it wasn't a shock to find out that the media circus involved with formula one was invasive and sometimes brutal. asking questions that people would think would be off-limits from asking however, within f1, no question was off-limits since there were no secrets within the sport. not even questions about personal matters like their families or their love lives since majority of the drivers had relationships that whilst weren't technically secret but on the private side and other personal matters in their life were safe from media scrutiny. things that didn't even relate to being a formula one driver would be asked instead of the more important questions like how they felt about their car or how the race itself went. and of course, because of these nosy reporters who always wanted clicks and the best and juciest headlines, all the drivers on the f1 grid was put through some form of pr media training so they'd always have the perfect response that would also still give them some privacy as well as preparing them for the harshest of harsh questions without lashing out and gracefully rerouting the conversation back to the original topic of racing. so, if they were responding to a question that was quite invasive and teetered on the line of a privacy violation, they didn't give too much away and they weren't giving the reporter the exact response that they so desperately wanted. and, most of the times, it worked perfectly and the drivers hadn't had their whole lives being plastered over the internet. however, for the first time, elouisa holland's pr training did not come and save her because no matter how hard she tried giving the intrusive reporter her pr media trained responses, he still wasn't satisfied and kept on pressing her for a better answer then the one he had been given. 

so, because of that, she decided to tell the truth and it was a hard truth that would also make many people uncomfortable but, elouisa had been pushed too hard and too far and unfortunately, it was with the entire f1 grid around her alongside the nosy reporters. who most of them already knew the unfortunate reason why her dad wasn't seen around the paddock during grand prixs and why whilst she always spoke lovingly of her dad, she always spoke about him in the past tense. and that was because elouisa's dad died when she was only eleven years old when she was still karting alongside some of those who she now shares the f1 grid with. 

however, that's not how the press conference started. it had actually started as an amazing group interview with all of the drivers, all twenty of them, all bunched up together on the teeny tiny couch. all of them giggling and making jokes with one another and the interviewers and the moderator. elouisa was sat in the middle of red bull's max verstappen and ferrari's carlos sainz jr, verstappen on her right and sainz jr to her left. the three of them were giggling amongst each other and it was during that moment of the three of them giggling that the invasive interviewer, a man who was like at least a couple decades older than elouisa, asked her the one question she had always managed to skirt around giving a proper answer and avoid. 

however, the moment her head looked away from max and carlos and over at the interviewer, it was as though she already knew what question he would be asking. and that was before she had even lifted her head up and before he had even opened his mouth to say anything. 

"you always speak about your dad in such a positive light but we never see him around the paddock or at any of the grand prixs. if he's so great and so loved by you, then why doesn't he make any effort in supporting his daughter in a sport that for so many years, was male dominated and still is considered to be. as the only female driver on the grid, it has to upset you that majority of the drivers have their entire family with them to support them but you don't. especially with the consideration that you are actually quite a talented driver and really getting up there in the status of a legend. but, this is something you always avoid and never answer properly so why are you always talking so happily about your dad but when you get asked why he's never here to watch you drive, you always avoid and deflect, why is that?" elouisa should have prepared herself better but, she genuinely thought reporters were getting bored of asking this question because of the fact she always avoided it

however, this crusty old man was persistent and it seemed as though by his stance and the look on his face, that he wasn't going to back down until he got the answer he desired. but, of course, elouisa wasn't going to back down either so, she started to respond with the same old, media trained answers that she had always used every single time. 

"my dad and the reason why he doesn't turn up to races has no connection to where i am now as a formula one driver. this isn't a question you would ask to someone like max or to charles so why am i the only one being questioned on this topic other than the obvious that i'm a female and they're men? if you have a better question that is actually in relation to this weekend's grand prix, i will happily answer it but, any other non-related grand prix questions, will be ignored, thank you..." elouisa trailed off, placing the microphone in her hand back into her lap as she smiled over at max who gave her a worried look

elouisa knew that the guy was going to keep on trying, it was obvious. however, she didn't want anyone to notice just how bothered she got when people constantly asked about her father and why he was always mentioned but never seen. 

like mentioned before, she was eleven when her father died. and for the longest time, after the death of her father, it was as though her life went by ever so slowly. she wasn't sure how she was still alive because she never really remembered much from ages eleven to eighteen since those years just culminated together all into one. of course, she liked to say that she was the happiest she had ever been from her formula 2 days in 2020 and onwards but, everyone knew she was still struggling deep down. since the loss of her father, she developed an anxiety disorder that was then rediagnosed as ptsd since panic attacks would always strike the australian girl at the worst and most inconvient of times. however, they never bothered her when she was racing or in interviews which she always thought was suspicious considering just how much more dangerous formula one racing was then anything else that she had going on in her life. at eighteen, she made her formula one debut with torro rosso even though it was only just for that debuting performance. after debuting with torro rosso, she moved to renault and then alfa romeo within the same year since the two teams fought over her, spending one half of the year with renault and then the other with alfa romeo. then, aston martin contacted her for a multi-year contract which she couldn't turn down as they had been renamed and brought back after changing their name from racing point to aston martin. and because they knew alfa romeo were never going to keep her for longer than the second half of her rookie season. and in late 2021, elouisa would be the number one driver of aston martin alongside fernando alonso. 

even though elouisa seemed to smile a lot in regards to talking about her dad, it always killed her a little inside because she always spoke about him in the past tense, reminding her of that solemn fact that, her dad was truly never going to come back. no matter how many times she wanted to forget or pretend that his death was just a mean prank that went too far. of course she did. how else would she talk about her dad who was no longer walking the earth anymore? besides, it had accidentally become a habit that she never wanted to get into in the first place. of course she wished her dad was still alive. it was the same for her best friend, charles leclerc, who drove for ferrari. his dad had also passed away but charles was a lot older, he was nineteen and a year away from getting his formula one contract. so he knew the very pain that elouisa went through every single day when she would look and see the other drivers have both of their parents be present for them at every race. it was something she had always longed for and even sometimes loathed her mum for. she had always wanted her mum to fall in love again and when she didn't, it made her slightly hate her mum for not wanting to try to love someone new again just because she was afraid of the same thing happening again. it hurt elouisa to see her mum just blantly ignore her children when they begged and cried out for more than just their mum. only their youngest brother a mummy's boy. the rest of the siblings obsessed with their dad which caused four of the five siblings way more grief from the loss. 

it brought a painful ache into elouisa's heart every single time she remembered the words she said moments after the death of her dad had been announced. the first thing that fell out of little eleven year old elouisa's mouth was 'when am i getting a new dad?'. and even though she was now twenty-one, it was still something that haunted her every waking hour knowing that those were the first words that came out of her mouth. she was eleven, not a baby, yet she was still so clueless about death being final. that death meant the person wasn't going to come back. and now that she was older, she understood why little eleven year old elouisa said what she said. she said those words because she never wanted to be living a life without a father in her life. whether that was her biological father or a father that stepped up and fell in love with her mum and her five children. 

however, that never happened. elouisa's mum never fell in love and it was still something that elouisa would pick fights with her mum about. calling her mum selfish because she's too scared to fall in love again. reminding her that she can't stay miserable forever and that it's not a crime to try again and give her family the stability that they've been missing for the last decade. 

blinking back the cruel truth of elouisa's life, she was pulled back into the press conference as the intrusive interviewer asked her the question again, "i'll ask you again, why are you always avoiding questions that involve your father's obnoxious absences from the races? if a father loved his daughter so much, he wouldn't be avoiding all of her races so where is your father and why are you avoiding answering questions about his whereabouts?" the interviewer asked sharply, waiting for the moment elouisa would crack under the pressure he put her under 

everyone just watching in wait. the drivers beside her all holding their breath as they never truly knew how elouisa would respond or react when asked about her dad. whether she'd laugh hysterically and insert dark humour jokes, in a bid to cover up her uncomfortability. whether she'd cry because it was a day in which she really missed her dad. or if she'd just be nonchalant and continue to ignore the interviewer. however, this time, it was clear that elouisa was equipped with the perfect answer. the answer that no one was ready for because of how brutally honest and uncomfortable it was. 

giggling under her breath, it seemed to excite elouisa that she could finally throw away all of her pr media training and just make this absolute asshole of an interviewer uncomfortable, "sir, i have a question for you, do you have a dad?" elouisa starts as the interviewer is shocked at getting questioned himself but he quickly recovers and nods his head 

"yes, i do, elouisa, why?" the interviewer questioned as elouisa smirked, her plan was working as the drivers looked at her slightly worried - max holding her hand moreso for his own comfort than hers 

"well, when you talk about your dad, which tense do you talk about him in? present or past?" elouisa questions as the interviewer was still confused but not those around him as they all went into a solemn silence 

"present? i don't know, why are you asking?" he huffed, his arms crossed over like a child as elouisa giggled once again as she shook her head 

"okay, good to know your dad is still alive and kicking, sir. i say that because, if any of you interviewers really did your job and did it well enough, you would have picked up on the tense in which i use to speak about my dad..." elouisa trailed off, her head turned to the side as the other interviewers bit their lips in a bid to not make any noises of shock as they finally realised the way in which she spoke about her dad when she did talk about him 

however, this stupid man didn't. he didn't make the connection because it was always this one interviewer that always asked and asked and prodded but never actually paid attention to what was being said and how it was being said. he only cared about his intrusivity being listened to and responded to so he could get the content and reactions he needed for his big stories. 

"...okay, and? what's the tense in which you speak about your father got to do with this question that you always avoid?" the interviewer questioned in slight stupidity as elouisa sighed, her eyes rolling as she reaised she really would have to spell it out for him 

"fuck me...sir, if you were slightly smarter and actually paid attention to the things i post on social media on days like birthdays and annviersaries and why i never respond to your abhorrent questions, as well as paid attention to anything that is seen on my racing helmets, you would know that my dad has been dead for an entire decade...that's why no one in this interview pen has seen my dad except for the other current and former drivers on the grid because when i was eleven, i was still in karting. at eleven, i hadn't even realised that i wanted to reach formula 1 let alone any of the others. if you paid enough attention instead of focusing on the disgusting and intrusive questions to write your big story about, you would be knowledgeable in the news that my dad's dead, mate. like, he's dead dead. like he's so dead that i don't even think i can remember what he sounds like anymore..." elouisa trailed off as the entire press conference fell silent except for some of elouisa's giggles and the clicks of cameras and the one filming the press conference live 

after finally getting the response that the interviewer so desperately needed, he gulped back in embarrassment. his entire face went red and his mouth fell into a straight line as though someone had zipped it shut. he didn't know how to respond and elouisa found it hilarious. she loved when she shut down the ignorant and intrusive reporters because they always reacted the same exact way that this interviewer was reacting. but, it didn't take long before the interviewer then started to try and save his arse. 

"...i...i'm so sorry. i...i didn't know that your dad..." he stammered as elouisa held her hand up, making him stop talking and he did, however it was max's voice that spoke up next, not elouisa's

"...cut the crap, mate. it's obvious you're not truly sorry because if you were, you would have stopped intruding the first time elouisa avoiding responding to your inflammatory questions! if you were that good of an interviewer as you boast to be, you would know that constant nagging isn't going to get you the answer you long for, it's going to end in the same way this press conference has ended. with a driver being pushed to their limit and giving the truth that you so wish for in the most uncomfortable and confronting way possible because you just couldn't stop prodding and poking for a response. but, well done anyway i guess, cause you got what you wished for, right? you now know why elouisa's dad isn't seen around the paddock even though elouisa still talks about him," max was not playing around, he was furious as were the rest of the drivers on the grid but, no one could see the steam that was billowing from the ears of newly retired f1 racer, sebastian vettel 

sebastian had retired but he was still as ever present around the paddock when he was able to be. and at this grand prix, he just happened to be watching the press conference from the very back with nico rosberg, former f1 driver now journalist and they, nico and sebastian, were pissed. the both of them had seen elouisa holland grow up and see how she went through her life without her father present and how it devastated her. how the grief was always ever present around her when she did everything. if these pesty journalists actually did their jobs and paid more attention to things, they would have seen the very clear memorial that the aussie girl has in honour of her father on her helmet in the same way carlos has maria di villota's red star on the back of every one of his helmets or the way charles always pays tribute to his father and godfather, jules bianchi. if they had just noticed these things, they wouldn't have needed to ask these questions but, they probably still would have because they loved to prod and try to break down the only female on the grid to test just how mentally strong she was up against the male drivers. they always did it on purpose because they wanted to prove that girls shouldn't be allowed in formula one and elouisa was their scapegoat every single time. however, this time, elouisa knew what they tried to do and she wasn't going to allow them this time. 

and that made both sebastian and nico proud of their girl. it made the entire grid proud of their girl. they knew from the beginning that elouisa was not the person to mess with but, people still tried yet, as the saying goes, you fuck around and you find out. and this time, this particular journalist did just that. he fucked around and he found out and he wished he never fucked around. and since max let the interviewer have it, it seemed as though he, elouisa and the rest of the drivers were no longer interested in finishing the press conference so they all stood up and, in solidarity for their fellow driver, they all walked out of the press conference. leaving the poor moderator, who was the sweetest guy in the world, all on his own in a room filled with reporters, having no clue what to do since this was being filmed live with no way of editing or cutting anything out. unless the camerman just decided to cut the cameras entirely before moving onto the rest of the grand prix weekend. which, is what the camerman decided to do anyway. the press conference had begun to drag a little too long and it was no longer the light, fun and easy-going press conference that it had started out as. 

as the drivers left the press conference, a breath of air just seemed to evaporate around them. what were they meant to do now? they couldn't remember what was next on the agenda. then, out of nowhere, elouisa bursts into incontrollable giggles. and, this of course, confused the others because how on earth was what just happened that funny? but, they knew not to question her so they also started giggling and the awkwardness just went away. 

finally, elouisa calmed down as she rested against max, "...mate, the look on that old dude's face when i told him that my dad was dead dead was hilarious!" elouisa sighed with the biggest smile on her face - the purest of trauma responses as the other drivers looked at her 

"it for sure stumped him from saying anything else, that's for sure!" lewis chuckled softly as he shook his head as elouisa nodded her head 

"it was supposed to! i said it for that exact reason! i wasn't going to sugarcoat it since it wasn't the first time old mate was begging for my response and he finally got it!" elouisa shrugged her shoulders as max sighed and pulled her closer to him 

"and that's why i love you, elouisa!" max hums with content as elouisa doesn't fight against max's embrace but embraces it and moves closer to him 

"why thank you, maxie! at least someone's not afraid to say it!" elouisa giggles before she stops as she feels the way the looks of the others change from the momentary joy back to sympathy 

elouisa wasn't normally one to get upset over her dad. because, right from the get go, she would always talk about him and she would be able to do that without crying. it was something that actually confused many people because they couldn't believe just how poised she was when she'd talk about her beloved dad so quickly after his devastating loss. how could she not? her dad was her hero, the reason why she even got into motorsport and why she was now a formula one driver even though he would never live long enough to see it. he still had the belief in his daughter that she could make it. that was why she had made it clear that her entire racing career with formula one would be dedicated to her father. but, when it did get quiet within her head and she did get upset about her dad, she knew she could go to any of the other guys in the grid and they'd be there for her to hold her as she fell. 

that was when the very distinct memory of driving on the anniversary of her dad's death and winning popped into her head. 

ʚ✩ɞ

"...elouisa, i don't want to freak you out considering today's already been an emotional day but, with ten laps left, you are in the lead. max is a whole lap behind you with carlos. fernando is near the back with valtteri and logan. so, you just keep on pushing, okay baby? you keep on going and you get that win, alright?" elouisa's radio engineer's voice crackles as elouisa's breath gets shaky 

"thank you! i'm pushing now!" elouisa breathes out before a quick "over" is heard and it's once again quiet between elouisa and her radio engineer 

it was the italian grand prix. not only the home race of ferrari but also the home race of elouisa holland who is an australian-italian f1 driver for aston martin, born and raised in australia to italian parents which meant that she could claim both the australian grand prix and all the italian grand prixs as home races. and, that's what she did. however, this time, this italian grand prix in monza was the most important home race for elouisa. it was the first time that she was in the clear running for a podium finish. but, not just any podium finish but a win. so, that's what elouisa and her team at aston martin were vying for at this italian grand prix. and right now, without even realising it, since she had been swamped by grief and agony of the memory of it being the tragic passing of her father, elouisa was inching closer and closer to getting her first ever italian grand prix win at monza.

elouisa doesn't really realise what's going on because she's so dazed and taken out of the joyus moment but, she knows somewhere deep down inside of her that she's finally snagged a win at one of her home races. celebrating with her radio engineer was supposed to be joyful but it was as though she wasn't even in her body. it was as though she was having an outer body experience and watching it happen. she hadn't even realised that she had driven her car into the parc ferme and in front of the p1 placard. so, it took max, who grasped second place and carlos in third place to help her out of the car and take her helmet off that she started to come to again.

"...elouisa! you did it, you won!" max smiled, his helmet also off as his hands squeeze the girl's cheeks as she looks at him with bulging wide eyes in shock 

"what? no...no i didn't!" elouisa stammered, she was sure max at some point had overtaken her but when she turned to look at carlos, he shook his head, also smiling wide as he joined max 

"yes, you did, hermana sister!" carlos rubbed elouisa's back as tears welled in her eyes, she couldn't understand why or how she had even won a race on a day as agonising and grevious as the annviersary of the death of her beloved dad

"then why don't i feel happy or excited?" elouisa's voice cracked as max and carlos remembered, their eyes sullen 

they hadn't forgotten what this day was or the feelings it brought up for their best friend. how could they forget? they grew up with elouisa and her family. of course, they were on the older side of the grid but, they still grew up with elouisa in the same way they grew up in similar circles to the rest of the drivers on the grid. so, they knew and remembered the exact time on this specific day that they got the news that elouisa's dad had died. it was devastating for all of those in the karting and motorsport world because elouisa's dad was well-known and very well loved. and because he was so involved with it, it had come as a huge shock that the news had come out during a karting championship that elouisa was actually participating in alongside george russell, alex albon and oscar piastri. and, exactly like today, on the anniversary of her dad's death, on the day that it was announced her dad had died, she had also won that karting championship, having no knowledge that at home, her mum was grieving over the loss of her husband and the father of her five children who were all at the karting championship for elouisa. 

maybe that was why whenever elouisa won on days like anniversaries and the birthday of her dad, it never felt happy or exciting. it always had a tinge of sadness because it was another win that he would never get to witness and be apart of. nor was it a trophy that he would be able to  see. so, getting this win at monza was equally amazing for elouisa and aston martin but it was also agonising that it was yet another win that would never be seen and celebrated by and with her dad. maybe that was why her mum had slowly started to stop from coming to races. she couldn't bear to see her little girl on that podium, winning races, without seeing both of her parents there watching. max and carlos could see that the grieving girl was ever so slightly starting to breakdown and they hated it so, they didn't hesitate. pulling her in for a hug, they pulled her closely and held her tightly. the formula one commentators mentioning just how sweet it was that even though they were rivals on track, as soon as they got out of their cars, they were best friends and were there to take care of one another. they also hadn't forgotten what day it was that the italian grand prix managed to fall on this year so, they couldn't do anything else but pay their respects and send their love to elouisa and the rest of the holland family.

  ʚ✩ɞ

"...hey, you okay, schat darling? you went off somewhere, you back with us now?" max giggles softly as elouisa blinks, looking max in the eyes and nodded her head 

"yeah...yeah, i'm fine, sorry. yeah, i was in fairyland for a little bit. i'm sorry, what were we taking about?" elouisa mumbled as she leaned further into max's protective hold as max smiled 

"don't apologise. and whatever we were talking about before doesn't matter anymore, what was going on inside your head? where did you travel off too?" max's voice softened as he got the two of them to sit down on the couch, the other drivers following suite as elouisa scoffed softly 

"my first win at monza...on dad's anniversary..." elouisa trailed off as max nodded his head, the other drivers smiling softly, understanding how agonising that was for her 

"...why's that schat?" max wondered, he remembers that day like it was yesterday and it haunted him at how elouisa was so hollow and as though it wasn't her controlling her body that entire day

"it's a cruel reminder that it's now been a decade since he's died and i still forget that he's never coming back even when i win races..." elouisa whispered, tears that hadn't been shed since that podium, rose in her eyes as her lip trembled 

"...you can cry, lieverd sweetheart." max whispered and that was all that elouisa needed to hear before the tears tumbled down her face as max hugged her close to his chest, her hand covering her face, the other one wrapping around max's middle

the rest of the drivers weren't sure what to do. so they just stood awkwardly, feeling bad for their teammate that her breakdown was most definitely caused by the extremely persistent and abhorrent interviewer from the press conference. that was until lewis led the rest of them out by loudly announcing that they probably had better things to be doing than awkwardly watching max and elouisa. and, max and elouisa both would thank lewis for that later on in the day. not because the other drivers were being ignorant or rude, but it was uncomfortable to see their best friend and teammate cry and not know what to do other than just stand there awkwardly. they for sure could have gone in for a group hug and hopefully used that as a way to maybe make elouisa let out a croaky giggle but, they didn't want to push it or make her feel worse. so, with lewis in the lead, they all left the paddock and allowed max and elouisa to be left on their own. knowing and trusting that max would do everything in his power to get elouisa back to the elouisa they all knew and loved again. 

and it wouldn't take too much longer before max was able to dry elouisa's tears and get that smile back on her face. followed by a shrill giggle not too long after he got her smile back. sure, it was a painful reminder that her dad was gone but, he was never forgotten. no matter how many decades went past since the loss of her father, elouisa would always dedicate the rest of her life as a formula one driver to him. because he was the one that truly believed that his little girl had it in him to have what it took to become a formula one driver. 

fin

ok this ending was shitty and awful but, whilst i was rewriting an old one-shot that is once again max focused, i had this idea so i decided to write it before i forgot it. and this is what i had come up with. and yes, some of what is written in here is what i've through with the passing of my own dad. the truth starting with that, this year, october 2024, it will be an entire decade since my dad died. meaning that exactly like elouisa, i was also eleven when my dad died as i am now twenty-one. which means, it's getting to the point where i've been remembering him for longer than i've known him and that honestly kind of shatters my heart in a way that, by next year, 2025, he would have been dead for the exact same time as he was in my life and that just doesn't sit right with me for some reason. however, because it hasn't even gotten to ten years yet, i shouldn't be thinking about that just yet! and, another thing that is true that i've included in this story is that, not that long after it had been confirmed by the paramedics that my dad was dead and had stopped responding to cpr and defibrilation, i had said to my mum "when am i getting a new dad?" and, i cannot say that i am proud of that statement. it is truly something that haunts me everytime i remember that i said those words. i was just so confused and had no clue what was happening because everything had happened so quickly that those were the words that just tumbled out of little eleven year old amber's mouth.  i was also originally diagnosed with anxiety but then earlier this year, it was rediagnosed as ptsd because of how severe the anxiety within the ptsd was. so, yes, like i said in the author's note at the start, this was a very self-indulgent fic. i hope i didn't make anyone depressed but if i did, i promise i'll help pay for your therapy

©⠀amberjazmyn's original work. do not translate or steal any of my fics. 2024

[jojosgaylittleadventure]

This is the fourth fic in my Josuyaus series that takes place while they're still in high school You can find my series here I also have a master post of all my Josuyasu writing here

Summary: After a study session gone wrong, Josuke finds himself needing somewhere he can feel safe and at home and that some where turns out to be Okuyasu. Tags: Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, the following tags are not from/between the ship (just an fyi), Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Side Character/Main Character Attempted Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Victim Blaming

[amberswilddreams]

so much blood💔

pairing : mark feehily x fem!sister reader

summary : mark's sister, madelena, at a westlife concert, suffers from an awfully traumatic late miscarriage at five months, right at the 24-week mark where it's considered a stillbirth. she had been carrying the baby that would have been her brother mark's and his partner cailean's baby when she miscarries their baby in the bathroom after bleeding profusely for five minutes until mark's bandmates' wives find her. 

warnings : mentions of miscarriage, blood, tears, hospital, angst, a surrogate for her brother and his partner, older brother x mark 

a/n : yet again, this is a reused one-shot that i have written before and whilst i hate giving mark such a sad first imagine, it was either this one or a very cute but very short one which i think will be my next mark one-shot. unlike the character in this one-shot, i have never (thankfully) experienced a miscarriage/ectopic pregnancy/ stillbirth etc, however, i do know people who have gone through that and it's soul-destroying. however, this does not mean by any means that i am glorifying or positively promoting the physical and mental tolls that miscarriages have on families as it is awful and very traumatizing. this is just a thing of fiction that i have written with no intentional means to harm anyone.

attending westlife concerts with the rest of the westlife family was most probably madelena feehily's, mark feehily's younger sister's, favourite thing to do. but most especially now that she was carrying the beautiful baby that was going to be mark and his partner, cailean's future child. which made this whole reunion tour all the more special for everyone now that mark was now adding one of his own to the growing westlife family. however, recently, madelena had been having some strange cramp-like pains in her stomach and back. however, she had just been disregarding them because she didn't want to put more fuel in the fire of her fears of having a miscarriage whilst trying to give her brother and brother-in-law a child coming true. and besides, the pains hadn't been too extreme that it required looking into so, madelena just didn't think it mention it to her midwife. or anyone really at this stage. especially considering if this baby was to miscarry, it wouldn't be madelena's first one either. madelena already has kids of her own, three to be exact, but in her last pregnancy, whilst she did make it to the delivery of her baby, it was clouded with heartbreak because the baby was born sleeping. at 38 weeks and she had promised herself, as well as her own partner, that after that, she'd never ever try to fall pregnant again. that was, however, until her brother mark and his partner had been researching on how they themselves could become parents and if they were even able to since they are gay and physically cannot become pregnant when they found out about the world of surrogacy. that was when madelena, even whilst carrying the grief of the loss of what would have been her fourth child, put her hand up and volunteered to be the surrogate for her brother and brother-in-law's child. which, obviously, mark and cailean were and are forever grateful for so, when madelena finally fell pregnant with what would be mark and caliean's first child, excitement immediately began building. not just around the feehily's and o'neil's but also in the westlife extended family. all madelena had been positively manifesting was a happy, healthy, stress-free pregnancy for her older brother and brother-in-law. and, as of right now, it seemed as if everything in madelena's pregnancy was going exceptionally for her now that she had reached the fifth month and didn't pursue the same symptoms that she did when she had her stillborn. so, already, madelena felt as though with baby feehily-o'neil that she was completely out of the danger zone in regards to miscarrying or having a stillbirth after the delivery. and, to be completely honest, that knowledge that madelena had healthily made it to the five-month mark in this pregnancy for her brother just this past week gave her so much comfort and safety. because it meant that she really was going to be able to give her brother everything he had ever wanted; a child.

whilst madelena and the westwives (and fiancé) gillian, jodi, georgina and cailean were on their way backstage, to the wings where they would watch their husbands (and brother) on stage, a conversation insued. they couldn't help but bring up the conversation of mark and cailean's baby that madelena was carrying and whether or not the fiancés had come up with names.

"---so, whilst you look divine being preggers with marky and cailean's baby, mads, have they come up with names for the little feehily yet?" gillian asks as madelena and cailean giggled, giving each other the side-eye whilst jodi and georgina smiled at each other, madelena rubbing the tiny five-month bump

"uhh, nah, not really, gill. i don't think they're not really focused on names just yet. i mean, i know mark isn't but, obviously i can't speak for cailean. but, all that is known is that our brothers know the gender so, i think mark and cailean are waiting for that," madelena spoke before cailean ndded his head in agreement with his sister-in-law as his eyes sparkled at the baby bump that was his future child

"yeah, just like mark and madelena, no names have really been considered since we're still waiting for the gender to be revealed to us so, when barry and collin announce it, that's when i think mark and i will think up of names but, until then, the baby's name is baby feehily," cailean chuckles as the girls all nod their heads and smile brightly as jodi speaks up

"well, no matter what gender baby feehily is going to be, you and mark will for sure come up with a beautiful name anyway," jodi coos as she rubbed her hot hand across madelena's stomach, making the pregnant girl giggle softly due to the tickly sensation it gave her

however though, maybe the amount of laughter she and the others were doing was not the smartest. a large shot of sharp pain sent shockwaves through the surrogate mother's entire body as if it was a giant period cramp. along with the strange feeling of nausea, which madelena had not once been experiencing unlike her last pregnancy, she quickly and without words excused herself from the wives and fiancé to the bathroom just outside of the backstage wings which was the accessible toilet, the only one that madelena could use. 

~

"--hello london! how are we feeling tonight?!" mark cheers into his microphone as he laughs at the enthusiasm of the london crowd in front of him 

mark then continued on with the little speech about the acoustic medley section of the show. this was the section of the show in which they sing small snippets of their old songs throughout the first fourteen years of their back catalogue. then, he went on to introduce the first song of that set after their "i have a dream" cover was their 2002 hit "unbreakable". 

"--this next song, uhh, actually, when kian used to introduce it years ago, he would do this big speech about how westlife... are... unbreakable, but then we split up..." mark pauses as everyone giggles, kian and shane doubling over in laughter as nicky just shakes his head 

then the boys joked about how, even though they did split up, they were now back together, so technically, westlife are still unbreakable! which, to be fair, is not an incorrect statement to make! 

"...so technically, we are unbreakable... honestly, it's been amazing being back on tour with not only the lads but with all the families backstage we have a lotta fun, we have dinner every night, with the kids and the families and the wives and the fiancés and it's a lotta fun..." 

"...it's one big family and it's about to get bigger in a few months' time---"

"---marky's having a baby!" 

"so a big shout out to all the pregnant ladies in the audience, but especially my sister, madelena since she is actually carrying the baby! so, big up my little sister! and i think i actually gave away the title of this song so..." mark chuckled, as did the other lads as backstage, the westwives and fiancé all smiled lovingly at the mention of madelena carrying mark and cailean's child

then, the cords for unbreakable began to play and the lads started to sing. mark felt like he was on cloud nine after announcing that he was about to become a father, i mean, who wouldn't feel like that. madelena for sure felt like she was on cloud nine and it wasn't even her child that she was giving birth to. however, throughout unbreakable and the happiness of the baby announcement, fear started to spread through the backstage area. as cailean and gillian ran through the o2 to find baz whelan who was the band's security guard so they could tell baz that mark was urgently needed backstage. 

the crowd enjoyed every moment of the acoustic medley until it got to around the halfway point when the lads were joking around about what song was better, bop bop baby or fool again when baz ran up onto the stage. making the crowd make noises of confusion whilst others squealed that the security guard was on stage. smiling as best as he could and waving to the fans, baz made a beeline straight to mark. grabbing his arm and pulling him closer to his side, mark lowered his microphone, and baz started whispering something into mark's ear so it wasn't heard by anyone else. which, for some strange reason made the crowd scream even louder. the other three lads, nicky, kian and shane, with confused faces watched on but still tried to keep some energy up by mumbling small song tunes under their breaths to keep the audience occupied as their confused faces turned into looks of concern. as within seconds, mark's face ran cold and paled, his head shooting up to look at baz.

dropping his microphone to the floor, originally meant for his stool, mark wasted no time in dashing off the stage in a flash of light. barely tilting his head at mark, nicky, since he was sat right next to mark, grabbed mark's microphone from the floor as baz shot him and the other two lads a look of "i'll tell you three later"  

the other three all looked at each other in concern for their youngest bandmate and also now at the crowd who were waiting in nervous anticipation as to what the hell had just happened and why mark just ran off stage. 

baz then spoke up, with mark's microphone that nicky had just handed him, "i am awfully sorry everyone. everything is fine, mark just needs to take care of something right now that has been classified as an emergency. as of right now, everything is okay and all parties involved are okay. i am not entirely sure when mark will be back on stage. however, for the rest of this set, nicky, kian and shane will continue whilst mark takes care of what's happening backstage," baz announces as the other three bandmates, whilst absolutely fearful of what could be going on backstage right now, give each other comforting looks and decide to continue on with the acoustic set without mark 

at hearing this announcement, the crowd, shrouded in worry, erupts into cheers and baz walked off stage trying his best to maintain his cool and not let his facade to crumble. especially since he was the only one that actually knew what was happening backstage (and that everything was anything but okay). nicky, kian and shane, now knowing that whatever was happening backstage that involved mark, would be told to them later on, terrified them. yet they had to mask that fear and continue the show because not only were they just told to by their security guard but also by their fans reactions. and, it wouldn't be the first time that these lads have sung after a tragedy so, why was this time seeming harder to do when they didn't know about the emergency happening backstage? 

~

bursting out of the backstage wings and through the back rooms of the o2, not even paying attention to who may have been trying to calmly walk past, mark demanded answers as to what was going on. especially due to the fact it was in regard to his sister, madelena. then, suddenly, the only thing that rang through his ears was the sound of madelena's screams and cries of desperation. 

jodi and georgina were on the ground, desperately trying to coax madelena to open the bathroom door but, not one single thing they were saying made the poor girl open the door. standing straight off the floor the second the two girls saw mark, nicky's wife spoke up, "she's been there for fifteen to twenty minutes, cailean made the call to 911, any minute they should be arriving," georgina was updating mark, well, trying to as it seemed as if mark was too fixated on trying to figure it out himself 

"what even happened?" mark's usual soft tone of voice came out shakier, moving his ear to the door to see if he could figure out what was wrong, the things he heard was madelena repeatedly saying "no" as she wept and let out small bouts of screeches to herself 

out of breathe, with baz and cailean right beside her, gillian mumbled, "she still hasn't opened the door?" as jodi and georgina shook their heads as gillian and cailean turned their attention to mark who was looking for answers, which jodi gave to him 

"in all honesty mark, we have no idea what happened," jodi shrugged sadly, wishing she did know so she could help her best friend and family, "we were all having a sweet and nice conversation about baby feehily and names and just having a right old laugh when madelena just suddenly got up off the floor and quietly excused herself to the bathroom, no words spoken. then, after it had been about four minutes, i got worried and i went over to knock on the door to check in on her but, before i could even get there, i just heard her scream. she refuses to open the door for us, that was when i told gillian and cailean to grab baz to grab you, so, sorry for having to grab you off stage but, maybe, for you, mark, she'll open it?" 

mark shook his head at jodi's apology for making him walk off stage during a show as he took in a deep breath before leaning his forehead against the metallic, cold bathroom door, "mads? babe, it's just me, could you please open the door?" 

no response. not even a noise of acknowledgement. 

breathing in again, mark tried a second time, "madelena, please, can you open the door for me?" he tried to keep his voice as calm as he could but, how could he? his sister was potentially injured whilst pregnant with his and his fiancé's baby and he had no clue what to do to help her

a few seconds when past of pure silence that really worried the group, and made them hold their breath until a shaky, wet breath was heard on the other side of the door, "i-i can't marky, please, go-go away! there-there's so-so mu-much!" the girl sobbed out in utter terror and distress, her vocal cords breaking 

mark tried his hardest to not curse, both under his breath and loudly. deciding to try again, he knew he needed to get to his sister and see what was wrong so he could help her, "babe, maddy, if you're near the door, you need to move back," once again, no response from madelena suggesting that she had moved away from the door 

then, taking the slim chance that he was right and his sister did move out of the way, as his fiancé, jodi, gillian, georgina and baz watched on in fear. mark jutted his right foot towards the bathroom door, his boot kicking it open completely. flying open immediately, the door revealed a scene that was beyond anything that everyone had imagined they'd be seeing. well, in all honesty, they had no clue whatsoever as to what they expected to see behind that bathroom door but, it certainly didn't involve all of this blood. 

blood was absolutely everywhere, not only was madelena surrounded and sitting in it, there was blood all over her arms and some in her hair, legs and face due to her most likely panicking and touching herself to self-regulate herself into a calm enough state. with no care in the world, only stripping off the denim jacket that he was provided by the stylists and ripping off his in-ears, chucking them aimlessly at baz, who caught them, the only thing that clicked into mark's brain was to comfort his baby sister. dropping to his knees, he slid over through the blood and to the toilet bowl where madelena was resting, her body rocking with sobs as he pulled her in for a hug, blood being transferred from her to him in an instant. her hands rested at her side, her chin resting on mark's shoulder as her sobs shook both of their bodies. mark was mortified, i mean, he had no idea that someone so small as his sister could have this much blood rush out of them. 

"i'm so sorry marky," madelena whispered out ever so quietly to the point where mark could barely hear it, not that she needed to apologise at all anyway 

cailean, jodi, gillian and georgina looked in, noticing everything that had happened and instantly, tears all welled in their eyes. ushering everyone out, cailean gave one last look to his fiancé and sister-in-law before he also left the two of them so they could have a moment alone before the paramedics arrived. 

"and why are you apologising, madelena?" mark whispered as he rocked his little sister back and forth, kissing the side of her cheek that wasn't covered in blood, his arms wrapped securely around his distraught sister 

"baby..." was all madelena could at first whisper, which confused mark 

"...baby? what do you mean baby, maddy, what's happened, babe?" mark pushed for some more answers as madelena's face screwed as she closed her eyes and shook her head, tears waterfalling down her face as she refused to talk about what had just happened 

mark hugged his little sister tighter, not just to comfort her but also to let her know that he wouldn't get mad or lash out over whatever it was that she wasn't telling him. even if it did have something to do with his and cailean's child. he just wanted to be told what had happened so he could help his sister. 

finally, with reluctance and shame for herself, madelena once again whispered it out, "...the baby, i-i lost the baby..." no loud sobs followed from her mouth after she revealed her stillbirth as mark felt a switch get turned off whilst another one got turned on and his eyes filled with tears 

"...oh, oh maddy! i am so sorry babe!" mark whispered as he pulled his sister closer to him, his lips smooshed against her dark auburn hair as his breath hitched as he felt his own tears leave his eyes as he closed them tightly 

the two siblings sat on the bloodied up floor for what felt like hours whilst the westlife concert continued on stage before paramedics ran through the hallways of backstage before reaching the feehily siblings and the rest of the westlife spouses. in a strange way, relief flooded mark's body hearing the pitter patters of the feet rushing through the hallways towards him and his sister. subconsciously, even though he didn't know too much about first aid, he knew from the way his sister was scrunching her body up in pain that this was good timing for the paramedics of their arrival. it looked as if the foetus was still inside of madelena and that she'd need surgery to have it medically removed so nothing negative or dangerous would happen to madelena. the bloody scene that the paramedics had to witness as they walked in was not a friendly shock to the system at all and it was something they could never get used to, even as veteran paramedics. seeing this much blood as a paramedic, especially if their patient is a pregnant woman, was never good news, never.

~

mark picked up madelena and placed her on the gurney, unable to move as he just stood there as the paramedics wheeled away his sister to the ambulance. the hype and excitement from the westlife concert inside almost teased him with the lights flashing and the joyful screams as his thoughts were then interrupted by the male paramedic, "excuse me, sir, would you like to come and ride with us?" 

turning around to face the man, mark gulped, "umm, uh, no, hold on, i need to at least get changed out of my clothes and clean myself up a bit, i'll meet you guys there as soon as i can," 

the 50ish-year-old paramedic nodded his head, telling mark the name of the hospital they were sending his sister to, making sure cailean was going with her so she wouldn't wonder later on why she was left all alone. the ambulance then took off with his sister and fiancé when mark was finally alone and he felt himself walking back into the backstage area of the arena, his brain completely turned off, having no clue what to do or what to even think at this point in time. all he could do was find himself walking back into the bloodied bathroom where he found his sister, the blood staring back at him like it was teasing him for not just his and cailean's loss but also his sister's, especially since it hadn't even been that long since the loss of her fourth child. and finally, the sobs he had been swallowing back for the sake of his sister just released from his body in violent jolts, completely overwhelming him and his ability to stand. he then tried to shake, wipe and flick away the blood that was covering his entire body from his legs to his upper chest. not stopping until he felt himself being grabbed that he realised that for the last couple of minutes, nicky had been calling out his name, kian and shane not that far behind nicky.

mark's raw, bloodshot, itchy eyes met up with nicky, kian and shane's worried ones, "hey, marky, hey!" 

not a second longer went by before mark collapsed into nicky's slightly shorter frame and tries to quieten his painful sobs into the blonde's shirt. taken aback not just by shock but also physically, having to catch not just himself but also mark, nicky doesn't hesitate to tighten his arms around the shaky, sobbing, bloodied-up mark as he holds him tightly. encouraging the younger lad to continue to cry over the emergency that still, nicky, kian or shane had no knowledge of. 

"that's it marky, yeah, ssh, that's it. let it all out buddy, it's going to be okay, you'll be fine..." 

~

...mark had just incoherently tried to explain to nicky, kian and shane about the emergency that had happened backstage that had caused him to miss the rest of the acoustic set. with the other three struggling to understand what had happened, they looked at each other with confusion, worry and uncertainty rushing through their bloodstreams. urging for mark to take a few more breaths before trying again, was the moment in which the westlife wives had walked in on their husbands trying to comfort their fellow bandmate. 

that was when, with some encouragement, jodi came forward and explained to the other three boys what had happened, "nicky, what mark's trying to say is, madelena was hanging out with us and cailean, we were laughing and blabbering on about what the baby would be called when out of nowhere, madelena wordlessly got up from her spot and rushed off into the bathroom. four minutes later, after becoming worried cause she never spends that much time in the bathroom, let alone four whole minutes, i went to check on her only to find that she had locked the door. but even before i went to open the door, i just heard her scream and refused to open the door. that was when we got gillian and cailean to get baz to grab mark off stage and then, that was when we came to the realisation that madelena had gone into stillbirth, the-the baby's gone..." jodi's voice faltered at the end as mark let out a sob as nicky held him tighter, kian and shane both closing their eyes as tears filled their eyes

covering his mouth with his hand, shane softly spoke up, "... oh, maddy... where is she and cailean? have they gone to the hospital?" shane's voice also faltered as jodi nodded her head, confirming something that she knew mark couldn't out loud

"yeah, shay, the paramedics found out that the foetus was still inside madelena so, she's been sent into surgery to give birth to the baby because if the baby isn't removed, it's not just the baby we could potentially lose," jodi sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve as nicky once again squeezed mark tightly as kian gestured to shane to say that they should go over and help nicky comfort mark 

and, without another word, kian and shane squeezed into mark and nicky's hug as they all, nicky included, started to cry together over the loss of what would have been the tenth westlife baby. the westwives, jodi, georgina and gillian, also overcome with emotion, then also joined in on the hug as they all cried and grieved together before they realised that they had left cailean all alone with madelena. 

but, before they left, nicky whispered one last thing before they broke the group hug, "...it's gonna be okay, we'll be fine..." 

~

now that it was well known within the london o2 that madelena had just been wheeled out by paramedics to the hospital, the rest of the westlife concert had been cancelled since the band knew they couldn't and wouldn't continue the show as a three-piece and leave mark in the hospital on his own with cailean. so, within minutes, all four bandmates and the three wives had all changed from their concert outfits and rushed out of the arena to baz's van to get to the hospital that mark had been told that madelena had been driven to. 

however, this whole time, mark's weeping didn't stop. at this point, he was wailing like a dying animal, he was so devastated. what was more devastating was this was the first time his bandmates had seen mark cry this much over anything. and that was what broke their hearts the most because they all knew that all mark ever wanted to be in his life was a dad and just as he was four or so months away from becoming one, the baby passes away. and before kian got into the car with mark, he realised that he still hadn't gotten changed and was holding his clean clothes

so, to calm their distraught bandmate and get him out of his bloodied clothes, kian this time speaks up, "hey, mark, come on, look at me buddy, look at kian!" pushing him away, mark still does what he's told and makes eye contact with kian

"whilst this sounds like utter bullshit and you have full permission to smack me for saying this, everything will eventually be okay. you, cailean and madelena will recover from this and all of us getting in this car and waiting at that hospital will help you out. and eventually, madelena will help give you and cailean the most precious little baby ever but, right now, you need to get changed and into this car so we can get to that goddamn hospital because out of everyone here right now, madelena needs you, cailean needs you and you need your sister and your fiancé!" wiping his tears away, mark nodded his head, agreeing with his best friend and bandmate

but not before looking down and realising, kian was right, mark did forget to get changed out of his now dried-up bloodied clothes, he spoke up, "oh shit, you're right, i-i'll go and get changed, i'll be back..." mark hushed out as he wiped his tears away and rushed back into the venue so he could get changed 

whilst that type of moment, one of his bandmates forgetting to get changed would normally be hilarious, this time it pierced through nicky's heart, it smacked kian across the face and it just broke shane's heart to see how distressed and unconsolable mark had been. to the point that he had simply forgotten to get out of his bloodied up clothes this entire time whilst everyone else had before walking to baz's van. mark then took those sweet few seconds as he stripped himself of his bloodied clothes and into a clean, comfy set of sweat pants and crew neck sweater along with a pair of slippers. double-checking he had everything he needed and that he hadn't forgotten anything else, he made his way back out of the arena and to the van where everyone was waiting inside, kian waiting outside for him as they then made their way to the hospital to madelena and cailean. 

~

madelena couldn't believe that her body had once again, in the span of what was only a few months, failed her. all she wanted to do was to give her brother and brother-in-law a goddamn baby and she was so close to doing so as well. at this point, the grief of losing her fourth baby was practically gone because she knew it wasn't her fault and she had just accepted that it was normal to lose a baby. however, knowing that this specific baby that she was pregnant with was her brother's just made her grief the worst it had ever been. she felt like she had failed mark and cailean since she couldn't accomplish the one goddamn thing that women were practically put on this earth to do. all her brother ever wanted was a goddamn child and she couldn't even give him that. 

waking up from her surgery, the girl was drowsy and for a moment forgot where she was when she heard the familiar voice of cailean, "...hey babe, you're awake, i'll get the nurse--"

"--cailean, where...where's marky? i..i need to apologise to him, and...and you! i need to apologise to you! i am so sorry cailean! i didn't mean to lose the baby i--"

"--hey, hey, no, maddy! we will not be doing this, not today! you have got absolutely nothing to apologise for! no one is blaming you for the loss of me and mark's baby! i don't blame you, mark doesn't blame you, no one blames you madelena! it is not your fault at all! you had no control nor any idea that this was to happen! don't you dare blame yourself for something that is out of your control!" cailean stressed as madelena timidly nodded her head, still feeling awful but less heavy now that she truly felt reassured that it wasn't her fault - that is until she saw her brother 

"do you know when mark will get here?" madelena then timidly asked as cailean sighed, he could tell that madelena was trying to stop cailean from getting the nurse 

"no, i don't babe but, i really need to tell a nurse that you're awake so, can i please inform one of the nurses that you're awake?" cailean smiled softly as madelena timidly nodded her head as that sent a shiver of relief down cailean's spine 

"thank you, maddy and, mark shouldn't be too far away and neither should the rest of the lads and wives since they will have also been made aware. now, i'll be back in a couple of seconds, a minute tops, behave!" cailean winked at the end as madelena breathed out a laugh with a small head nod as she rested her head against the wall of the hospital behind her whilst she waited 

~

by the time mark and everyone else had arrived at the hospital and was allowed access to his sister's hospital room, she had already had the surgical procedure she needed to remove the deceased foetus. even though she knew that her brother had walked into the hospital room, she couldn't even bear to look up and make eye contact with him. especially with the knowledge that the stillborn had also been wheeled into the room for the dads to meet the baby, she couldn't even bring it within herself to even breathe the same air as him. even though she knew she'd eventually have to otherwise she'd alert the doctors and nurses. it ripped mark apart knowing that not only did madelena have to through the surgery alone since cailean is not considered "family" but that she was so ashamed of herself that she couldn't even look him nor the baby in the eye.

"...please maddy, babe, say something, just anything." mark whispered out in a teary beg to his sister as she slowly but nervously lifted her head up, finally looking her brother in the eyes as she finally noticed just how hard this had also been for her brother and therefore everyone else 

"i-i... i tried so hard for anything but this to happen..." madelena whimpered out in a whisper as mark choked, not able to say a single thing as he swiftly moved over to the bed, hugging his sister as they cried together

then, they moved from the hug and madelena invited cailean in so the dads could go over to the cot and meet their child for the first time...

...the child that was going to be their baby girl if she hadn't been born still...

shane, kian and nicky all cried as they watched their bandmate and fiancé grieve over the loss of what would have been the third westlife baby girl.

"...we were going to have a baby girl cailean..." 

"...our precious little diva marky..." 

fin

this is the mark version i think i may have mentioned on my nicky version! and i don't know which version i like better, mark's or nicky's!

© amberswilddreams, 2024

[joelsgoldrush]

“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are soulmates. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

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

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

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

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

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

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

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closes on his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where is yours, then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, it made everything worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

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

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

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t go well in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 5

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.

pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader

word count: 4k or something like that?

(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.

“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium. 

Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?” 

Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen. 

Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating. 

“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite. 

Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago. 

“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.” 

Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now. 

“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do. 

Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms. 

And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you. 

Fucking Max Verstappen. 

The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice. 

“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend. 

“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs. 

“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him. 

“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. 

After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him. 

I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…

As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…

On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?

You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today. 

Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him. 

“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo. 

You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”

Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him. 

Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches. 

You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before. 

Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen. 

“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.” 

You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame. 

Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out. 

So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments. 

Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. 

“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?” 

The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of. 

“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.” 

You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy. 

missleclerc posted

24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it

“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips. 

After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer. 

“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.

 Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes. 

You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra. 

“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel. 

Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life. 

“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him. 

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short. 

“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again. 

Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?” 

If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando. 

But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando. 

While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it. 

“Of course, baby.” 

You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary. 

 “I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you. 

“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.” 

But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral. 

Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart. 

“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?

Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.” 

His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him. 

“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”

“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.” 

The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that. 

Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there. 

By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off. 

“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.” 

Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?” 

Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.” 

It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?” 

Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.” 

It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck. 

“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.” 

Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver. 

Tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[rosenclaws]

Lost || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You risk your life on missions when you shouldn't. Logan can't stand it. He thinks it's because you want to play hero. It isn't until something shifts that he realizes there's more to it. That the two of you are more alike than ever.

warnings: Suicidal ideation, implied Self harm (scratching), depressive thoughts and feelings, self hatred manifesting in different ways, mostly the reader is very mean to themselves, the reader is having a mental spiral basically, poor eating, angst, injuries, hopeful ending.

wc: 3.3k

a/n: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This fic contains very triggering topics and if you think that reading or being exposed to them will hurt you please DO NOT READ. I value peoples well being over this fic 1000%. If I'm being honest this was my own kind of therapy. The way I wrote the reader's thought process and feelings is a lot like my own. I've been going through it a little and I just needed to get something out. I would also like to disclaimer that I am okay! Please take care of yourself first and be gentle to yourself. If you need someone to talk to my dms and inbox are open or please consider reaching out to someone

Things worked like clockwork around here. The kid would go to class. Do their homework. Play outside. The adults would be training or teaching. Dinner was at the same time every night. Occasionally the team would get sent on a mission and even then things worked like they normally did.

Scott led the team with a plan, Logan usually ignored that plan, Ro got between them when their childish bickering got to be too much, and you all got home just fine.

"Again?" Beast is shaking his head as you hobble into the lab again. A pained smile on your face as Scott helps you onto the cold metal table. 

"What can I say beastie, I just love your company." You groan as he gently touches your side. A sharp pain shoots through your body and dark spots cloud your vision.

 "Broken ribs, definitely." He mutters as he writes something down. He asks you to follow his finger and you do your best. 

"Concussion. Again." You wince as his tone grows harsher.

 "Superficial cuts and bruises." The list goes on and on as you're examined.

"Can you just prescribe me some pain meds and let go? That's what we did last time." You ask and he just looks at you like a disappointed parent.

 "We did that last time and the time before that and the time before that. This is your third concussion and I can't even remember how many broken ribs." You feel like a child as he starts lecturing you on safety and the dangers of missions and blah blah blah.

Look you get that this isn't great but you're an X-Man right? They help people by any means even when the world seems to hate them. So you're helping people by putting yourself in harms way. Even your teammates.

 "I really don't understand why you continue to do this to yourself." Beast injects something into your arm and you flinch.

 "Fuck! A little warning next time please." You rub your arm and close your eyes as the exhaustion is starting to catch up to you. 

"No missions for at least three months." He says to Scott who you forgot was still there. 

"What!" You shoot up and double over in pain from your ribs.

 "Come on, you can't bench me for three months." You whine as you look at Scott. 

"Our top priority is that you're safe and healthy firefly." Scott says and you scoff. 

"No our top priority is helping people." He sighs and pats you on the shoulder. Great, is this another scolding? Beasts was like a parent but Scott was always more brotherly than anything.

 "Firefly, We understand the want to help but you can't help people if you keep getting hurt. You throw yourself into danger without even thinking about it." 

"So does Logan!" You protest but you know the argument is futile.

 "Logan has rapid healing factor. You don't. Look, just take the three months okay? Please? We worry about you." Scott says with such sincerity it makes you feel a little bad. 

"Okay fine." You mumble in agreement. Satisfied with your answer Scott leaves, letting Hank patch you up. You're silent as you think back to the mission.

It was dangerous. You weren't dealing with low level grunts or something. These people were deadly. They weren't going to spare anyone. Rogue and Jubilee joined the mission and as much as you loved them they weren't ready. The fight was getting messier and exhaustion was kicking in.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jubilee and Rogue barely fighting off their attackers. Without thinking you jump in to help them. The calls to retreat came and you saw Logan come help the three of you. His claws sliced his way through. 

"Get back to the ship!" He growled as he took down yet another man. Everyone else was safe except for the four of you. 

"Go, I'll be right behind you!" You yell over your shoulder.

You put up a wall to block the bullets as you walk back. In your head you know how this plays out. You get on the ship and they shoot it down, killing you all. Or you don't make it. Or a million other ways it can go wrong. As Logan grabs Jubilee and Rouge and pulls them onto the ship he holds his hand out to you.

 "We need to go!" Without thinking you take down you start to build energy in your hands. The wall wavers as the bullets continue. 

"Quit fucking around and get in here!" Logan roars. Sorry Logan, you tend to ignore him anyways on missions. Which is how you tend to get hurt but you always end up okay. 

"I got this!" You can hear Logan's angry shouting as the plane door closes. They had no choice but to listen to you. A bullet pierces your wall and rips through your side. You let out a cry as your knee buckles. Sweat pours down your face as you gather every last bit of your energy into your hands.

 "Eat shit." You snarl as you make eye contact with who you assume was the leader.

You release the energy and it blasts through everyone and everything around you. The ship is safe due to protective measures but you aren't. The blowback slams you into the hard jet doors. A sickening crunch as your body hits the cold metal. Your vision becomes hazy as you hit the ground hard. Spots dancing in your vision as you crawl away from the jet.

Everything fucking hurt. You vaguely hear the doors opening again and the hands-on your face. Someone's talking to you but you don't register a thing they say. Which landed you back in the lab. Right now getting patched up.

"Thanks Hank." You say as you hop off the table. You decline any help getting to your room and awkwardly walk to the doors. To your surprise, Logan stands right outside of them. Arms crossed a really pissed off look on his face. 

"Logan, always a pleasure." You flash a smile and he rolls his eyes. He stalks after you as you walk slowly to the elevator. 

"Did Charles send you to check up on me or something because I'm really not in the mood." 

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He snarls. He slams his hand on a button and the elevator stops.

 "Logan I really want to go to bed." You groan as you try to push past him but to no avail. It was like a brick wall.

 "No, you're going to shut up and listen. I don't know what compels you to be so incredibly stupid but you need to fucking quit it." You shrink under his harsh words.

 "I've seen people like you before, always trying to play hero. You're reckless. Putting yourself into danger so you can be the one to save the day." You let him rip into you. Not speaking a word he slams his hand on the button and the elevator moves again.

 "Nothing to say?" He rolls his eyes and storms out of the elevator. 

"I'm sorry." You whisper to no one as the elevator doors close on you.

No one sees you for a while. You stay locked up in your room. Not even coming out for food. Every day some student brings food to your door and leaves it there. You wonder who told them to do that. Jean maybe, probably 'Ro. 

Sometimes you take it just so they don't worry but other times you leave it there until the next plate comes. You spend your day staring at the ceiling or sleeping. Sometimes though you're too tired to sleep. Does it make sense? No but it's how you feel. Logan's words replaying in your head.

If Beast and Scott were like family, Logan was something more. As much as you tried to hide it your feelings had changed, evolved from friendly into something more. You cared so much about what he thinks of you even when you don’t want to. You can’t help it. 

So his words cut deeper than anyone else's. You aren't trying to be a hero or take the glory. But maybe you are? Maybe you want that love and recognition from people, from him. Does it matter though? What your intentions were?

Apparently, you come across as an egotistical reckless person with a hero complex. It's not like that. You argue with yourself about it all the time. Shifting from hero to villain in an instant. You're selfish. You do it for attention. 

No wonder he thinks that way. Does everyone else think so too? But you care. You're an X-men but you aren't one of the X-men. You're not the one people think of when they come to save the day and you're okay with that. Your expendable. Better you than them. Right? You've hurt people in your past. You aren't worthy of this life. This family. You need to prove yourself. Sacrifice yourself if needed.

The spiral won't stop. It never. Stops. You can't get it to stop. You just want peace. Just one day where you don't wake up and feel guilt in everything you do. A loud knock on your door rings through your room but you don't move. 

"Hey." It's Logan. What is he doing here?

 "Look I uh, I shouldn't have snapped at you. The other day." You can tell he's struggling to get his thoughts out. Not that he didn't want to do it, he just didn't know how.

 "I was angry." He waits a few moments and you hear a frustrated growl. 

"Come on firefly, you've been holed up here long enough." You roll onto your side to face the door. Looking at his shoes through the small crack in the bottom. He's pacing.

 "Seriously I-er We're getting worried alright?" You don't catch the slip of his tongue. Too wrapped up feeling guilty. Again. Guilty for hurting your team, for not understanding what was wrong with you. Guilty for even feeling this way in the first place. 

"I thought you should know that Remy's making your favorite dinner." You hear him sigh and walk away. More guilt creeps up on you. You're making everyone worry about you.

 You're being selfish, just pull it together. Beating yourself up over and over again. As the sun goes down the smell of dinner wafts through your room. It doesn't normally do that so you suspect someone is trying to lure you out. Enough of this.

You get up and change your clothes. You stop and look in the mirror, trying to put on your best smile. You don't look very convincing but it should be fine. Peeking your head out you hear a lot of voices coming from the kitchen. You quietly walk into the doorway.

It takes a second but someone notices you and then everyone does. The talking dies down as they just stare at you. It's really uncomfortable. You feel terrible for making them worry. You don't deserve to be worried about like this.

 "All this for me?" You joke and thankfully the room grows louder again.

You say hi to some of the people who come up to you. A plate is placed in front of you and you graciously accept it. Looking across the room you can see Logan staring at you. He's silent but watching your every move. 

"So how's recovery coming? You've been taking bed rest pretty seriously." Scott says with a smile.

You know he doesn't mean anything by it but for some reason, it stings. Like you've been lazy or something. You're a mutant. Recovery shouldn't take this long. You're not putting in the work. You're wasting your time. You don't get to rest. 

"Hey? Firefly?" You snap out of it and put on a smile.

 "Going great, it's nice being able to sleep without interruption." People seem to accept that answer and the conversation moves on.

You pick at your food, moving it around your plate and chopping it up but never putting it in your mouth. It's your favorite meal but you just, can't bring yourself to eat it right now.

The room is so full of talking and laughter but for some reason, you feel a million years away. Like you're lonely. Really, really lonely. How can that even be? To feel so alone while being surrounded by so many people. 

As dinner wraps up you quietly slip out. Sneaking out to the gardens instead. It's cold and you have no coat but you don't care. Some fresh air is what you need. Maybe the trees can tell you what's wrong with you. You find a small bench and sit down.

The stars shine so nicely tonight. You wonder what it'd be like to be a star. If it's freeing to be up so high. Or is it lonely? To lack the warmth of the sun and be a million light years away from each other. 

"What are you doing out here?" Logan stands in front of you. You hadn't even noticed him. 

"Nothing." He lights a cigar and takes a seat next to you. His legs spread out, knocking his knees into yours. 

"So you wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"What are you talking about?" You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hide away. 

"You may have fooled everyone else but I know somethings going on in that head of yours." You just shrug. 

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Logan scoffs. You watch the soft glow of cigar ash tumble to the ground.

The light dies out as it hits the cold cement. He wants to help, or at least he wants to listen. For some reason, you can't get the words you. Anger replaces any rational thought. You want him to leave, to not care so damn much.

"Why do you even care? Last time I checked you don't do these heart to hearts." You snap.

The cold air bites your face and you shiver. Your nails scratch down your arms harshly. The slight stinging soothes you in some fucked up way. Logan notices and grabs onto your hand. Taking it and holding it in his warm one. 

"Just leave me alone Logan." You try taking your hand away but he won't let you.

"No. You're right I don't do the sappy shit but this is different. It's more than you're letting on." You feel a pit forming in your stomach.

Everything in your body screams for you to run. To hide and put up your walls and ignore this ever happened. But then you look into his pretty hazel eyes. The rough and tough Wolverine was silently begging you to stay. To talk to him. 

"I don't try to be a hero, It's not a hero complex, or a savior complex or whatever you want to call it." His thumb rubs over your hand as you talk. He wants to butt in but he lets you talk.

 "I don't know. It's a lot. What goes on in my head." You start to count the blades of grass that you can see. Anything to keep you from breaking down. 

"I don't care if I get hurt if I'm helping people. I just. It's how I help. My life is worth saving people. Saving you guys. I don't care if..." You trail off. You can't get the words right.

 "You don't care if you die." Logan finishes. He swallows harshly. It breaks his heart to hear but that small part of him understands. More than you’ll ever know. 

 "Kind of. It's complicated alright? I'm not actively trying to die but...Look I don't think I deserve this life sometimes. I've caused a lot of hurt and I've lost so many people." Logan reaches up and wipes away a tear.

There's a lot of pain that sits with a lifetime of trauma. Pain that you've chosen to ignore over and over again. Burying it until you've convinced yourself this is what life is like. What you deserve. 

"It's stupid right? There's so much that I should be grateful for. What right do I have to complain about?"

 "You're a mutant, your life hasn't been easy." 

"Yeah I guess." Logan doesn't let go of your hand. He holds it, squeezes it. Its warm and fits perfectly with yours. 

"Life sucks, a lot. Trust me I understand. It's like the days blend together right? There's this massive hole that just seems to get bigger. You can stuff it with things, try and close it up or even pretend it never exists. But it never goes away." Logan says.

He understands because he feels the same way. Maybe not exactly how you feel but he knows what its like. To have this, hatred for yourself grow and fester until you can't breathe. You convince yourself that nothings going to change so why even bother? 

"I just want it to go away." You whisper sadly. 

"It will, we're tough. We survive."

"What if I'm tired of surviving? What if I don't want to be strong anymore?" You confess. You feel like you have to be strong all the time and it weighs you down like bricks. You're drowning. 

"That's okay, you come to me and I'll carry what you can't." He pulls you in closer and you bury your face in his neck. He's warm, protecting you from the chill.

 "Just please, promise me no more heroics on missions okay?" He mumbles. 

You scared the shit out of him. You were bleeding and in so much pain. You couldn't even register that it was his hands on your face. That he carried you to the jet and held you while you went in and out of consciousness. He stayed by your side until you got back. He disappeared to the background as Scott took you to the lab. His worry and fear of losing you turning to anger. Wondering why you continue to put yourself in danger.

 "Okay." You lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

"Logan, Can I ask why you're out here? How did you even notice something was wrong?" It's not that you weren't friends, in fact you were closer than most. But Logan isn't really the best with this kind of thing. Yet somehow, he always knows what to say.

"You mean a lot to me firefly..."

He could tell you that he loves you right here and now. Tell you that you're everything to him. How he's fallen in love with you over the years. But he keeps it inside. It's not the right time. Sometimes love isn't enough to get better and he knows that there's work to be done. He doesn't want to put this pressure on you to get better for him. He wants you to get better for yourself. He'll be by your side for the whole thing though. He won't let you spiral as long as he's there. 

"You mean a lot to me too Logan." You smile, a real one this time. He caresses your face, tilting your head as his lips kiss your forehead. You giggle as beard tickles your skin.

 "There's that sweet sound," He hums. He takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulders. The worn leather smells like him.

 "You really think things get better?" You ask as you link your hand with his. He doesn't answer right away. He'd be a hypocrite to preach that everything's fine and dandy all the time. Sometimes he doesn't believe it himself. But he keeps going, every day. Just as you do. 

"Yeah I do, I don't know when. But someday it will." You nod and rest your head on his shoulder. It might take a long time until you truly feel better but you can keep going. Waking up and living.

With a hope, no a belief, that someday. It will get better. 

[hazzashouse]

Through the Darkness (Harry Styles one shot)

This topic is incredibly important to me. If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, please know you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to someone you trust—a friend, a family member, or a professional. You are not alone, and you are loved. There is strength in asking for support, and there are people who want to be there for you. You are never alone.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Triggers: Depression, anxiety, emotional distress, mentions of isolation, self-doubt, and heavy themes of mental health struggles. Please read with care.

The world outside your apartment window was cold and colorless, mirroring the ache in your chest. Days blurred into nights, the sun rising and setting without your notice. It had been weeks since you last stepped outside for more than a grocery run. Even then, the strain of smiling at the cashier left you drained for days.

The depression you thought you’d left behind had returned, a familiar weight pressing against your chest, heavy and relentless. It was worse this time because it felt like failure. You’d been doing so well—hadn’t you? Harry had told you how proud he was. Your friends had said you seemed lighter. And now, here you were again, feeling like a burden to everyone you loved.

Harry was away on tour, as he always was this time of year. The texts and calls were there, of course. But you hadn’t told him. You couldn’t. His life was busy, full of flashing lights and cheering crowds, and you couldn’t bear to drag him into the shadows with you. He didn’t need that—not when he was living his dream.

So you suffered in silence, telling yourself you’d find your way out. Except, you didn’t.

Your best friend, Emily, was the first to notice. She’d stopped by unexpectedly, armed with a smile and coffee. You hadn’t answered her texts for days, and she’d decided to check in. When you opened the door, she froze, her face dropping.

“Hey…” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “What’s going on, babe?”

You didn’t have the energy to lie.

Emily took one look at the unwashed dishes, the unopened curtains, and the dark circles under your eyes and immediately understood. She’d seen this before.

“Oh, love,” she murmured, pulling you into a hug. The warmth of her arms broke something inside you, and the tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

Emily didn’t leave that night. She made you tea, coaxed you into eating something, and stayed until you fell asleep. The next morning, she tried to talk to you about reaching out to Harry.

“He’ll want to know,” she said gently. “He loves you. You know he’d drop everything.”

But you shook your head. “I don’t want to ruin his tour. He’s happy.”

Emily sighed but didn’t push. Instead, when you weren’t looking, she sent Harry a message herself:

Hey, I know you’re busy, but she’s struggling again. She didn’t want me to tell you, but I think you should know. Call me when you can.

Harry didn’t see the text until hours later. His phone had been in the dressing room while he performed to a sold-out crowd. When the show ended and he finally unlocked it, Emily’s message was waiting.

He read it twice before his heart sank.

————————

Harry’s decision to leave wasn’t even a question. His team tried to reason with him, suggesting he finish the next two shows before taking a break, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “She needs me. She’s more important than any of this.”

————————

The sound of a key in the lock woke you from a restless sleep. You sat up, your heart pounding as the door creaked open. When Harry’s familiar figure appeared, relief and guilt warred inside you.

“Harry?” Your voice cracked.

He didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room in a few strides and pulled you into his arms. His chest rose and fell against yours, and you realized he was trembling.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m here.”

You didn’t mean to cry, but his presence—his warmth, his steady heartbeat—was the comfort you hadn’t known you needed.

Harry didn’t try to fix you. He knew better than that. Instead, he stayed close, quietly reminding you of his love in the small ways that mattered most.

He opened the curtains one morning and sat with you on the couch, not saying a word as you watched the sunlight pour in.

He ran a bath for you, adding your favorite lavender oil, and sat outside the door in case you needed him.

He cooked meals you didn’t have the energy to eat but never made you feel guilty for it.

On the hardest days, when leaving the bed felt impossible, he stayed with you, holding your hand as if anchoring you to the world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told you one night, his voice steady. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m here.”

Slowly, the darkness began to lift. Harry’s patience, his unwavering support, created space for you to breathe again. He reminded you of the things you loved—the music you used to listen to, the books you hadn’t touched in months, the way your laughter used to fill the room.

It wasn’t easy, and there were setbacks. But with Harry by your side, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d be okay.

One afternoon, as you sat together on the couch, you looked at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his green eyes soft.

“For loving me. For staying.”

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

And in that moment, you knew it was true.

————————

like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[777rare]

FAME AFTER DEATH...

Leaving behind A legacy...

ASTROLOGY ANALYSIS [pt.I]

People who can't ever be forgotten easily after their death and are remembered throughout generations...

THESE NOTES ARE ONLY A STUDY OF MINE AND HAS/HAS NOT BEEN PROVEN YET, SO IF IT DOES NOT RESONATE WITH YOU, FORGIVE ME AS IT WAS ONLY A STUDY/OBSERVATION OF MINE.

I DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY OR REWORD ANY OF MY FELLOW ASTROLOGY OBSERVERS POSTS AND I DEMAND THE SAME IN RETURN.

!Trigger Warning! There is Mentioning of sensitive topics such as de@th, the way a person died, etc so please don't read what you cannot endure.

If you are a person who gets easily triggered please first understand that just because this celebrity has the same placement as you do, does not have to mean you will face the same demise. Other aspects and placements play a major role as well.

I have noticed similar placements in the charts of legendary people who are recognised by the massive population of the globe, no matter how many generations pass. I will go through each one of them one by one.

Mainly I have noticed how every single celebrity who is remembered for a very very long time, even for generations together have:

• True node in 5th house,8th house or 12th house and varuna and/or fama in the 8th,12th or 5th house.

• Even True node and varuna and/or fama in the degrees 0°, 17°,29°, 11°, 22° can indicate being famous and recognise for ages and generations.

• Varuna in the 4rth house makes one famous after his/her death. Why? This is because the 4rth house does not only rule the home, the mother, our mind, family, etc.

The 4rth house is also the grave, the cellar, the basement, the crypt. I read about the more deeper parts of the 4rth house once and understood that because this house is at the lowest point in the chart, this house rules everything deep and underground as well.

This house is all about the memories, the ghosts, the private things, etc. So a person having this also become widely famous after his/her death. I've noticed that the people having Varuna in the 4rth and Pluto in the 8th with vertex is very much famous for the way they died or their defeat and also their secrets being revealed after their death.

✓ 5° is well known for giving short lasting fame whereas 0°,17°, 29°, 11°, 22° show long lasting impact and fame.

EXAMPLES:

1. ABRAHAM LINCOLN

• Abraham Lincoln, the 16th U.S President, is famous for his achievements in political areas but the way he faced his death is most famous world wide.

✓ Abraham Lincoln had his ascendant sign in 22° which is seen in the charts of many legends, because the degrees 0°, 22° and 11° are known as the degrees of the 'chosen ones'. He did have a great impact in history.

✓ He has his True Node in the 8th house which resulted in his lasting recognition even after his death.

✓ He also has Varuna in the 8th house conjunct with Mars. Now usually,I've observed that Mars, Pluto or Uranus in this house had given many famous legends either a painful or unexpected death. Abraham Lincoln died of assassination in a theatre. Again, he is known world wide for the way he died more than his achievements.

✓Also, I've observed that Uranus (also at times, Pluto or Neptune) in the 8th house also gave certain legends a sudden death, it was unexpected or was not seen coming. Even Abraham Lincoln had this placement (Uranus in the 8th house).

2. FRIDA KAHLO

• Frida Kahlo, a Mexican painter is widely known for her many self-portraits and gained world wide recognition for her work mainly after her demise.

✓Frida Kahlo had her Varuna in 29° which gave way for lasting fame throughout decades. Also, this asteroid being in the sign of Aquarius did result in her massive online presence where people still talk about her work and her unique art.

✓Her True node is conjunct Jupiter in the 12th house which once again, resulted in her massive recognition after her demise.

✓Saturn in pisces in the 8th house resulted in, according to reports, her death caused by the overdose of a drug, suicide or pulmonary embolism (blood continuously clotting which causes great harm to the body). Not sure what was the real cause but I do know that it was related to water in her body and Saturn being the reason for the clotting and making her body parts struggle to function well.

✓Her death is also mysterious because she had Cancer in the 12th and like I said before the 4rth house is also what's hidden deep underground..unclear information. And also her 8th house rulers in the chart (pisces=jupiter and neptune) were both in the 12th house, making her death a mystery again and not so clear.

[No wonder we are always told by our parents never to talk to anyone about personal family matters because it is one that should remain hidden as people can use that to their advantage in many ways (for the 4rth house)].

✓How could I forget? She is also a Leo ascendant native which is why she had gotten fame and recognition, even if it was mainly after her demise.

3. GAUTAMA BUDDHA (THE BUDDHA)

•Gautama Buddha, also known as 'The Buddha', is widely recognised and praised as the founder of Buddhism and The greatest Buddhist monk.

✓Again, Gautama Buddha is a Leo ascendant native which gave way for fame and recognition. Now his ascendant sign is in 4° which is Moon being in the 4rth house. The 4rth house like I mentioned before is the house of deeper areas like the grave, the cellar, etc. This is one more reason his massive fame could've spread even more than before after his demise.

✓ The Buddha, the great philosopher and Buddhist monk, has his True node in 0° in the 12th house which indicates having a lasting impact on several generations even after his death.

✓He also has Jupiter conjunct fama in the 8th house which again indicates his infinitely expanded fame, being world wide after his death.

✓His Varuna is conjunct Neptune in the 6th house which makes so much sense because Neptune is the original ruler of the 12th house, being the house of deep knowledge and spiritual awakening so he will be widely recognised for his spiritual awakening and his spiritual way of living, the way he served people and lived a very deeply spiritual life. 'The Buddha' literally means or translates to 'The awakened one'.

✓He also had Pluto in the 8th house and his death was not a long gradual process or took a long time. He ate something that made him ill and his death was not expected out of it but again because Pluto is here, the way he died is often made up of a lot of beliefs than truths.

I have observed that when Pluto sits in the 8th or 12th house, a persons death, cause of death or reason why she/he was killed (if he/she was) becomes more of a mystery. It is not exactly clear and people often just speculate on it with theories and beliefs.

✓The way The Buddha died is also very famous because of how unique it was to many due to many beliefs about his death being very spiritual among his followers. He again had pisces in the 8th house which resulted in an illness or problems with digestion.

✓He also had vesta asteroid in this house in pisces which indicates a very spiritual death. It is believed that He decided his time of death.

This is Random but The Buddha had his Moon in the 4rth house which made him a 'Mommas boy', aww. Lol. I mean, yes, we can see based on history that he lost his original mother, Maya devi, but he still loved and valued his foster mother and maternal-aunt, Mahapajapati Gotami.

4. PRINCESS DIANA

• Princess Diana, a member of the British royal family, was the first wife of Charles III (then Prince of Wales) and mother of Princes William and Harry. She was widely recognised and adored by the world for her activism and glamour.

✓Princess Diana had her True node in Leo in the 11th house which first of all results in her massive popularity internationally and her being an internet sensation for the longest period of time.

✓Princess Diana also has her Varuna in the 8th house conjunct Venus and hence she will always remain this beautiful glamourous icon for a very very very long time moving forward after her death.

>Princess Diana is still widely recognised as this natural queen who lived by her own rules (especially during that 'revenge dress' incident👇)

and seemed to not fit in well in the royal family of Britain. This is definitely the effect of True node conjunct Uranus in the 11th house. Like I mentioned in my previous post, natives having True node conjunct Uranus are very free spirited people and are hard to tie down.

>Her True node conjunct Mars in the 11th house also definitely was the reason she was such an active social activist who provided major support for those who needed help.

She was one of major reasons why the world became more aware of such rising health issues at that time, hence she's recognised world wide for her efforts.

>Since Mars is conjunct True node she was and is still widely famous for the controversies surrounding her life and her death. She is still widely discussed for the drama in her life and how she was treated very unfairly in the family and how so much of unjustifiable actions were taken against her in the royal family.

Her death is still considered a huge controversy and mystery even though most people are certain that she was murdered by the royal family. (Mars and Pluto in the 12th)

THE ASTEROIDS MENTIONED ABOVE: FAMA(408) and VARUNA(20000)

That's it for today everyone!

I hope you enjoyed reading through this post.

A part 2,3 and probably even more will be coming where I'll be analyzing legendary icons charts like:

Bruce Lee, Marilyn Monroe, Michael Jackson, Nikola Tesla, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, Adolf Hitler, Steve Jobs, Elvis Presley, and so many more!

So I hope you stick around for more, and I hope you have a great day ahead!💖

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

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 ❤️

After you clean up the mess, you stay in your office. Bucky is stubborn. He's not going to run away. No, you hear him searching the house for what doesn't exist.

You finish the panels. You don't feel accomplished. You shut off your tablet but linger at your desk. You find some courage and get up.

You go into the kitchen quietly and do your best not to make noise. It doesn't matter, you know he can hear you. You take out the steak and rub some spice into it. It's easier than the marinade.

You set to quartering potatoes for a max, the starch sticking to your skin. You rinse off and check the green beans. They'll do.

"Is that your apology?" Bucky asks.

You dump the potatoes from the cutting board to the boiling water. You set the board down and face him. You frown.

"You really believe it?" You murmur.

"I don't know what to believe," he tilts his head, leaning on the door frame, a hand on his hip.

Your cheek twitches and you touch it, stilling the nervous tic. You repeal your hand and hide it behind you.

"I didn't. I know you know I'm telling the truth. You can hear it." 

He narrows his eyes, "maybe you didn't follow through, but you know, going out, flirting, it's all the same--"

"I wasn't flirting," you insist. "I'm not that type. Bucky," you set your feet. "Shouldn't I be mad you ignored my calls?"

"While I'm out there fighting off the bad guys? I can't always get to the phone," he struts across the kitchen.

"You could text me between all that," you insist.

"Got a lot on my mind when I'm out there. Now I'm gonna be worried about you and the bike jockey--"

"Really?" You grimace.

"I married you for a reason, didn't I? Why wouldn't another guy try it? Seeing you without your ring on..."

"I told you, I forgot."

"Yeah, forgot about me," he accuses.

You shake your head. You show your palms in exasperation and turn away. There's nothing you can say, nothing but what he wants to hear.

"I'm sorry about the rings. I really am. It wasn't on purpose but I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I didn't kiss you, I'm sorry I'm out of it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm... sorry I'm not good enough," You drop your arms and shrug. "I'm sorry I'm not patient or strong."

You turn your back to him and grab a wooden spoon to stir the potatoes. He sighs. It blows over you like a winter draft.

"I never said any of that--"

"You accused me of cheating," you tense. "You thought all of it."

"Christ, I'm trying to talk to you."

"Then say it, Bucky. Say what you want from me because I can't read your mind," you put the spoon down and grab the waiting skillet. "I haven't talked to you in over a month and I'm supposed to just act like nothing. I'm supposed to be okay." You slam the pan down, "I'm not okay."

"Baby--"

"Don't baby, me," you warn as you move down the counter to toss the beans in seasoning.

He nears and you go rigid. You ignore him as he gets close. He stretches his arm past you and grips the counter. He pushes himself against your back.

He nuzzles the back of your head, "I missed you. I really did. Can you blame me for getting... jealous? I got the greatest gal in the world waiting for me and I come back to see her with another guy--"

"I wasn't with him," you drone.

"Please, I'm sorry," he coaxes as his breath puffs over your scalp.

You inhale and stare at the wall, "for what?"

"For... for hurting you."

"How?" You rasp. "Tell me how you hurt me."

"Why are you doing this? I'm apologising," he clucks.

You frown, "alright, Bucky. I gotta finish up here."

He's quiet. He drags his hands off the counter and grips your hips. You wince and stop him, wavering on your feet.

"It's just nice to touch you," he growls.

"Bucky," you cringe as he kneads the extra flesh.

"You feel so good," he pushes against your ass.

"I can't. The potatoes," you shove his wrists.

"Let them burn," he slithers.

There's something there. That flicker inside. The one that wants him. It's dulled by the thought of him seeing you. The reality of what you've become. The idea of him seeing all of you makes you sick.

"That's..." you touch his hand. "Let me," you face him and force a smile. "Alright?"

"Baby, I wanna--"

"Shhh," you press a finger to his lips. His eyes flash. How can he look at you like that? Like you're not repulsive.

Because it's been a month. Because he's desperate. It's not you he wants, he just needs relief.

You slip your hand to his chest, your other along his pants. You taste pile as you unzip him. He shivers. You push your hand down his boxers and grip him. He squeezes your hip and grabs your head. He pulls you closer and presses his lips to your forehead.

He puffs as you stroke him. You stare at the top of his chest. 

It doesn't take long. He quakes and grunts, and spills inside his pants. It spears onto your fingers and palm. 

You pull your hand free as he cups your chin. He brings your head up and kisses you on the lips. You move your mouth with his, mimicking him, and he hums.

He parts and smiles. He pets your cheek and clears his throat as he backs away. You quickly turn away, your hand growing sticky.

"So, I'll finish dinner..." you say as you wash him off.

"I'm more concerned with dessert," he chuckles.

You wonder if he can hear your disgust. Not with him, but yourself. Can he sense your apathy even? Does he care? Why should he? He always gets what he wants.

[amberjazmyn]

so much blood 💔

pairing : daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

summary : daniel's wife, alessandra, at a grand prix, suffers from an awfully traumatic late misarriage at five months, right at the 24-week mark where it's considered a stillbirth. the ricciardo's had been trying for children for ages when she miscarries their baby in the bathroom after bleeding profusely before the wags find her. 

warnings :  mentions of miscarriage, blood, tears, hospital, angst, infertility

a/n :  i have already written this multiple times and now i wanted to write it for danny ric. unlike the character in this one-shot, i have never (thankfully) experienced a miscarriage/ectopic pregnancy/ stillbirth etc, however, i do know people who have gone through that and it's soul-destroying. however, this does not mean by any means that i am glorifying or positively promoting the physical and mental tolls that miscarriages have on families as it is awful and very traumatizing. this is just a thing of fiction that i have written with no intentional means to harm anyone. this will also be in lowercase because i just feel like it will set the tone if it's written in all lowercase

attending grand prix's with the rest of the f1 grid was most probably alessandra ricciardo's, the wife of daniel ricciardo, favourite thing to do. especially now that she was carrying the beautiful baby that was going to be her and daniel's future baby and that was what made the australian grand prix all the more special for everyone. however, recently, alessandra had been having some painful and strange cramp-like pains in her stomach and back however, she had just been disregarding them because she didn't want to put more fuel in the fire of her fears of having a potential miscarriage coming true. and besides, the pains hadn't been too extreme that it required looking into so, alessandra just didn't think to mention it to her midwife. especially considering if this baby was to miscarry, it wouldn't be alessandra's first one either. it wasn't new news that the ricciardo's had been trying for ages, since their wedding in 2012, to be parents and everytime they did try, it would always end in heartbreak so, after that, alessandra promised herself and daniel that she'd never ever try to fall pregnant again. that was, however, until they stopped actively trying and one day that alessandra felt similar symptoms, she decided to take a pregnancy test just in case. and it came out positive which brought alessandra and daniel so much excitement that maybe all they had to do was just to not try so hard. all alessandra wanted for years was to manifest a positive, healthy, stress-free pregnancy for herself and her husband. and, as of right now, it seemed as if everything in alessandra's pregnancy was going exceptionally for her now that she had finally reached the fifth month and didn't pursue the same symptoms that she did when she'd never get past the actual pregnancy test saying anything but negative. and, to be completely honest, that knowledge that alessandra had healthily made it to the five-month mark in this pregnancy after so many negative and infertility issues just this past week gave her so much comfort and solace. because it meant that she really was going to be able to give her husband everything he had ever dreamt to have and that was to have a child with the love of his life. 

whilst alessandra, the wags, alexandra, kelly, carola, francisca and daniel's sister michelle were on their way to the garages where they were going to be watching their drivers. but, it was on their walk to their separate garages that they couldn't help but bring up the conversation of baby ricciardo and whether or not they had come up with names just yet.

"---so, whilst you look divine being pregnant, alessandra, have you guys come up with names for baby ric yet?" carola, checo's wife asks as alessandra giggled whilst alex, francisca, kelly and sister-in-law michelle smiled at each other as alessandra rubbed the tiny five-month bump

"uhh, nah, not really. i don't think we're personally focused on names just yet. i mean, i know i'm not, i of course, can't say the same about daniel but, all i know is that scotty and his girl know the gender so, i think that's what we're waiting for," alessandra spoke before the girls smiled, their eyes all focusing and sparkling at the baby bump 

"yeah, i think soctty's actually told me a couple of names he had been thinking about but, for now i think we're still calling the little cherub baby ric," michelle, daniel's sister chuckled as the other girls nod their heads and smile brightly as kelly speaks up 

"well, aless, no matter what gender baby ric is going to be, you and daniel will for sure come up with a beautiful name anyway," kelly coos as she rubbed her warm hand across alessandra's stomach, making the pregnant girl giggle softly due to the tickly sensation it gave her 

however though, maybe the amount of laughter she and the others were doing was not the smartest. a large shot of sharp pain sent shockwaves through the mother's entire body as if it was a giant period cramp. along with the strange feeling of nausea, which alessandra had not once been experiencing, she quickly and quietly excused herself from the wags and sister-in-law to the bathroom just outside of the backstage wings which was the accessible toilet, the only one that alessandra could use. 

💮

"...welcome to the australian grand prix, everyone! for our pre-race interviews, we have one of the australian greats, mr daniel ricciardo with us! hello daniel!" martin brundle and david crofty were interviewing the racers before the race, and it was currently daniel's interview

"hello martin and crofty! what a lovely little intro there, mate! how are we?" daniel smiles his signature smile and laugh as the two interviewers can't help but smile as well

"we're very well, thank you daniel! and we're glad you're doing well too. before we get into our interview questions about the race today, it's an even more special grand prix today isn't it but for different reasons, correct?" crofty asks this time as daniel nods his head - this was the first grand prix in a while that both ricciardo's were attending together

"yes, that is very true, crofty. this is an even more special grand prix for me today. even though home races are special, it's even more special for me this time because my beautiful wife, alessandra, is with me today which has been a long time coming..." daniel trails off, not wanting to blurt out the news straight away

"...it has been a long time coming, we've all missed seeing the lovely mrs alessandra ricciardo in the paddock! and now she's back, is it true that maybe, just maybe, there's some news you'd like to share with us before we go any further?" martin asks as daniel chuckles at the interviewers - and thankfully, he had been given permission by his wife to announce it

"yes, there is some news and that news is that alessandra and i are having a baby!" daniel announces as crofty and martin smile sweetly at the driver as they then see alessandra and give her a wave

"wow, that is amazing news! congratulations daniel and to alessandra as well! we had heard you guys had been trying to get pregnant for a while, correct?" crofty asks, the two interviewers no longer caring about the actual interview - they just wanted to hear more about baby ric

"yeah, correct. me and alessandra had been trying for what felt like forever and now, we've finally gotten pregnant which is exciting and we cannot wait to meet the little ric!" daniel giggles, his smile covering his entire face as martin and crofty share similar smiles on their own faces

then, the interview actually begun properly and daniel started getting asked the proper questions about the race. how he felt about it, whether or not he had trust and confidence that he'd do well. all that sort of stuff that was normally asked during a pre-race interview. alessandra watching in pure joy at the joy that stayed on her husband's face the entire interview after announcing their pregnancy. who wouldn't feel like that. alessandra for sure felt like she was on cloud nine over the child she would be giving birth to. however, throughout daniel's interview and the happiness of the baby announcement, fear started to spread through the paddock as michelle and kelly ran through the paddock to find someone from daniel's team so they could tell them that daniel was urgently needed at the garages in the paddock. 

the crowd enjoyed every moment of the first half of daniel's interview with martin and crofty until a member of vcarb ran up onto the mini stage, making the crowd in the stands make noises of confusion. smiling as best as he could and waving to the fans, the vcarb staff member made a beeline straight to daniel. grabbing his arm and pulling him closer to his side, daniel lowered his microphone, and the member started whispering something into daniel's ear so it wasn't heard by anyone else. which, for some strange reason made the crowd scream even louder. martin and crofty, with confused faces watched on as the duration of their interivew with daniel was starting to finish. but they still tried to keep the energy up from earlier by mumbling some crazy things under their breaths to keep the audience occupied. their faces of confusion turning into looks of concern as within seconds, daniel's face ran cold and paled, his head shooting up towards the vcarb staff.

dropping his microphone to the floor, originally meant for the makeshift table, daniel wasted no time in dashing off the stage in a flash of light. barely tilting his head at martin and crofty before leaving without even saying a word. the vcarb staff giving an apologetic look to the men before giving them looks of "it will be explained later".

martin then spoke up, "we are so sorry guys. everything right now is fine, daniel ricciardo driver of vcarb just needs to take care of something right now that has been classified as an emergency by his team. as of right now, crofty and i assure everyone that everything is okay and all parties involved are okay. we are not entirely sure when daniel will return for his interview but that's not important right now. so, we will just move on to our next interview whilst daniel takes care of what's happening out in the paddock," martin announces as crofty nods his head and they begin the attempt of continuing their pre-race interviews with the drivers

at hearing this announcement, the crowd, whilst shrouded in worry, still erupt into cheers as martin and crofty continue as best as they can. not even able to imagine in their heads of what the emergency that was going on in the paddock that had daniel sprinting over. and it wasn't like it was the first time that f1 commentators had to commentate and conduct interviews whilst tragedy's occur

💮

bursting out of the paddock and through the garages and hospitality rooms, not even paying attention to who may have been trying to calmly walk past doing their job, daniel demanded answers as to what was going on, especially due to the fact it was in regards to his wife, alessandra. then, suddenly, the only thing that rang through his ears was the sound of alessandra's screams and cries of desperation. 

kelly and now daniel's sister michelle were on the ground, desperately trying to coax alessandra to open the bathroom door but, not one single thing they were saying made the poor girl open the door.

standing straight off the floor the second the two girls saw daniel, kelly spoke up, "she's been there for fifteen to twenty minutes, michelle's made the call to 000, any minute they should be arriving," kelly was updating daniel, well, trying to as it seemed as if daniel was too fixated on trying to figure it out himself 

"what even happened?" daniel's usual calm tone of voice came out shakier, moving his ear to the door to see if he could figure out what was wrong, the things he heard was alessandra repeatedly saying "no" as she wept and let out small rounds of screeches to herself 

out of breath, with the same vcarb staff and the ricciardos' mum right beside her, francisca mumbled, "she still hasn't opened the door?" as kelly and michelle shook their heads as the vcarb staff and grace turned their attention to daniel who was looking for answers, which kelly gave to him 

"in all honesty daniel, we have no idea what exactly happened," kelly shrugged sadly, wishing she did know so she could help her best friends, "we were all having a sweet, nice conversation about baby ric and names and just having a right old laugh when alessandra just suddenly got up and excused hersel to the bathroom without another word. then, after it had been about four minutes, i got worried since she never spends longer than a minute in there when just before i could even knock on the door, i just heard her scream. she refuses to open the door for any of us, that was until i told your sister who ran over to grab someone from vcarb to grab you and then grace, so, sorry for having to grab you from your interview but, maybe, for you, danny, she'll open it?" 

daniel shook his head at kelly's apology for making him leave the stage during an interview with brundle and crofty as he took in a deep breath before leaning his forhead against the metallic, cold bathroom door, "aless? babe, it's just me, could you please open the door?" 

no response. not even a noise of acknowledgement. 

breathing in again, daniel tried a second time, "alessandra, please, can you open the door for me?" he tried to keep his voice as calm as he could but, how could he? his wife was potentially injured whilst pregnant with their baby and he had no clue what to do to help her 

a few seconds went past of pure silence that really worried the group, and made them hold their breath until a shaky, wet breath was heard on the other side of the door, "i...i can't daniel, please, go...go away! there's...there's so...so mu...much!" the girl sobbed out in utter terror and distress, her vocal cords breaking 

daniel tried his hardest to not curse, both under his breath and loudly. deciding to try again, he knew he needed to get to his wife and see what was wrong so he could help her, "babe, aless, if you're near the door, you need to move back," once again, no response from alessandra suggesting that she had moved away from the door 

then, taking the slim chance that he was right and his wife did move out of the way, as his sister, mum, kelly, francisca and vcarb staff watched on in fear, daniel jutted his right foot towards the bathroom door, his boot kicking it open completely. flying open immediately, the door revealed a scene that was beyond anything that everyone had imagined they'd be seeing. well, in all honesty, they had no clue whatsoever as to what they expected to see behind that bathroom door but, it certainly didn't involve all of this blood.

blood was absolutely everywhere, not only was alessandra surrounded and somehow sitting in it, there was blood all over her arms and some in her hair, legs and face due to her most likely panicking and hugging herself to self-regulate and comfort herself into a calm enough state. with no care in the world for his paddock outfit, only stripping off the first layer that he was wearing, and throwing out everything in his pockets chucking them aimlessly at vcarb staff, who caught them, the only thing that clicked into daniel's brain was to comfort his wife. dropping to his knees, he messily slid over through the blood and to the toilet bowl where alessandra was resting, her body rocking with sobs as he pulled her in for a hug, blood being transferred from her to him in an instant. her hands rested at her side limply, her chin resting on daniel's shoulder as her sobs shook both of their bodies. daniel was mortified, i mean, he had no idea that someone so small and petite as his wife could have this much blood rush out of them. esepecially when she's currently pregnant. 

"i'm so sorry dan," alessandra whispered out ever so quietly to the point where daniel could barely hear it, not that she needed to apologise at all anyway 

grace, michelle, vcarb staff, francisca and kelly looked in, noticing everything that had happened and instantly, tears all welled in their eyes. ushering everyone out, grace gave one last look to her son and daughter-in-law before she also left the two of them so they could have a moment alone before the paramedics arrived. 

"and why are you apologising, alessandra?" daniel whispered as he rocked his wife back and forth, kissing the side of her cheek that wasn't covered in blood, his arms wrapped securely around his distraught wife 

"baby..." was all alessandra could at first whisper, which confused daniel

"...baby? what do you mean baby, aless, what's happened, babe?" daniel pushed for some more answers as alessandra's face screwed as she closed her eyes and shook her head, tears waterfalling down her face as she refused to talk about what had just happened

daniel hugged his wife tighter, not just to comfort her but also to let her know that he wouldn't get mad or lash out over whatever it was that she wasn't telling him. even if it did have something to do their child. he just wanted to be told what had happened so he could help his wife. 

finally, with reluctance and shame for herself, alessandra once again whispered it out, "...the baby, i...i lost the baby..." no loud sobs followed from her mouth after she revealed her stillbirth as daniel felt a switch get turned off whilst another one got turned on and his eyes filled with tears 

"...oh, oh aless! i am so sorry baby!" daniel whispered as he pulled his wife closer to him, his lips smooshed against her light blonde hair as his breath hitched as he felt his own tears leave his eyes as he closed them tightly 

the husband and wife sat on the bloodied up bathroom floor for what felt like hours whilst the pre-race fun continued in and around the paddock of albert park, melbourne before paramedics ran through the hallways of the vcarb garage before reaching the ricciardo's and the rest of the wags. in a strange way, relief flooded daniel's body hearing the pitter patters of the feet rushing through the hallways towards him and his wife. subconsciously, even though he didn't know too much about first aid, he knew from the way his wife was scrunching her body up in pain that this was good timing for the paramedics to have their arrival. it looked as if the foetus was still inside of alessandra and that she'd need surgery to have it medically removed so nothing negative or dangerous would happen to alessandra like an infection. the bloody scene that the paramedics had to witness as they walked in was not a friendly shock to the system at all and it was something they could never get used to, even as veteran paramedics. seeing this much blood as a paramedic, especially if their patient is a pregnant woman, was never good news, never. 

💮

daniel picked up alessandra and placed her on the gurney, unable to move as he just stood there as the paramedics wheeled away his wife to the ambulance. the hype and excitement from the pre-race festivities inside almost teased him with the lights flashing and joyful screams as his thoughts were then interrupted by the male paramedic, "excuse me, sir, would you like to come and ride with us? i presume you're alessandra's husband?" 

turning around to face the man, daniel gulped, "umm, yes, i am alessandra's husband, daniel ricciardo but uh, no, hold on, i need to at least get changed out of my clothes and clean myself up a bit, i'll meet you guys there as soon as i can though if that's okay," 

the fifty-ish year old paramedic nodded his head, telling daniel the name of the hospital they were sending his wife to, making sure grace was going with her so she wouldn't wonder later on why she was left all alone. the ambulance then took off with his wife and mum when daniel was finally alone and he felt himself walking back inside into the vcarb garage, his brain completely turned off, having no clue what to do or what to even think at this point in time. all he could do was find himself walking back into the bloodied bathroom where he found his wife, the blood staring back at him like it was teasing him for not just his and alessandra's loss but also the rest of his family's, especially since it hadn't really been that long since they stopped actively trying for kids. and finally, the sobs he had been swallowing back for the sake of his wife just released from his body in violent convulsions, completely overwhelming him and his ability to stand. he then tried to shake, wipe and flick away the blood that was covering the majority of his body from his legs to his upper chest, not stopping until he felt himself being grabbed that he realised that for the last couple of minutes, max verstappen had been calling out his name, lando norris and carlos sainz not that far behind max. 

daniel's raw, bloodshot, puffy eyes met up with max, lando and carlos' worried ones, "...hey, daniel, hey!" 

not a second longer went by before daniel collapsed into max's slightly shorter frame and tries to quieten his painful sobs into the blonde's shirt. taken aback not just by shock but also physically, having to catch not just himself but also daniel, max doesn't hesitate to tighten his arms around the shaking, sobbing, bloodied-up daniel as he holds him tightly. encouraging the older driver to continue to cry over the emergency that still no one knew about.

"that's it daniel, yeah, ssh, that's it. let it all out buddy, it's going to be okay, you'll be fine..." 

💮

...daniel had just incoherently tried to explain to max, lando and carlos about the emergency that had happened backstage that caused him to miss the rest of his pre-race interview with brundle and crofty. with the other three struggling to understand what had happened, they looked at each other with confusion, worry and uncertainty rushing their bloodstreams. urging for daniel to take a few more breaths before trying again, was the moment in which kelly and francisca had walked in on the drivers trying to comfort their fellow driver. 

that was when, with some encouragement, kelly came forward and explained to the other three boys what had happened, "max, what daniel's trying to say is, alessandra was hanging out with us and daniel's sister, we were laughing and blabbering on about what the baby would be called when out of nowhere, alessandra just quietly excused herself, rushing away into the bathroom. four minutes later, after i became worried since aless is never in there for longer than a minute, i went to check on her when before i could even reach the door handle, i just heard her scream and refuse to open the door. that was when we got michelle and francisca to get someone from vcarb to grab daniel from his interview and grace from her seat in the vip area and then, that was when we came to the realisation that alessandra had gone into stillbirth, the...the baby's gone..." kelly's voice faltered at the end as daniel let out a sob as max held him tighter, lando and carlos both closing their eyes as tears filled their eyes 

covering his mouth with his hand, lando softly spoke up, "...oh, aless...where is she and grace? have they gone to the hospital?" lando's voice also faltered as kelly nodded her head, confirming something that she knew daniel couldn't do himself 

"yeah, lando, hun, the paramedics found out that the baby was still inside alessandra so, she's been sent into surgery to give birth to the baby. because if the baby isn't removed, the baby wouldn't be the only one we could potentially lose," kelly sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve as max once again squeezed daniel tightly as lando gestured to carlos to say that they should go over and help max comfort daniel 

and, without another word, lando and carlos squeezed themselves into daniel and max's hug as they all, max included, started to cry together over the loss of what would have been another f1 grid baby. the wags, kelly and francisca, and daniel's sister michelle, also overcome with emotion, then also joined in on the hug as they all cried together and grieved together before they realised that they had left daniel's mum all alone with alessandra. 

but, before they left, max whispered one last thing before they broke the group hug, "...it's gonna be okay, we'll be fine..." 

💮

now that it was well known within the paddock of melbourne's albert park that alessandra had just been wheeled out by paramedics to the hospital. the rest of the pre-race festivities that involved daniel and vcarb specifically was cancelled which meant that ultimately, the race would be delayed. the drivers couldn't even think about driving at this moment when they knew their fellow racer and teammate needed them. all of them going to the hospital alongside their wife/girlfriend. so, within minutes, everyone, except for one, had all changed from their paddock outfits and rushed out of the race circut to one of the vans of vcarb's to get to the hospital that daniel had been told that alessandra had been transported to. 

however, this whole time, daniel's weeping didn't stop. at this point, he was wailing like a dying animal, he was so devastated. what was more devastating was this was the first time his fellow racers had seen daniel really break down and cry. and that was what broke their hearts the most because they all knew that all daniel ever wanted to be in this life was a dad and just as he was four or so months away from becoming one, the baby passes away. and before max got into the car with daniel and lando, max realised that daniel still hadn't gotten changed and was still holding his clean clothes. 

so, to calm their distraught teammate and get him out of his bloodied clothes, lando this time speaks up, "hey, dan, come on, look at me, alright?" pushing him away, daniel still does what he's told and makes eye contact with lando

"whilst this sounds like utter bullshit and you have full permission to smack me for saying this, everything will eventually be okay. you, alessandra and your whole family will recover from this and all of us getting in this car and waiting at that hospital will help you guys out. and eventually, alessandra will give birth to the most precious little baby ever but, right now, you need to get changed and back into this car so we can get to that goddamn hosptial because out of everyone here right now, alessandra needs you, your mum & sister needs you and you need your mum, sister and your wife!" wiping his tears away, daniel nodded his head, agreeing with his best friend and teammate

but not before looking down and realising, lando was right, daniel did forget to get changed out of his now dried-up bloodied paddock outfit, he spoke up, "oh shit, you're right, i...i'll go and get changed, i'll be back..." daniel hushed out as he wiped his tears away and rushed back into the paddock so he could get changed 

whilst that type of moment, one of his teammates forgetting to get changed would normally be hilarious, this time it pierced through lando's heart, it smacked carlos across the face and it just broke max's heart to see how distressed and inconsolable daniel had been that he had simply forgotten to get out of his bloodied up paddock outfit this entire time whilst everyone else had done so before walking to the vcarb van. daniel then took those sweet few seconds as he stripped himself of his bloodied paddock outfit and into a clean, comfy set of sweat pants and a white t-shirt along with a pair of slippers. double-checking he had everything he needed and that he hadn't forgotten anything else this time, he made his way back out of the arena and to the van where everyone was waiting inside. lando waiting outside for him as they then made their way to the hospital to alessandra and grace. 

💮

alessandra couldn't believe that she could get so excited about finally getting pregnant after struggling so much with infertility to only, in the span of what was only a few months, have her body fail her. all she wanted to do was to give her husband and herself a goddamn family and she was so close to doing so as well. at this point, the grief of all the other negative results and heartbreaking infertility appointments was practically gone because she knew it wasn't her fault and she had just accepted that it was now normal for her to lose a baby. however, knowing that this specific baby, she had allowed herself and daniel to get so excited about because it was the one and only time that they hadn't actively tried to get pregnant just made her grief the worst it had ever been. she felt like she had once again failed daniel since she couldn't accomplish the one goddamn thing that women were practically put on this earth to do. all her husband ever wanted was a goddamn child and she couldn't even give him that. 

waking up from her surgery, the girl was drowsy and for a moment forgot where she was when she heard the familiar voice of her mother-in-law, grace, "...hey darling, you're awake, i'll get the nurse-" 

"-grace, where...where's dan? i...i need to apologise to him, and...and to you! i need to apologise to you! i am so sorry grace! i didn't mean to lose the baby i-" 

"-hey, hey, no, aless! we won't be doing this, not today! you have got absolutely nothing to apologise for! no one is blaming you for the loss of you and daniel's baby! i don't blame you, daniel doesn't blame you, no one blames you alessandra! it is not your fault at all! you had no control nor any idea that this was to happen! don't you dare blame yourself for something that is out of your control!" grace stressed as alessandra timidly nodded her head, still feeling awful but less heavy now that she truly felt reassured that it wasn't her fault - that is until she saw her husband 

"do you know when dan will get here?" alessandra then timidly asked her mother-in-law as grace sighed, she could tell that alessandra was trying to stop her from getting the nurse 

"no, i don't darling but, i really need to tell a nurse that you're awake so, can i please inform one of the nurses that you're awake?" grace smiled softly as alessandra timidly nodded her head as that sent a shiver of relief down grace's spine

"thank you, aless, and dan shouldn't be too far away and neither should the rest of the lads drivers and wags since they will have also been made aware. now, i'll be back in a couple of seconds, a minute tops, behave!" grace winked at the end as alessandra breathed out a laugh with a small head nod as she rested her head against the wall of the hospital behind her whilst she waited

💮

by the time daniel and everyone else had arrived at the hospital and was allowed access to his wife's hospital room, she had already had the surgical procedure she needed to remove the deceased foetus. even though she knew that her husband had walked into the hospital room, she couldn't even bear to look up and make eye contact with him. especially with the knowledge that the stillborn had also been wheeled into the room for the husband and wife to meet the baby, she couldn't even bring it within herself to even breathe the same air as him even though she knew she'd eventually have to otherwise she'd alert the doctors and nurses. it ripped daniel apart knowing that not only did alessandra have to go through the surgery alone since grace isn't considered "immediate family" but that she was so ashamed of herself that she couldn't even look him nor the baby in the eye. 

"...please aless, baby, say something, just anything." daniel whispered out in a teary beg to his wife as she slowly but nervously lifted her head up, finally looking her husband in the eyes as she finally noticed just how hard this had also been for her husband and therefore everyone else 

"i...i...i tried so hard for anything but this to happen..." alessandra whimpered out in a whisper as daniel choked, not able to say a single thing as he swiftly moved over to the bed, hugging his wife as they cried together 

then, they moved from the hug and wheeled the cot over to them so they could meet their baby for the first time...

...the baby that was going to be their little baby girl if she hadn't been born still...

max, lando and carlos all cried as they watched their teammate and wife grieve over the loss of what would have been the new f1 grid baby. 

"...we were going to have a baby girl danny..." 

"...our precious little princess, aless..." 

fin

very depressing i know but hey, it's what i do best when i don't have any original ideas, i just go back to the depressing old ideas and just change it to whoever it's been adapted to. 

©⠀amberjazmyn's original work. do not translate or steal any of my fics. 2024

[dominiquelucalover]

Center of Danger | Dominique Luca x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Your Tuesday plans are put on hold when you're caught in the middle of a bank robbery, but as if that didn't put a damper on your day, going into labor in the middle of it certainly did.

CW: fem!reader, pregnancy, labor, hostage situation, guns, death threats, death, blood, mild descriptions of violence, pre-established relationship. If any of these topics trigger you in any way, please do not read. Your wellbeing is so important.

A/N: I tried to make reader a behavioral analysis expert who works with S.W.A.T. but I don't know how well I incorporated that. ( not me trying to flex my Criminal Minds knowledge like a fucking nerd.) PS: I spent four straight hours writing this lol. and nother hour and a half proofreading and editing (and adding a whole 'nother fucking thing to the end of this jfc) (I'm having fun lol)

Your day had been going well. You went to one of your final doctors appointments before you were supposed to have the baby, you'd grabbed some of the last minute things on your baby list, and you were going over what you needed from the grocery store while you stood in line at the bank. It was one of those errands that you couldn't put off doing anymore, especially with the impending birth of your child, so it seemed easy enough to get out of the way today while you were already out and about. Unfortunately, a group of greedy, grubby-handed robbers decided to ruin those plans.

You couldn't lay on the ground like they wanted everyone to, which already irritated not only them but you too. The floor was uncomfortable as you sat against one of the desks while everyone else was forced to lay face down and not to move. It was a tense situation as the three robbers made the tellers fill their bags, one you wished would be over soon.

However, the robbers had already fucked up and got themselves stuck in the bank. A teller had sounded the silent alarm and in a fit of anger, one of the criminals shot the security officer dead. Another one freaked out because "no one was supposed to die" and seemed to be on the verge of tears, but it was hard to tell because they were all wearing plastic Halloween masks. This was turning out to be the worst bank robbery you had ever witnessed, not that you had ever actually witnessed a bank robbery but you had studied plenty.

"Shit, man! The cops are here!" one of the robbers all but growled. He turned his weapon on the tellers with a nasty glare from behind his ghoul mask. "Which one of you sounded the alarm, huh? Fucking idiots!"

He shot at the ceiling suddenly, causing people to scream. You jumped and held your belly protectively, taking a deep breath as you tried to stay calm. However, your blood pressure was already up and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. The baby was kicking, sensing your distress, and you rubbed your bump in an attempt to soothe them.

"Cool it!" another of the robbers chastised his buddy, seething with anger behind his devil mask. "You're gonna need those bullets. So chill the fuck out."

"I'll do as I damn-well please," the first one said, then walked away, seeming to look for another way out.

The freaked-out robber stayed out of the conversation, seeming more subservient to the other two. He just stood the to side, watching over the hostages like he'd been told to, hiding behind his clown mask. You knew from that if any of them were going to break first, it was him.

As things around you began to calm down, you leaned your head back on the desk and took even, deep breaths. Of course, the quiet couldn't last long.

A couple were whispering to each other a few feet away and as soon as the robber with the devil mask, who seemed to be the leader, caught wind of it, he stomped over and pointed his gun at the woman's head. "I said to keep quiet! You want me to blow her head off?"

"No, please! We'll be quiet!" the man begged.

"I should make sure you stay quiet for good," the leader said, teasing the trigger of his gun. The grin of his devil mask made the scene more unsettling.

At that moment, you felt a sharp pain in your belly and let out a heavy groan. All eyes turned to you and watched as you withered in your spot. You were caught between pain and confusion, hoping that you weren't going into labor. You weren't due for another three and a half weeks. Your baby couldn't come now, this was the worst-case scenario. Anywhere else but in the middle of a robbery would have been ideal.

The devil walked over to see what you were doing, letting out a frustrated groan. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Give me a break!"

You looked up at him as the contraction passed, irritated and not ready to give birth. You spat, "Sorry to ruin your parade!"

He pointed his gun at you but the clown ran over and pushed it down. "Dude, you can't shoot a pregnant lady!"

The leader looked at him, then walked away muttering under his breath about how this was going terribly and how the last thing he needed was a baby to mess it up further.

It was about that time one of the phones rang and he walked over to answer it, knowing it was the police outside. It was about time, but you thought that perhaps they needed a negotiator to show up, which was unfortunate for you. A few minutes earlier and you might not be in the early stages of labor right now.

"What do you want?" Devil asked brashly.

You couldn't hear who was on the other side of the call, sitting too far away. You watched closely, hoping your boyfriend was outside with his team. It would be the perfect fantasy if he came to your rescue; besides, they were the best S.W.A.T. team in LA. What were the chances that they weren't here?

The phone call only lasted about two minutes before the leader hung up having made no demands. He laughed, shaking his head. "They think I'm an idiot."

The ghoul came back into the room and grunted. "They've got the whole place surrounded! They probably have snipers ready to kill us if we walk outta here. What do we do?"

Devil thought for a moment, then gestured with his gun at the people laying on the floor. "Put them in front of the doors and windows. Use them as a shield. They won't shoot in here with hostages in the way and it'll give us time to think."

His accomplices nodded and started getting people up, guiding them with their guns to form a line around the center of the bank. The patrons followed orders dutifully and linked their arms together, their lives put further in danger by their captors.

The leader came over to you and grabbed your arm, but the clown came over and asked him what he was doing. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting her off her ass."

"She's pregnant, man," he said, his voice a little more confident than before. He didn't seem to like that you were there at all, but as soon as his bossy friend came near you, he jumped to your aid. "Just leave her alone."

"You questioning me?"

He seemed to think on his feet. "I'm just saying, if the cops know we got a pregnant lady in here, thye're gonna get more aggressive. They'll try harder to get in here. Think about it, man."

"Kid's got a point," Ghoul said, looking over. "She'll be our secret weapon."

Devil looked between them and shook his head, letting you go. "Fine, maybe you're right... this time. We'll see."

He walked away to make sure the wall of hostages was cooperating, looking out the glass doors and windows at the front of the bank to evaluate what his next move should be. He took slow, calculated steps, taunting the police and the hostages at the same time.

Another contraction hit you and you whimpered, holding your stomach and slightly curling up. The clown crouched down beside you, looking at you with wide eyes from behind his mask. He stuttered, "A-are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" you asked through clenched teeth. He looked down, almost ashamed for asking the question. You would feel bad if he wasn't hiding his identity and holding a large automatic gun on his back. Once the pain passed, you breathed out. "How old are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered.

"Sure it does. They called you kid," you told him, making him look up at you. "Means they don't respect you."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head. He stood up and walked away, but looked back at you as he did. That was how you knew you did it. You planted that seed of doubt in his mind.

The next call came in not that long after, but Devil made one of the hostages answer the phone, a terrified older man who had been there to help his son open a bank account. He instructed the man on what to say, telling the officer on the other end that they wanted an armored car and a one way trip out of the country for the three of them, all within the next hour. It wasn't possible, you thought, which you were sure was what they were told before the hostage was made to hangup the phone with the promise that if their demands weren't met by that time, someone else was going to die.

The time seemed to pass sluggishly. You wouldn't have known it was going by at all were it not for the contractions picking up speed. You had read all your books about pregnancy and birth, so you knew that wasn't a great sign in this particular situation. Your labor seemed to be fast approaching, but you didn't want it to be. Were this in line with your birth plan, that would be ideal. However, a speedy birth was not on your agenda for the day.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Devil taunted as he walked the line of hostages again. He'd been pacing behind them to needlessly remind them of his presence. It was cruel and having to watch him was intense. "Five more minutes."

"What if they get us what we want?" Clown asked, looking at his friend.

The leader shook his head. "They won't get us what we want. They'll try to bribe us with less than what we asked for just to get us outside."

"So you're just gonna kill one?"

"Yup."

A woman in line cried out at hearing this and she was snapped at to shut up by the ghoul. He held a gun to her back and laughed at her terror as she tried to muffle her cries.

Clown watched, clutching his gun to his chest, before looking at Devil. "Wasn't killing the guard enough?"

"Not until we get out of here with the money and our lives," the leader answered, then shoved him. "Now shut up and do your job."

You watched as the 'kid' shook his head and walked away, listening to the devil without another question. Paying attention to everything else around you was the only thing keeping you from going insane from the pain. It was more persistent now and you felt the baby had moved lower. It was getting harder to keep your cool as all you wanted to do was yell and kick your feet at these guys who had forced you into early labor.

You were trying not to think about the time passing, watching Devil pace back and forth behind the line. He was looking at them, gun pointed at their backs. Then, suddenly, another sharp contraction shot through you and all you could do was scream as he shot a woman in the back.

She would have dropped to the floor were it not for the two people on either side of her whose arms were linked with hers. They were told to drop her as she cried and writhed. Then Devil went to stand over her, watching her squirm on the ground and bleed, before lifting his gun and shooting her in the head. Everything stopped and grew quiet except for your cries. They echoed off the high walls of the bank, violently reminding everyone there that life came with pain.

Sweat and tears slipped down your face as people were forced to listen to you until you quieted down. The contraction passed and you were slumped against the desk once more.

The devil turned to Clown and motioned toward you. "Go make sure she's alive."

"Okay," he said and walked over to you. He put his gun on his back and crouched beside you, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "You're, uh, you're getting closer to, um, having the baby, aren't you?"

You nodded, keeping your eyes forward, watching the way Devil made two hostages move the woman's body closer to the door. They were going to use her as a block in front of the door incase S.W.A.T. came running in, which made you sick to your stomach. You'd seen a lot of malicious shit, but that was a new low.

The phone rang, but no one moved to answer it. Then the devil chuckled.

"Get her on her feet," he said, looking over at you and the 'kid.'

Clown puffed up his chest. "She can't possibly-"

Devil got angry. "Don't question me! Just do it!"

Clown looked at you apologetically and put an arm around your back and hoisted you up. You cried out as you felt the baby shift lower. It was hard to walk, awkward really. But he held you up and guided you to the phone as it rang. Just as you reached the desk, it stopped, and you wanted to scream but managed to hold it in. You knew they would call back. They had to.

The clown leant you against the desk and brought its accompanying chair over to you. He helped you sit in it as his buddies scolded him, but he didn't argue back or justify his actions then. Only when you were seated did he turn to them and bark back.

"You're making a pregnant lady do all this shit when she's about to have a goddamn baby! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Devil got in his face. "I'm the one calling the shots around here! You do as I say, and if I want that fat bitch to answer the damn phone, she will, or she and that baby won't-"

"Oh, so you're gonna kill a lady and her baby?"

"Wait a minute!" Ghoul interrupted, looking at the devil, "Who died and put you in charge?"

"I've been in charge, numbnuts!"

The argument would have continued on from there, but the phone rang. They all looked at your tired face and waited for you to comply with what Devil wanted. So, you did.

"Hello," you said.

The voice on the other end of the phone made you feel some relief as he said your name. It was Hondo. "Is that you?"

You didn't answer immediately, not wanting to put the robbers on edge or clue them in to anything.

He seemed to understand. "If you are who I think you are, say 'where's the car?' if you're not, say 'please help us.' Okay?"

"Where's the car?" you asked, eyes trained on the robbers. Devil nodded at you, seeming to like that you were apparently smart enough to understand the situation at hand - you got right to the point of things and had been paying attention. Little did he know...

"We're gonna get you out of there, okay? We're working on it," Hondo told you.

"Well work on it faster," you told him, wincing in pain. You held your belly with your free hand. You kept your mouth shut about being in labor, knowing the robbers didn't want that detail known to anyone outside. "They've already killed someone else."

"We know, we saw," he said, letting out a regretful sigh. "But our eyes can only see in through the windows. The camera system is down. How many people are left inside with you?"

You looked around the room, trying to count the number of hostages, but it was harder to concentrate on something like that. "I don't know."

"What did he say?" Devil asked.

"They want to know how many people are alive."

Ghoul huffed. "Why does he want to know?"

"I don't know," you groaned, feeling another contraction rearing its ugly head. You did know, but there was no way you could strategize what the right thing to say to them was at that moment. "They-they probably- ahh!"

Hondo said your name several times, keeping his voice even. "Talk to me, mama. What's going on in there?"

Devil came over and seethed at you, "Tell him to get us what we want or we're gonna kill another person. Then hang up."

You spoke through the pain. "Get them what they want-"

"Are you in labor?" Hondo asked, hearing the strain in your voice.

"Or they're going to kill again," you said. "Please, please hurry."

Ghoul took the phone from your hand shook, slamming it into the holder. He watched you as you grabbed the arms of the chair, digging your nails into the hard wood. You scraped it and he shook his head. "Pregnant people are weird," he mumbled.

He and the devil moved on, talking to each other about what to do next. They began to argue about it but it was short lived as they parted ways. Ghoul slammed his fist on a desk and stomped away to try again at finding a plan-b escape. Devil leaned on a desk out of view of the windows, near you, and waited.

Clown stayed with you and talked you through the contraction. His voice wavered with fear and nervousness, seemingly never been in a situation like this before, as far as pregnancy went at the very least. Once it passed, he wiped your forehead again. "What-what's going to happen if you give birth in here?"

You looked at him, unsure yourself. "Well, there will be a baby in here and we'll both need immediate medical attention. If at that point they know about that, S.W.A.T. might just do anything to get in here."

Now that Hondo knew you were in here, there was more pressure on him to get inside and ensure your safety. You knew he wasn't going to tell Luca that you were one of the hostages because it would cloud his judgement, damned be the third generation S.W.A.T. officer that he was. His girlfriend and unborn child were in the center of danger and he'd do anything to get you out of there.

Clown got you water and helped you drink it as you continued to wallow in pain. As you sat there, you knew the situation was dire. You could see out some of the windows, seeing S.W.A.T. officers gearing up. You knew that sooner or later, they were going to come inside. You also saw an armored car pulling up, but it was a great distance away from the doors.

Ghoul came back, a little bit of a skip in his step. "They got our car! Let's go!"

"Wait!" Devil said, standing from his position and walking up behind the hostages. He took a man from them by putting his arm around his neck and pointing his gun into his side. They slowly made their way to the windows so he could peer out. He seethed. "They're trying to lure us out."

When he got back to the safe zone, the devil scratched his head, clearly deep in thought. He knew they were in deep, and with your timely reminders about the impending birth of your child, their odds of getting out of here was getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Wait for them to call," he said, turning to his friends. "We tell them we're going to take a hostage with us to ensure our escape."

"Dude, they got the fucking car, why do we gotta wait?" Ghoul asked.

"Because as soon as we step anywhere near those windows, they're gonna gun us down," Devil said, shoving him. "This is why I'm in charge, because you don't think!"

"I think better than you!" the ghoul yelled. "It was my idea to come here, remember?"

"And look at where that got us! You could of picked any other bank, but it had to be this big fancy one in the middle of town!"

"The cameras are out! They can't see in here, dimwit!"

You were about to yell at them to shut up when the phone rang. Devil looked at you and nodded. As you picked up the phone, Ghoul tried to continue the argument, but the devil shoved him away and told him to be quiet.

"Hello," you said.

Hondo sighed with relief at hearing your voice. "Say 'what do you want?' if you're okay. Say anything else if not."

"What do you want?" you asked.

"Tell the brothers we have their car ready for them," he said, which peaked your interest. You looked at the robbers in front of you and it clicked. Their arguing and dynamics made sense now.

They were brothers.

"Your car is ready," you told them.

Ghoul leaned against the desk in front of you. "Tell him we want it closer!"

Devil shoved him away again. "And that we're taking a hostage with us, so if they shoot at us, they'll be killing the next innocent person."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "They want the car closer so that they can get in with a hostage."

Hondo grunted. "Of course they'd try that trick. Listen to me, okay, we're not gonna let that happen. But tell them that we have to make room to move the car, so it'll be a minute."

"Okay," you said and sighed, rubbing your belly. You were in the last stretch of contraction. You could just feel it. "They have to make room for the car to get closer, so it'll be a few minutes before you can leave."

Devil didn't say anything, only took the phone from you and hung it up. "Get ready to get out of here, boys. Make the hostages take our bags to the door."

Then he walked away.

Ghoul took control of that mini mission, bossing two of the men in line to move and hustle to get their bags full of money to the door. They dropped them off and promptly got back in line, seeing the robber's finger ever-present on the trigger of his gun.

You were leaning forward on the desk, head laying on your arms as you whined and tried to breath deeply. You tried to hold your legs closed, preventing the progression of labor in anyway you could. You cursed having worn a dress today. You tried to think about anything else but where you where in that moment and what was happening. You tried to put yourself at home, in your baby's nursery that you and Luca had spent the last few weeks putting together and decorating. It helped distract you for a few minutes until more yelling broke the illusion.

Looking up, you saw Devil and Ghoul arguing about which hostage to take with them, which was the stupidest thing you had ever seen. It made you angry as you sat there, in labor, having to listen to this. Devil wanted to take you but Ghoul wanted to take anyone else. You were at your breaking point.

However, Clown snubbed out your lit fuse. He came with more water and helped you sit up so he could bring the cup to your lips. You sipped it, thankful that he was the kindest of the brothers. From what you had observed, he had to be the baby of the three and didn't want to hurt anyone there. He was there to rob a bank, not kill anyone, and each time you were in pain, he came to your side. He took care of you as much as he knew how. Something inside of him was redeemable, you thought so at least.

"They're both idiots," you whispered to him.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... I can't believe I agreed to do this. I should have never let them talk me into this."

You nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

He leaned against the desk, staying close to you as you both listened to the argument devolve, once more, into who is in charge. It was beginning to sound like they were a broken record, but as they continued the back and forth, you heard how similar their voices were, how similarly they spoke, and you could picture them as brothers more and more. It was in contrast to the 'kid', who seemed a little more mild mannered and quiet. He only spoke against the other two when he was passionate about whatever he was fighting them for, be it the lives of the people there or your wellbeing. It made you wonder how he was a part of this family.

Suddenly, everything came to a head.

"I told you to stop questioning me!" someone yelled, followed by a round of rapid pops from a gun.

You couldn't process anything for a moment, stomach tightening and making double over, leaning onto the desk again. You held your belly, screaming with the other scared people trapped with you. The moment passed quickly, but you couldn't look up.

"Bobby, what did you do?" Clown yelled.

The devil, Bobby, turned and criticized his kid brother. "Shut up! Don't say my name, you idiot!"

"But-"

"I said shut up!" he yelled and pointed the gun at him. "Now stop asking stupid questions or you're next."

You peeked up from your arm, seeing how far Devil had devolved. In the beginning, he was semi-organized (given how shittily the robbery was planned, there was at least some effort on his behalf), but the stress of the situation and his brother's mouth had finally snapped his last nerve.

Clown backed down and slowly sank to the ground beside your chair. Bobby began pacing again.

The phone range and you answered it.

"What's happening in there?" Hondo asked.

You could feel the devil's eyes on you. "You need to hurry."

"What happened?" he said again, fearing the worst.

You let out a breath. "Someone else is dead."

"Tell them we're going as fast as we can," he said.

You looked over at Bobby. "They're going as fast as they can. Please don't shoot anyone else."

"I'll shoot whoever I damn-well please," he said and took the phone from you, putting it to his ear. "You listen here, buddy. You don't tell me what to do, got it? Now, if that car isn't at the front door in five minutes, I'm killing everyone in here."

He slammed the phone into the holder before ripping it off of the desk and throwing it across the room. He stomped off, going back to his look out position from behind the line of people. He watched the doors impatiently, seemingly unbothered by the crying people before him. Their anguish brought him no joy, unlike his now-dead brother, as it was obvious that the people were merely pawns in his game. He didn't care about them whatsoever.

You laid your head down and whispered, "He's gonna kill you."

Clown made a worried noise in the back of his throat. "No-no he won't. He-he's my brother..."

"You blew his cover. Everyone here knows his name and it won't be hard to track down a Bobby in an armored car," you said, pausing to moan and shift your seated position. You couldn't hold your legs together anymore, knowing it was dangerous. It was a feeble attempt anyway. "He's already angry and you're the only one left brave enough to stand up to him."

He whined. "I-I'm really not."

"Yeah, you are," you told him, hoping to break through to him. "You've protected me from him this whole time. That took a lot of courage, I know it did."

"But... he's my brother... The only family I have left now," he said.

You looked at him, meeting his sad eyes past the mask. "Family wouldn't put you in this position."

He stared into your eyes for a moment, then looked away in contemplation. He didn't say anything for a moment, which felt like an eternity, and then he looked at you again. "What's your name?"

"Why does it matter now?" you asked.

"Because if I'm gonna die, I'd like to know the name of the lady I protected," he said.

You didn't understand what that meant, it could mean many things, and as you felt the pain getting worse, you couldn't think very well anyway. You told him your name between heavy breathes.

He gently wiped your forehead again, talking you through the pain. Then he took off his mask, revealing his face to you, and you were saddened to see how young he was. There was no doubt he was in his early twenties but he still had a baby face and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen a man have, giving him a deer in the headlights look.

"I'm Eric."

Then he stood up and moved away from you, walking over to another desk quietly. He moved out of your sight and you couldn't move much anymore, too tired to do much of anything as it were. Despite the situation, all you wanted to do was get this over with.

Then, there was a loud thud from where Eric had disappeared to.

Bobby turned around and marched over to you. "What the hell are you doing?"

You groaned, looking up at him. "Nothing."

He seethed again, "I've about had enough of you and you're whining."

"I'm about to push a watermelon out of me, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to shut u-" BANG!

He fell to the ground in front of you, his blood splattering on the desk. Looking over, Eric had his gun trained on his brother from behind the desk a few feet away, eerily still, like he was trained for this. It made your heart ache because your stomach was already twisted. What kind of life had this kid had that led him and his brothers to this?

As he walked over to you, he yelled at the other hostages, "Go! Get out of here! Go! Get out!" They listened without hesitance and ran screaming and crying for the door.

He crouched down beside his brother's body and took the gun off of him, sliding it across the floor. He then took his own gun and push it to follow. Then he turned to you, "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "More or less."

Eric couldn't say another word before S.W.A.T. came into the bank with guns at the ready. They aimed at him and he put his arms up, already on his knees. You screamed in pain and he turned to look at you, making Hondo yell at him to stay still, but he didn't seem to hear him. If he did, he didn't listen and reached out to you.

He took your hand and let you squeeze it as the pain made you sob.

You managed to cry out, "He's unarmed!"

The team got closer and saw the truth in your words. They pulled his hand from yours despite your tight grip and handcuffed him, getting him onto his feet. While Chris and Street patted him down, Luca and Hondo came to your side.

"Fucking hell, I could kill this guy for all this," Luca grunted, clearly angry. He took your hand into his.

You shook your head. "He's a hero, believe me."

"How is he-?" Hondo asked, but was cut off by your guttural scream.

Deacon shook his head as he watched. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

The paramedics came in with their gurneys and attended to the bodies on the floor, but by the time it was decerned that they were beyond saving, everyone was busy and there was no room for you anywhere. Luca picked you up and carried you outside in hopes of finding an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital, but they were all tending to the injured who had run outside earlier.

Tan opened up the back doors of Black Betty and called out to Luca, ushering the team over. Street helped get you inside while Tan and Chris ran to the side doors to get in. Once you were laying on the floor, Luca behind you and holding you close, everyone else piled in and closed everything up, turning on the lights and sirens.

You were screaming the whole time, crying as it became too much. Your body was telling you to push and that was all you could think about doing. Luca was trying to soothe you, telling you that you would be at the hospital soon and that it would be okay. But your baby had other ideas, they had waited long enough.

"The baby's coming!" you cried out.

"We know, we're gonna-"

"No! Now! The baby's coming right now!"

You let out another scream as you pushed. Deacon slide onto the floor and pulled your legs up onto the seats on either side of you, pushing your dress away. He ripped your underwear to get a look at how things were progressing and then looked up at Luca, Street, and Hondo, "She's right. She's crowning."

Hondo called out to the front, "Tan, pull over!"

Luca held your hands as you rested you head back against his abdomen, crying as your body guided you. Everything you'd read and come to understand was nothing compared to the way your body told you what to do.

Black Betty came to a stop on the side of the road, but it only took three more powerful pushes that the ended the pressure. You ached, but the pain was lessened dramatically. You opened your eyes to see Deacon picking up your baby, who was a little chubby for a newborn and rather long, aka big like their daddy.

Deacon gently held them and patted their back, getting them to cry and clear their airways. He smiled at them and happily said, "Welcome to the world, Baby Luca."

Street rummaged around for anything to wrap the baby in, only for Chris to pass a fresh shirt to him from the front. He thanked her and helped Deacon wrap your little angel up to keep warm before they were laid on your chest. You took her, Luca's arm coming under yours to support you both.

"It's a girl," Deacon told you and you smiled. He smiled too, knowing that joy and pride well. "Congratulations."

Tan put Black Betty in gear and let everyone know he was going to start driving again, as you and your daughter needed to be taken to the hospital. After that, no one said anything. They just let you and Luca have your moment with your daughter.

Luca couldn't even speak. He had spent the day tirelessly trying to save hostages from a bad situation that only got worse as the minutes passed by, only to learn from Hondo that you were one of them minutes before they stormed in there. He ran to you as soon as he could and wanted to burn the robbers to the ground with how angry he was because you were caught in the middle of their idiocy. Then, as soon as he saw you were in labor, he was scared, too. However, now, all that stress and anger and fear was erased. You were safe in his arms with your daughter. He had a daughter! He was nothing my happy.

Street inevitably ruined the precious moment, but lightened it at the same time as he broke the silence. "I can't believe you gave birth in Black Betty."

The team didn't react until you laughed, which let them know they could laugh too.

"I'm just glad it wasn't in the bank," you said, the ache still in your heart for the people who were lost and the kid brother who had saved you. You looked at Hondo as you remembered him. "I wanna be there for Eric. He really did save those of us that he could."

Hondo didn't question you, because you were tired and hormonal and he knew you knew what you were talking about. He just nodded and said, "I'll talk to the DA, but for now, you just worry about that cutiepie you got, okay?"

"Okay," you said.

When you got to the hospital, you were taken to a room immediately. Not only because you were wheeled in with a baby in your arms, but because you had a team of S.W.A.T. officers escorting you. Luca went back with you and ensured you and your baby daughter were okay.

Despite being three and a half weeks early, she was healthy. She would need to stay a few extra days for observation, but that was okay with you. Both you and Luca wanted the best for her, so you knew she might need a little extra watching over because of her early arrival and the stress you were under, and you needed to recover as well. It would work out, you were sure.

Once that was cleared up, Luca sat beside you with your daughter asleep in her basinet at your bedside. He watched her with nothing but love in his eyes. He'd only been talking about how excited he was for her to 'hurry up and get here' in the months leading up to this moment. He hadn't cared if she were a boy or a girl, as you'd left finding out to be a surprise at the birth, because he was going to love his kid no matter what. You knew he was going to be an amazing father.

You watched him, tired as all hell, but couldn't fall asleep. Even after the day you'd had, you laid awake on some pain killers with a soft smile on your lips. "I love you."

Luca turned to you and chuckled. "I love you, too." He reached out for your hand and squeezed it gently. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know that?"

"You only tell me that at least once a day," you laughed softly, careful not to wake your sleeping angel.

"Well, I mean it so much this time," he told you, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "You're so strong and smart and brave. What you went through today was a lot and you powered through it like a champ. And you see the good in people even in situations when it's hard to see anything but bad."

"What can I say?" you asked, not really sure what there was to say. You just read the situation like it was. And it helped you and several other people get through it. "I'm just a woman."

"Nah, you're more than that," he said and leaned in closer, kissing your head. Your eyes closed and this time they were too heavy to lift back open. "You're Superwoman."

"If you say so," you mumbled. You then fell into a dreamless sleep, getting the much needed rest your deserved.

Lowkey, I'm now attached to the backstory I accidentally gave Bobby, Ghoul, and Eric, so here it is if anyone cares. Bobby, Ghoul - who's real name is Terry, and Eric were born in a less than ideal home. Raised by a worked to the bone mother and a father who had lengthy arrest record, they were doomed from the start. Bobby and Terry were closer in age to each other than either of them were to Eric, often getting into trouble and leaving him out. When they weren't getting suspended from school, they were pushing Eric around metaphorically and literally. They would often use Eric as a punching bag when they weren't getting into fights with each other. They mother wasn't around a lot as she worked multiple jobs to keep a roof over their heads. When she was around, she was frustrated and tired, often getting angry at them for little problems like leaving their shoes out for her to trip over and bigger issues like getting kicked out of school. Their father was in and out of jail for most of their lives, but when he was around, he taught them how to shoot, steal, and hot wire cars. Averse to these activities, Eric was once again the odd one out and often the target of his brothers' criticism. Their father often got drunk and ranted to his sons about his drawbacks in life, often blaming others. Due to this unstable environment, it was no wonder the brothers turned out the way they did. Bobby followed in their father's footsteps, often helping their old man with his criminal endeavors when he could. After their father's untimely death at the hands of a homeowner protecting himself after he broke into the house, Bobby was angry. He went on a bend of drinking and crime, ending him up in jail where he made friends. Once he was out, he started robbing houses and small business. Terry at least finished high school and got a job as a mechanic, which was stable enough for a while. He started to doing shotty work for cheap and got fired once his boss found out. He did a number of odd jobs after that. Eric was on the right track but couldn't catch a break. With a grant, he was able to start college but had to leave after his mother became ill. He was almost done with college when he dropped out to take care of her, but it was fruitless. He didn't blame his mom but rather the bad hand life had dealt him, but didn't grow very bitter. He got a shitty job and went about his life. However, their mother's death is what brought the brothers back together. It was several months after the funeral that Bobby came around with the idea to rob a bank. Terry was crashing on Eric's couch at the time and liked the idea, immediately liking the idea of free money and getting to go anywhere they wanted. The two oldest brothers talked Eric into it, telling him they could go live their dream lives and get out of the shambles they called a life. Plus, they were brothers, the only family he had left, was he really gonna left them do it alone?

And yeah, that's what I got for the bank robbing brothers. If it doesn't make any sense, I came up with all of this over the span of 8 hours and little to no sleep.

[eempyreall]

♪ 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝑏𝑦 𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑎 ♪

༺ Here, Kitties! ༻

Oneshot ~ Hybrid BajiFuyuTora x Female Reader

Summary ~ Your rich grandmother gifted you three troublesome hybrid cats. Once they become comfortable, they become a little too attached.

Featuring ~ Baji Keisuke, Hanemiya Kazutora, and Matsuno Chifuyu

Extra Notes ~ This is the fandom version of this story. If you want to read the non fandom that provides original characters, press this link.

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

l apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Warning ~

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content, etc.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

You were not the biggest fan of the newly made system of hybrids being sold as pets. A hybrid was basically a human—just with a little more animal instinct, claws, and a tail. They were halflings. If anything, they could be classified as superhuman or even monstrosities, but calling them pets was a reach. They were basically slaves in this society.

You saw them everywhere—well, amongst the rich who could afford them. Even if you were rich, you wouldn’t buy them. It was morally strained and just plain wrong. It was disgusting. It was also risky, as those halflings were stronger than humans. You were surprised the creatures hadn’t decided to take over humanity. According to the scientists who created them, it was a huge possibility.

When you first heard about it, you wondered why those people would even make such a thing, though their reasoning was that hybrids could do anything humans couldn’t due to their lack of instinctual roots. It was stupid.

That’s why, when you received a huge crate inside the living room of your two-bedroom apartment, you were taken aback. You snatched the note from the structure and read that your rich grandmother had gifted you hybrid cats because she pitied your lack of social interaction. Of course, she didn’t write it like that, but that was basically what the card said.

She even provided you with a credit card that she promised to pay off for the sake of buying whatever the hybrids needed. You grabbed the long document that was taped against the wood.

You were informed that there were three cat hybrids in the crate. They were three males who had an established relationship between them. There was a shorthair Burmese, a tiger, and a panther.

You sighed as you began to think of ways you could send them back to your grandmother. There was no way you wanted three grown-ass men living in your semi-small apartment.

You stepped forward, unclipping the metal lock as you swiftly opened the large crate. Your eyes widened at the display in front of you.

Sitting in the middle was a man, upright with crossed legs. He had two slanted black ears that protruded from his long black strands. A black collar was secured around his neck, with a golden bell hanging from the fabric. He had sharp features, eyes narrowing at your figure, while a frown—with two fangs poking from his lips—was plastered on his expression.

His arms were wrapped around two men who were curled on either side of him. The one on the left had short hair, black bangs covering his forehead as his greenish-blue irises lifted to you. He had a matching collar wrapped around his neck, and his blonde ears matched the middle man’s. He wore an expression of caution as he sniffed the air, his tail wrapped over his leg.

On the right side, a man with two blonde strands flowing over his face—the rest of his black hair pulled back into a loose tuft—stared at you with wide golden eyes. One of his striped ears was upright while the other was folded, a matching collar tied around his neck with his tail slowly flapping against the wood. What caught you off guard was the black ink on his neck. Although he was expressionless, there was a coldness to his features.

“Hi there,” you say hesitantly with a slight wave. You didn’t really know what to say, having never been around a hybrid in your life. You’d seen them on social media or at a distance but never in close proximity.

You sighed when they didn’t respond, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Look, I know this is probably an uncomfortable situation for you. Maybe even more than it is for me. I did not buy you, nor did I even know you were here,” you clear your throat before continuing. “You guys are free to do whatever you want. If you need anything, just let me know.”

Their skeptical silence motivated you to continue. “Unfortunately, my apartment is kind of small, so you’ll have to share the second bedroom. The bed should be big enough for all three of you, so… yeah,” you finish before walking off to your bedroom.

You skimmed through the document that came with the crate as you sat at your desk. Apparently, your first move was the correct thing to do, considering you had greeted them and walked away to allow them to observe their environment.

You were supposed to stay out of their way for the remainder of the day while they sniffed around so that there were no risks of an attack. Their claws and teeth were sharp and thick—perfect weapons when they felt threatened.

You face-palmed as you realized you’d have to go shopping for all of their needs. You barely had anything in the fridge, and these creatures were carnivores. The horror stories you’d heard of hybrids going haywire and consuming their owners broke through your thoughts, making you shiver.

Luckily, it had been a few hours since you were last in the living room. You had no idea what they were doing, so you hoped your presence wouldn’t startle them when you appeared.

You push yourself up from your desk with a sigh, rubbing your temples as you mentally prepare yourself. It’s been quiet—too quiet. Either they’re still getting used to their surroundings, or they’re plotting something. You shake off the paranoia.

Stepping out of your bedroom, you peek into the hall before making your way to the living room. The panther hybrid sits in the center of the floor, one leg propped up as an arm rests over his knee. His golden bell faintly jingles as his brown eyes flick to you the moment you appear. The Burmese hybrid is crouched near the crate, sniffing at the air, while the tiger hybrid lounges on the couch, one arm draped over the back as his golden eyes settle on you.

“Uh… so,” you start, shifting awkwardly. “I need to go out and buy you guys food. And, uh, other stuff.”

The Burmese hybrid tilts his head, ears twitching, while the tiger hybrid just blinks.

“You’re leaving?” The panther’s voice is smooth but carries an edge that makes your stomach tighten.

“Just for a bit,” you confirm. “I don’t have anything for you to eat and might need to get some other supplies.”

The black-eared man gazes at you with a calculating look. You shift under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling exposed. He leans back slightly, the golden bell around his neck giving a soft jingle.

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I’ll go with you,” he repeats, tone flat.

“So will I,” the tiger hybrid adds, his voice softer than you expected.

The short-haired man hums, stretching his arms over his head. “Mmm… yeah. We should all go,” he muses, voice light. There’s a glint of amusement in his blue-green eyes as he looks at you. “Gotta make sure our owner doesn’t leave us stranded, right?”

“I’m not your owner,” you say, hands on your hips. “I didn’t buy you, and I don’t want to own anyone. You can do whatever you want.”

“Sure,” he grins in response.

You huff at his disbelief.

The tiger hybrid pushes himself off the couch, rolling his shoulders. “Either way, we’re coming with you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the panther hybrid tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“…Fine,” you mutter. “But if you cause problems, I’m kicking all of you out.”

The panther hybrid smirks. “Understood.”

“So, what do you guys eat? Do you eat, like… cat food or something?” you question as you turn the wheel of the car.

The panther you learned was named Baji scoffed in the passenger seat, his arms crossed.

“Cat food? Do you see how big we are?” He kept his gaze toward the window as he spoke to you.

“We prefer raw humans, but fish is really good too,” Kazutora chuckled from the back seat, his claws holding onto your seat as he leaned forward.

Your eyebrows furrowed as Chifuyu flicked Kazutora’s temple, causing the tiger to shout, “Ow!”

“We like raw fish. Steak works too,” the Burmese informed you.

“Okay, cool. Is there anything else I should get? Like, do you like cat toys or scratchers or anything?”

“Goddamn, you think we’re regular cats or something?” This time, Baji’s gaze shifted to you with an eyebrow raised.

“Look, I told you guys that I didn’t buy you. I don’t know shit about hybrids, alright? Otherwise, I would’ve prepared.” You missed the glances they shared while you focused on the road.

“If you didn’t buy us, then who did?” Chifuyu questioned with curiosity, eyeing the back of your head.

“Yeah, and how’d you even afford us? Your apartment looks average compared to our last owner,” Kazutora spoke up, now leaning back in his seat while eyeing the window.

“My grandma bought you and had someone place you in my apartment. I wasn’t expecting you when I got home,” you sighed. “Honestly, this is already a lot of responsibility I didn’t ask for. I was thinking about somehow sending you back from wherever you came,” you say honestly.

“Well, I’m not going back to that shithole, so you’re gonna have to learn how to take care of us,” Baji stated.

You glanced at him, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, I don’t have to do shit,” you respond. “What’s up with your attitude, huh?”

“That’s just how Baji talks, Y/n,” Chifuyu said softly. “Also, if your grandmother bought us, then she signed the contract.”

Your eyes meet the Burmese through the rearview mirror. “Yeah, and?”

“Well, that means we’re bound to you for at least five years until the contract expires. Then, you’ll have to renew or return,” Kazutora explained from behind you.

“There are no refunds,” the hybrid next to the tiger added.

“How do you guys know so much about the contract? You said you had an owner before, right? How’d that go?”

“None of your business,” Baji hissed.

You must’ve struck a nerve. You made a note to yourself to never bring up their last owner.

You watch as the hybrids snatch up packs of frozen meat and piles of junk food, tossing them into your cart without a second thought. You can already tell the receipt is going to be ridiculous, and you just hope your grandmother was serious about covering the credit card bill.

Now in the electronics section, you stand by while the guys grab a gaming console, controllers, and a bunch of different games. Your expression morphs into concern as you pull out your phone, turning away slightly while dialing your grandmother.

The moment she picks up, you start explaining everything they’ve been piling into the cart, asking—no, practically begging—for reassurance that it’s okay to charge what’s bound to be an insane total. She just laughs, telling you not to worry about it and to enjoy your new companions.

Chifuyu then asks you to stop by an electronics store to get them phones, and despite your hesitation, you end up spending hours buying three different phones under your grandmother’s name.

Even though they’re grown men, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re some overwhelmed mother letting her teenage sons run wild with her credit card. It’s stifling—but you let it slide, for now. You wonder why anyone would want this kind of responsibility.

“Hey! You assholes better help bring everything in, or I’m taking all of your electronics!” you shout at the two hybrids casually strolling into the apartment, leaving you and Chifuyu outside to do the heavy lifting.

Once all four of you finally get everything inside—and after making them help you haul the crate to the dumpster—the hybrids begin setting up their electronics while you start preparing their raw fish. You follow the recipe of some hybrid owner who’s popular on social media.

When you’re finished, you set their plates on the table and call them over from their game. You leave the leftovers on the stove for them to grab, and inform them that they need to clean everything up when they’re done. Chifuyu raises a brow at you as he picks up his plate.

“You’re not gonna eat with us?” he asks, settling onto the couch, one ear twitching while his tail lazily flaps against the cushion.

Baji and Kazutora are sitting on the floor with their backs against the bottom of the sofa. The plates are set on their laps with their controllers set aside on the carpet. They both glance up at you, ears perking with curiosity.

“Nah, I’m gonna shower, then maybe order something. I only made the raw fish anyway, and I don’t eat that,” you say, scratching the back of your head before heading out of the living room.

It has been six months since you got used to your new roommates. It has become a routine—waking up, going to work while they sleep, then coming home to these guys. The first night, you forgot to tell them you had work the next morning, so you had Chifuyu and Kazutora blowing up your phone with notifications.

Despite the annoyance, it was kind of adorable, so you let it go. It was your fault for not informing them, after all. You didn’t want to admit that you actually enjoyed their presence, but honestly, it felt like what you imagined having brothers would be like.

One night, you decided to read up on cat hybrids specifically. You never finished reading the manual, and you figured now was a good time. It seemed like a smart idea, considering some of the off-putting moments you’ve had with them.

One day, you had a day off from work and decided to stay in. You were sitting between Kazutora and Baji on the sofa, playing a game on the television. Chifuyu was in the bedroom, taking a nap. When Kazutora won, he accidentally scratched both sides of your neck while grabbing your shoulders in victory, exclaiming, “Did you see that?”

You remained calm at the stinging sensation, assuming it hadn’t left any significant mark. Unbeknownst to you, a drop of red liquid began oozing from both scratches. Both hybrids’ pupils dilated as the scent of your blood brushed past their noses.

Your eyes widened as Baji’s hand pressed against your forehead, pinning your head back against the couch while both men lowered their heads, their ears flat against their skulls. Kazutora’s hand slid over your opposite hip, pulling you closer, his claws piercing the fabric of your bottoms.

You froze as two wet muscles dragged against the skin of your neck before lips closed around your wounds. A shiver ran down your spine as your knees pressed together. Your hands clenched into fists as you stared at the ceiling.

Baji licked over his own saliva before pulling back, Kazutora mimicking the motion as they released you. When you lifted your head, you watched as they picked up their controllers and went back to the game as if nothing had happened.

“Um, what the fuck was that?” you asked, your voice a little higher than usual.

“What the fuck was what?” Baji responded flatly.

“That. What you guys just did.” You frowned.

“Oh, that? We just cleaned the blood from your neck,” Kazutora shrugged.

Another time, you were in the kitchen chopping up some raw steak when you accidentally cut the skin of your middle finger.

“Ouch!” you cried, immediately rinsing the stinging area with soap and water. Chifuyu had just walked in to see what you were up to.

When you lifted your finger from the sink, you saw that blood was still seeping through the cut.

“Damnit,” you groaned.

Your attention turned to the hybrid as he suddenly snatched your wrist, both hands holding yours as he brought your finger to his mouth. He stuck his tongue out slightly, licking the blood before circling his lips around your finger, sucking it all the way in while his gaze never left yours.

Heat rushed to your face as he continued sucking the wound for a moment before pulling your finger out of his mouth and releasing you.

“You should really use a disinfectant spray on that, Y/n.”

You understood that hybrids had different societal norms than humans, so you didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you probably should have. You just blamed it on the fact that you had different perceptions of social interactions.

You were confused when you reached a certain part of the passage.

“Heat?”

Your eyes widened as you stood in the doorway of your bathroom. It was late at night, and the door had already been cracked open, so when you saw the light on, you assumed one of the guys had forgotten to turn it off—something that had happened before.

You weren’t expecting to see Baji with his exposed back turned to you, leaning against the wall with the palm of his hand pressed flat against it. His other arm was moving at a ridiculous speed while you heard wet flapping sounds. The end of his tail twitched while his ears were upright.

Your heart thumps faster against your chest as he turns back to look at you with narrowed dark eyes. His lips were apart as he breathed heavily, his arm still moving violently. You both stared at each other before you pulled the door shut.

There was another time where you had woken up to loud thudding noises from the other bedroom. Against your better judgment, you decided to walk towards the noise. When you got to the cracked door, you pushed it open slightly as you peeked into the bedroom.

Kazutora had his head down while his body rocked against the man who was penetrating him from behind. His claws were gripping the sheets as his hair fell over his shoulders. Chifuyu had his fingers wrapped around the man’s striped tail as he thrusted into him, both men glistening with sweat as they grunt and moaned loudly.

Baji had his claws grasping Chifuyu’s face from the side as he pulled him into a wet kiss, saliva streaming down onto the bed as the burmese hybrid whimpered into his partner’s mouth.

You almost gasped when you saw Kazutora lift his head, a filthy expression on his sweaty face as a pair of your panties hung from his mouth, his fangs poking through the fabric. His bright eyes were almost fully black with the large pupils covering the irises. His right ear was flat as the other stood upright. One of his eyes was slanted as the other was wide.

You sighed as you realized how helpful this knowledge would’ve been before walking into all those awkward moments.

As you read on, the document warned you of any possessive behavior the hybrids might display. It caused you to think back on any moments you might’ve had where the list of behaviors occurred.

You had just gotten home from the bar, something you don’t normally do unless it’s the weekend. When your coworker asked if you wanted to go after work, you figured that it couldn’t hurt, as you were feeling a bit more energized that day. You had stayed longer than planned as you got tipsy and a little crossed from the blunt you shared.

When you got home, you were surprised to see the three hybrids sitting on the sofa, awake. The atmosphere of the room was suffocating as you stumbled in, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“Hey guys,” you slurred, kicking your shoes off before you started walking to your bedroom. Before you could make it, a hand snatched you back, claws piercing the skin of your arm.

“Where the fuck were you?” Baji growled as he sniffed you. “And why do you smell like that?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to yank your arm out of his tight grip, to no avail.

“The bar,” you respond with confusion.

“Why didn’t you tell us that you’d be gone for that long?” Kazutora said as he walked up to your side, grasping your jaw as he forced you to eye his sharp gaze.

“Woah, what the hell? I already texted you guys that I was going out after work. Chill out,” you hissed, pulling your face from his claws as Chifuyu walked to the other side of you.

“You didn’t tell us where or for how long. That’s not fucking okay, Y/n. Did you even think about how that would make us feel?” Chifuyu spat angrily.

You noticed that all of their tails were thrashing behind them as their ears were flat against their heads. You could feel the tension rising as they glared at you, eyes narrowed sharply as they looked as though they wanted to attack.

“Hold up. Who the hell do you guys think you are to question me? In my apartment?” you questioned angrily as you grabbed Baji’s hand to pry his fingers off your arm.

It worked only until he replaced his hand on your neck and pulled you almost nose-to-nose, the expression on his face growing more feral by the second. You felt your heartbeat accelerate as you could see the pupils in his eyes growing.

“I don’t like your tone, Y/n. Who the fuck do you think you’re questioning?” He hissed, his voice eerily calm.

You could feel your feet slightly lift from the floor as you balanced yourself on the tip of your toes. You could feel the sweat beading against your skin as three pairs of eyes bore into you.

That was not an enjoyable moment at all. You felt your skin crawl at the memory. You remember the night ending with him releasing you before you rushed to your room. You couldn’t stop the tears as you had never been handled like that before.

You remembered Kazutora and Chifuyu sneaking into your room that night as they held you and whispered how much they cared about you and why they reacted the way they did. You remember shifting your position and eyeing Baji, who stood at the doorway with his arms crossed and a softer, but stern gaze on his face. None of them apologized, but they did purr and nuzzle into your neck.

It was a very weird moment, and you still don’t know what to make of it.

Another month has passed since you had read the manual. Their behavior has still been weird, but not as bad as before. You had a talk with them about their heats and told them to start keeping the door to their bedroom locked. You had also gotten them some supplies such as lube, condoms, and any other safety products to make it all easier.

You had even talked to them about the possessive behavior, and the conversation seemed to have gone well. So one night, you decided to invite a friend from your work over. You just wanted to hang out, but because you had lacked human interaction for a long time, both of you ended up making out.

You weren't planning to go any further, but you had just really enjoyed the way the man's lips felt against yours, as well as the caresses on your back. It was gentle, soft, and mesmerizing. He was gorgeous anyway, so it worked out.

Unfortunately, the door to your bedroom slammed open, and the hybrids stomped in as Baji headed straight for the human male. He snatched him from the shirt and dragged him off the bed before landing a punch on his face. You scream as Chifuyu pinned your arms down while Kazutora started stomping the guy’s stomach.

They continued to beat the man as crimson gushed from his skin, gurgling on his own blood and saliva as Kazutora dug his claws into the man’s ribs and ripped apart his torso. You gasp loudly, sitting up before Chifuyu climbed on top of you and pinned you down again. His hands grasped your face as you grabbed his shoulders, attempting to push him off.

“They’re killing him! They’re fucking killing him! Chi—Chifuyu, stop them!” You scream as he uses a palm to cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh. It’s going to be over soon,” he spoke softly as warm tears streamed down your face. Your screams are muffled behind his hand as you hear the slashing and squelching of the man’s guts being yanked out of him.

Kazutora and Baji are completely feral as they tear apart the human. Blood has splattered all over their face and naked torsos. They don’t stop, even when the man is completely still and any sign of light disappears from his eyes.

The man’s mouth hangs open as his eyes are rolled into the back of his head.

Although the hybrid in front of you is the calmest, you can see the pupils that have dilated as he also gives you a feral expression.

“You’re gonna be okay, Y/n. O—our last owner didn’t make it because he didn’t behave so you just have to relax and listen to us, alright? H—he used us and tricked us and—-we actually really, really love you and don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered with his forehead against yours as you continued to thrash under him.

Chifuyu is pulled back by the shoulder as Baji grasps your face and tugged you forward.

“I’ll hurt you if you scream so stop it,” he says, using an arm to rub against his mouth as the blood smears.

“Relax.”

Your hyperventilation slows into quiet pants as you attempt to calm down so as to not get killed. You feel exposed as all three pairs of eyes stare into you when Kazutora stands to the side of the bed. They’re all surrounding you and it’s suffocating.

“Good,” he begins.

“B—Baji, please. I—I,” your hands shake against the claws holding your face as you tug them. “I—can’t—,” you are breathless. You can’t breathe.

“Hey, we’re going to take care of the body, okay? But I need you to relax for me. Breathe,” he says.

“I'm going to be honest with you. When I saw his hands on you, it really made me want to kill you,” he said. Your face morphed as you sobbed. “Relax,” you complied as you focused on his dark eyes.

“I realize that you had no fucking idea what you were doing. You thought that it was okay, and it's our fault for not telling you before. Now you know that you belong to us. You can't bring anyone home, and you definitely can't touch anyone else, yeah? You know that, right?” Baji questioned you.

You don't agree with the conditions. You feel stupid for believing them when you had the talk about possessive behavior. You didn't realize how deep they were. The fact that something like this has happened before with their past owner makes you fearful for your life, especially since they killed him. You are hysterical and can't really think straight.

“I—I can’t—I don’t—,” you try so hard to catch your breath but you can’t stop panting.

A hand on your shoulder caused your body to jolt as you turned to the culprit.

“Hey,” Kazutora leaned in as he purred, his bloody face smearing the substance against your shoulder as he nuzzled against you. “Let’s go to another room while Baji and Fuyu clean the mess up.”

“Hey, why do I have to clean it up when you were one of the ones to kill him?” Chifuyu pouts.

“T’s not the time, Fuyu. Let’s hurry up so we can go to bed.”

“B—but the b—body? How are you gonna—?” you ask, worried that you might get blamed for your hybrids’ actions.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve killed more people than you think and nobody ever found out that it was us,” Kazutora smiled. “Let’s go,” he says before pushing you off the bed.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been for me to control myself,” Kazutora whispered against your ear as he held your naked body against his bloody torso.

The steam of the shower is suffocating along with the lack of space between both of you as the warm water rinses you both. You feel the lump in your throat as you could feel the hard structure against your bottom.

His tail hangs low as his ears face forward. His wet hair drapes over his shoulders as he nuzzles your neck.

“Would you let me in?” He questioned, his voice soft.

“Do I even have a choice?” You question with fear laced in your tone. He chuckled in response.

“I guess not,” he said.

[littlelamy]

hii, please feel free to not write this AND tell me to piss off at the same time if this is something you’re not comfortable with! right, so it would be rafe x insecure reader (about her appearance and weight), but insecure to the point where she struggles to eat, or even just sit down and read, in public places 😬 you can choose any situation that would finally trigger this, quite important, conversation between them (and pls make rafe tell the reader to go to actual therapy + him supporting her along the way with “you look pretty” kind of thing). Thank you if u decide to write it 🥹

lamy's notes: no im definitely comfortable with this topic—i hope you like it!

it happens at a restaurant.

just a casual dinner with the group, something easy, something fun, but the second you walk in, the air shifts. the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter—it all presses down on you, heavy, suffocating. your stomach churns, the mere thought of ordering something making your throat tighten.

so you don’t.

“not hungry,” you murmur when rafe glances at you, concern flickering in his blue eyes. you distract yourself by fidgeting with the edge of the menu, tracing the words with your finger just to have something to do.

he doesn’t push, but he doesn’t drop it either. you can feel his gaze, steady, studying you in that way he always does when he knows something’s off.

the food comes. everyone digs in. conversation flows. and you sit there, forcing a smile, ignoring the way your hands feel clammy, the way your chest tightens every time someone glances your way.

then, someone says it. not maliciously, not even directed at you, but enough.

“god, i shouldn’t even be eating this. i’ll have to spend an extra hour at the gym tomorrow.”

it hits like a slap. your skin prickles. suddenly, all you can hear is every awful thought that’s been swirling in your head for years.

rafe notices immediately. the way your fingers clench around the napkin, the way your breathing changes, the way your shoulders go rigid. his jaw tightens, something sharp flashing across his expression as he drops his fork, turning his full attention to you.

“come with me,” he says, voice low but firm. he doesn’t wait for a response, just takes your hand and leads you outside, away from the noise, the weight of it all.

“what’s going on?” he asks as soon as you’re alone, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks.

“nothing,” you whisper, looking away.

“bullshit.” he tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze. “talk to me, angel.”

it takes everything in you not to break right there, but the dam is already cracking. your voice wobbles when you finally speak. “i just… i can’t do this. i hate sitting there, feeling like every single person is looking at me, judging me. i hate thinking about food, about what it’s going to do to me, about how i look, about—” you inhale sharply, cutting yourself off before you spiral further.

rafe’s eyes darken, not with anger, but with something deeper, something that makes your chest ache. “baby,” he breathes, pulling you into his arms. he holds you tight, like he’s trying to shield you from every thought eating you alive.

“this isn’t okay,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now. “you know that, right?”

you squeeze your eyes shut. “i don’t know how to stop.”

he exhales, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “we’re gonna get you help, okay? real help. not just me telling you you’re beautiful—because you are, and i’ll keep telling you every damn day until you believe it—but someone who actually knows how to help with this.”

your throat tightens, but for the first time in a long time, it’s not just from fear.

“you’re not alone in this,” rafe murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your face. “but you have to let me in. let someone in.”

a shaky breath. a hesitant nod.

rafe smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. then, as if he just can’t help himself, his lips brush over yours, soft and slow, like he’s trying to kiss every bit of doubt away.

“we’ll figure it out, angel. together.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry

[sweetlittlefawntears]

sweet lamb ♱

au : i got a request for this but it was not how i imagined it so i just … kinda changed a few things lol … um yea enjoy this one it could definitely b better … there is some sensitive topics in this one that may be triggering to some people, please read the content warning and proceed with caution .

cw : dacryphilia, stealing, pet names, hair pulling, fingering, ellie is kinda a perv in this one as well as a bit mean/degrading, intentional lowercase !! reader is described as having long hair … i think that's it erm

wc : 1.6k ♡

౨ৎ for as long as you could remember, your brother had always had a best friend. ellie williams. they were attached at the hip, always laughing and play fighting over video games and going on stupid adventures which almost always involved them sneaking out late at night. as much as you loved your brother, you absolutely hated ellie.

౨ৎ she would always go out of her way to exclude you in anything they were doing, insisting that you were too stupid or dumb or annoying or whatever to participate in whatever bullshit they were getting up to. not that you truly cared, you were too busy studying or hanging out with friends to genuinely want to get all up in their business.

౨ৎ as much as ellie feigned her hatred for you, she truly wanted you to be all hers. she loved when you cried from her insults. it was the saddest and sweetest thing ever. she couldn’t explain why she was the way she was, but she loved being able to have power over your emotions like she did.

౨ৎ ellie loved to sneak up behind you to scare you, pulling at your hair or poking your shoulder, which made you practically jump out of your skin every time she did it unannounced. “fuck you ellie, don’t scare me like that!” you’d yell as she burst out laughing. she often would pull on your hair if you wore it in braids, which you gradually stopped doing.

౨ৎ one night, when you were in the shower, ellie slipped into your room and walked around, going through your drawers and all the trinkets she saw on your desk. she pulled out a pair of pink cotton panties from a cubby with bras and underwear in it and slipped them into her back pocket.

౨ৎ you come out of your shower, hair wet and wearing nothing but a cropped band tee and a small pair of short tight fitting boxers. “what the fuck are you doing in my room?” you say as you brush through your hair. “uh…sorry.” ellie says as she walks out. you don’t really pay any mind to it, thinking ellie was just trying to scare you.

౨ৎ ellie often sees you changing outside your window, not bothering to shut the curtains because you thought no one could see you. when she saw you in your small lacy dress, she almost fainted from blushing. she gazed over your body, when she noticed she could see the faint outline of your tits. she desperately wanted to be in that room with you.

౨ৎ ellie often took your underwear or clothes, which would suddenly just show up in your room again, and you’d be happy to see them, wondering where they had gone. ellie thought it was a miracle you didn’t question where your clothes kept going, because she wasn’t exactly an expert at hiding things.

౨ৎ ellie wanted to do something to get you closer to her. so, one night, she and your brother ask you to watch a movie with them. you are surprised they even invited you in the first place, but you assume your brother beat a little sense into ellie and made her invite you. however, ellie has a plan. she and your brother watch a terrifying movie, which she knows you hate.

౨ৎ before you know it you’re sitting very close to ellie, not even noticing how her hand slips under your shirt, touching your side, comforting you. it was abnormal to feel safe around ellie, but you didn’t question it because it was nice to not be fighting with her for once.

౨ৎ speaking of fighting, ellie often joins in on play fights with you and your brother as just an excuse to grope your ass or tits. you don’t pay it any mind, and ellie thinks it’s cute how you whine when she pins you down and huffs that she always wins.

౨ৎ one night, as ellie makes her way out of your house after a long night of goofing with your brother, she sees you, lying in bed, long hair covering your face as you lay on top of the sheets, with a pillow cradled by your arms.

౨ৎ ellie steps into your room quietly and watches you sleep. she tucks your hair behind you ear. “you know, you really shouldn’t sleep with that door open…you never know what someone could do…” she whispers gently. she kisses your forehead before leaving.

౨ৎ over the next few weeks, ellie seems to warm up to you. you were super suspicious, she was definitely up to something. she came over almost every night, and on saturday she walked into your room. “what do you want, ellie?” you say as you look at her from the chair you’re sitting at. she sits down on your bed, ruffling the sheets. “y’know, if you keep walking around the house in outfits like that, people will think you’re a slut.” she smirks at you. “wow, you really know how to treat a girl, don’t you ellie?” you say as you turn back to your work on your laptop.

౨ৎ “wanna come watch a show with us?” ellie says. “…are you playing at something here?” you say, looking her up and down. “no, seriously, just come watch something with us. it’s so pathetic to see you study on a saturday night.” she says while grabbing your forearm and helping you out of your chair.

౨ৎ ellie and your brother had been watching a true crime documentary about a serial killer, which totally terrified you to the point where you were talking to your brother about it. “i mean, seriously, how can someone do that to someone else? that is seriously fucking creepy, i wish i hadn’t watched that, now i’m really fucking paranoid-” you trail off as ellie leans against your doorframe. “listen, if you’re scared, i can sleep with you tonight.”

౨ৎ you didn’t like the idea of her sleeping with you, but your brother cut in. “shit, ellie, i don’t have a bed for you tonight unless you wanna sleep on the couch. i totally forgot to tell you.” ellie looks at your apprehensive face and starts to talk before you interrupt her. “no, it’s fine. she can sleep here. it’ll be uncomfortable on the couch anyway.” ellie smiles to herself as your brother walks back to his room.

౨ৎ after a while, you find yourself and ellie talking as she puts her hand around your shoulder. “you okay?” she says. “yeah…jus not used to you acting like this.” you say as you look into her emerald green eyes. “cmere.” she helps you into her lap, so your back is pressed against her chest.

౨ৎ ellie slowly reaches up your shirt as you grab her forearm. “you okay with this?” she says as she runs her slender fingers along your abdomen. “yeah…” you whisper as she runs her fingers along the top of your shorts.

౨ৎ ellie reaches into your panties as she kisses your shoulder. “shh..just, let me take care of you bun.” she slowly slides your shorts off and throws them to the side before reaching back into your lace trimmed underwear. she runs a finger along your slit, before teasing your pearl. you whine out as she continues to trace small circles along the sensitive bundle of nerves.

౨ৎ “cmon, you want it, don’t you?” she says as she guides a finger down into you. you whine as she grabs your thigh with her free hand. she slides another finger into you before pounding in and out, touching and feeling up your gummy walls. you moan loudly before clasping a hand over your mouth. “shh, don’t want you brother to know you’re being a little slut for me, do you?”

౨ৎ she continues to thrust into you, groaning as you pant and whine, begging for release. “cum whenever you want, pup.” you don’t need her to tell you twice, finishing all over her fingers as she slows down to let you ride out your high, she brings her fingers swiftly to her mouth to taste you, praying you won’t notice.

౨ৎ she lets you lie down on your pillow, grabbing a fresh pair of panties from your drawer before sliding them up on you. you grab her by the sweater she was wearing before sloppily kissing her. she deepens the kiss before pulling back. “cmon, bun. you must be sleepy.” you shake your head but eventually resign to sleeping with her cradling you in her arms.

౨ৎ months go by, and fucking ellie is a regular thing for you. your brother is none the wiser, and ellie always sleeps in your room. ellie can’t keep her hands off of you, even when your brother is right next to you. when you three are watching a movie, her hands trail under the blanket you two share to touch your inner thigh, dangerously close to your panties. you always try to get ellie to stop, but you two end up going back to your bedroom in a rush, ready to leave your brother sitting on the couch alone wondering what the fuck you two could possibly be doing.

౨ৎ ellie never misses a chance to watch you from your window, sneak glances at you as you get out of the shower, or even touching your ass as she walks behind you, right in the middle of your kitchen. it’s safe to say she now loves you a lot more than your brother.

♡ haiii okay so this fic has been in the back of my mind for a while i wish it was better but oh well um ,, i feel it’s very unrealistic and i didn’t do a good job portraying ellie but oh well . i wanted to release another fic today n i rlly rlly hope u guys will like this one , have a good day or night n thank u sm if ur here reading this !! if ur still here please send me fic requests i’m having writers block lmao ♡

[001x456]

any 457 fic recs?

In-ho x Gi-hun fic recs

credits to the respective authors! ♡

*some of them are wholesome fluff, but some may contain topics that can be triggering, taboo and considered “dark theme” in nature; so after tapping the links, make sure you read the tags first (actually, since I'm a sucker for whump, spicy and fucked up stuff, most of them are 'dead dove do not eat', so be warned)

Overthrown

Seong Gi-hun isn't the only enemy the Front Man has. It takes him too long to realize that.  Or, Front Man's right hand man, the Officer, with the help of the Soldiers, plans to take him down. And In-ho has been too blind to see the betrayal coming.  (Ironic enough, it turns out the one who's too trusting isn't Gi-hun.)

Obedience and Oblivion (NSFW)

Dragged back into the shadows of the games, Gi-hun finds himself bound not just by chains but by the quiet, unnerving pull of the man who holds him captive. The Front Man offers him comfort wrapped in control, tenderness laced with possession. As lines blur between survival and submission, freedom and desire, Gi-hun must decide: will he rise above, or let himself fall deeper into the arms of the enemy?

and I found love where it wasn't supposed to be, right in front of me

"Young-il was a good person. He was my friend. And you killed him because all he wanted was to save his family."

"Gi-hun —" In-ho quickly stopped and shut his mouth when he realized he was letting it slip. He's Player 456 to you now, and you're not Young-il anymore, warned the voices in his head.

You're the Front Man and he's Player 456. Young-il and Gi-hun are no more. And that ache, the sudden surge of pain in In-ho's chest, In-ho could never seem to understand.

all I worship and adore (NSFW)

After the tenth year anniversary of his wife's death, In-ho decided it was time for him to feel something else that wasn't grief. He found himself in a shady brothel with a companion of an overly friendly, overly awkward sex worker named Seong Gi-hun. (It's fine, right? It's merely physical pleasure and nothing more. This does not mean you're betraying her, it does not mean you're moving on, or so In-ho told himself.)

loving you is a losing game

Gasping and gurgling and choking on his own blood, In-ho's eyes remain fixated on Gi-hun and Jun-ho.

Mister Right

“Hwang Inho,” His assailant introduced stiffly and rattled off a lengthy sequence of numbers. “Eh?” They’d given Gihun something for the pain and it was making him a little dizzy. “My name and badge number,” The man said, his jaw clenched tight as he advised, “you should lodge a formal complaint to the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency when you are able to walk, sir.” “Oh…ok.” “Did you remember what I just said?” Gihun’s head lolled. He blinked groggily at the figure dressed in all black. “Are you my nurse? This needle in my arm hurts. Could you blow on it?” The man didn’t move. “Please?” He whined, blinking back tears.

One Way Ticket (NSFW)

Gi-hun arrives in a foreign land brimming with hope and dreams of starting a new life with the woman he’s convinced is his soulmate. But when things start to unravel, and the truth of his situation becomes painfully clear, he finds himself at the mercy of a stranger—Hwang In-ho, a man who sees opportunity in Gi-hun’s desperation.

Final Game

In which In-ho tries running away from his own self, his guilt, doubt and feelings. (Gi-hun is handcuffed to a bed, yet In-ho finds himself the one in chains, unable to run away.)

Material Girl

“I’m not a prostitute,” The man sitting in the small plastic chair opposite Junho’s work desk repeated. Junho glanced up from the arrest form he was filling out on his computer and studied him. Seong Gihun, age forty-three, resident of Ssangmun-dong. The system showed his only living relative to be his elderly mother. There were numerous citations on file for money issues mostly, but no prostitution. Oh, and today was his birthday. “Officer,” the man said, wringing his hands like an old woman and rocking in his seat, “I swear.” Junho took his fingers off the keyboard and crossed them over his desk. “Ajusshi, I have you on video without your pants in a popular love hotel.”

dead (for a little while) (NSFW)

Gi-hun loses the next game.

Strangely, they don't kill him.

like a good, good dog (NSFW)

"Come on," Thanos — Player 230 — said, "I see the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. A blind person could see you've been yearning for each other. Don't look at me like that, I'm just doing you both a favor here."

"What did you just say?" Gi-hun asked.

"You heard me. Fuck 001. Or die."

In a Truth or Dare game, Gi-hun landed himself with the most absurd dare. In-ho realized the price of his undercover mission may be higher than he thought when he was getting fucked at his own game. Figuratively and literally.

Alternative Universe where no one gets hurt.

Forgotten Vows (NSFW)

Gi-Hun wakes up with a wedding ring on his finger.

Dirty Business (NSFW)

Gi-hun sucks In-ho’s dick while he watches the chaos unfold.

Facilitated Karma

VIPs kind of get whatever they want, here- so when one of them orders to have Gi-hun for a night, In-ho has to comply.

Gi-hun doesn't get the memo.

All Your Pieces (NSFW)

After the failed rebellion, he dissociates on the Frontman's floor.

pick up your stitches (better than your riches) (NSFW)

Gi-hun just looks at him in silence for a moment, studying his frame intently. “How do you live with yourself?"

“I don’t know.”

When he leans in, it’s slow and deliberate. It’s like he’s showing his hands. Begging Gi-hun to squint and pretend they’re clean.

“You can tell me no,” he reminds him. Miraculously, Gi-hun just nods.

Or: Gi-hun and the Frontman meet after the games are through.

wrap my name across your mouth when i let my feelings down (NSFW)

“You haven’t eaten all day,” In-ho reminds him, a note of desperation in his voice. “Let me feed you, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun’s eyes are unfocused and bloodshot, he notices. There are dark circles underneath them. In-ho chastises himself for not considering the fact that his companion might be sleep deprived.

“Uh, yeah,” Gi-hun awkwardly rubs at his neck with his right hand. “I could eat.”

in the flow of things

“That’s my fish,” Inho snaps, taking a step closer. His voice echoes through the narrow space, sharp with rage. The man chuckles softly. “I mean… define 'your' fish.” Inho blinks, momentarily stunned by the audacity. “Are you serious? You stole it. You've been stealing my fish.” “Borrowing,” the man corrects, raising his finger. “Relocating is the better word, actually. You keep buying more anyway, so I figured-” “Relocating? Are you serious right now?” Inho's voice rises, disbelief flooding his system. He stalks closer, fists clenched. “You’ve been breaking into my apartment and stealing my fish like it’s some kind of hobby?”

or Five times Inho came home to an empty fishbowl, and the one time he finally caught the culprit.

let's drift away in fits of pleasure (NSFW)

Fronting a secret killing game while also taking place in said game was difficult as expected, but the most unexpected inconvenience was that of sneaking out every night to return to In-ho's office. He resorted to excusing himself to the bathroom for long hours during lights out and hoping the others didn’t bother to ask in the haze of their exhaustion.

It was Gi-hun that pushed the boundaries, as he should have learned to expect these days.

Nightmares

Chapter 1: Gihun gets a nightmare and I Inho takes care of him Chapter 2: Inho gets a nightmare and trys to hide it from Gihun because he thinks he deserves to get them

TO YOUR SWEET NOTHING

"You’re up early,” came the dry, familiar voice of In-ho beside Gi-hun. “Early?” Gi-hun snorted, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s almost nine. You call that early?” In-ho grunted, shifting slightly but making no move to get up. “It is when you’ve spent years sleeping with one eye open,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Or, a soft lazy morning between Inho and Gihun

Would You Still Love Me?

In-ho turned back to his microscope, clearly done with the conversation, but his lips twitched into a smile. “Speaking of worms…” “Oh, please no,” Gi-hun groaned. Nothing sane or understandable ever followed that phrase. “Would you still love me if I were a worm?” “Why are you even asking this?” Gi-hun demanded. “Do you plan on turning into a worm?” His eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh my god, did you sign up for some kind of freaky experiment?”

Or, "Would you still love me if I was a worm?" fic featuring Gi-hun and In-ho!

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 8.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: injuries, sexism, mentions of male genitalia, orgasms and (oral) sex

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Minors do not interact.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Katsuki fastens the stag at the dragon's back behind the saddle. Y/n stands beside him and secures the stag while Katsuki uses the straps to make sure that the stag doesn't fall off during the flight. She watches as Katsuki works with a grim expression on his face. More grim than usual, she thinks. She wonders why. She doesn't know that Katsuki takes her to his tribe today. He didn't even try to tell her since she wouldn't understand him anyway.

He would never admit it but he's anxious. He knows that his men will celebrate his victory. Coming home with a successful hunt. Bringing home a woman for the tribe.

Concerning the old hag, he's not so sure. His mother is one of the few remaining women in his tribe. The plague took most of the fertile women. Meaning old women past their fertile prime and young girls before their first blood survived. Leaving a whole generation of young men behind.

His mother always had very specific expectations of how Katsuki's life was supposed to take place. Becoming the tribe's leader, for example. That being said, he's not sure she will approve of him bringing home a stray female. Well, that'd be alright if he did and brought her for his men. Or for himself for a night. But definitely not as a potential mate for himself.

Suddenly, there's a warm hand on his bicep. Y/n. She must've said something to him considering how expectantly she looks at him. „What, woman?“, he spats. Y/n furrows her brow in worry. Clearly, something is upsetting Katsuki.

Y/n walks closer to him and wraps her arms around his middle and leans into him. For a second, Katsuki wants to push her away because he is annoyed. When he sees how she looks at him, he changes his mind. Soft eyes look up at him, making him dizzy.

He shifts so he can take her into his arms. He leans his forehead onto hers and takes a deep breath. He can still feel the angry feeling in his stomach. Or is it anxiety? He doesn't know. Either way, it feels like a stone lying right behind his belly button.

Y/n moves her head and meets Katsuki in a kiss. Without opening his eyes, Katsuki kisses her back. In contrast to yesterday at the bonfire, this kiss is sweet and slow. There's no fire behind it just reassurance. Katsuki doesn't realize how the stone dissolves itself.

Breaking the kiss, Katsuki looks down at y/n who places a hand on his cheek and softly strokes it. He wants to sigh and kiss her again but y/n slips out of the embrace and gets another bag that needs to be secured at the dragon's back.

Before they take to the sky, y/n takes a look at Katsuki's injury one more time. She's afraid that the wound won't heal properly with Katsuki moving around so much. Katsuki thinks it's completely unnecessary but he lets y/n fret over him for a bit. Maybe he also enjoys it a bit. When she's done, they mount the dragon.

Y/n watches their surrounding with excited eyes. Somehow, she can't get enough of watching the landscape from so high above. Katsuki does not do any stupid tricks this time and just lets her enjoy the view. Now and then, he presses a kiss to her neck which makes her feel fuzzy inside.

Slowly, but steadily the landscape starts to change. The forest areas become less and less dense and few more settlements can be spotted. The air grows cooler.

They fly for two or three hours when y/n starts to notice a painful ache in her tights. She remembers what happened last time when they flew for a longer period of time. She tries to ignore the pain until it becomes too much. She turns around and asks Katsuki to land. When he doesn't understand her, she keeps pointing to the ground.

„What, you gotta piss? I've told you to go before we left, stupid woman.“, Katsuki mumbles but gives the dragon a sign to land.

After the dragon touches land, Katsuki helps y/n down. He notices how her movements are stiff. He touches her legs and notice how cool she's gotten. He scrambles for some clothes when y/n wobbles behind a tree.

There, she lifts her dress and looks at her tights. There are blisters forming and there are fine tears in her skin. „Fuck.“, she mumbles.

„Fuck?“, Katsuki's amused voice says behind her.

Y/n drops her skirt and turns around. Dramatically, she rolls his eyes to make it clear what she thinks of that comment. She's sure as hell that Katsuki has a foul mouth. He shouldn't make fun of her when she uses a swear word here and then.

„You done?“, he says putting his hand on his hips. Wordlessly, y/n wobbles back to the dragon and looks for the medicine bag. Katsuki watches her closely, not getting why she needs wound dressing.

„You stay here“, y/n tells him, „Don't look.“

She wobbles behind the dragon and sits down carefully she looks for the rash cream and some bandages. Katsuki follows her closely behind.

„Go away!“, she tells him and waves her hand. Katsuki picks up one of the bandages.

„Why do you need those? Are you hurt or what?“, he asks. Y/n gives him a mean look and keeps pointing behind the dragon.

When Katsuki doesn't move, y/n sighs in defeat. It's not like he will see anything inappropriate. It's just legs after all, y/n tells herself and starts ruffling up her skirt.

Katsuki's eyes widen when he realizes why y/n wanted him to leave. However, he does not show any signs of moving away. Instead, he very intensely stares up y/n's naked leg. Y/n makes sure lady parts are covered but can't help feeling embarrassed by Katsuki's stares. He must know this intimate. Especially when she has to prop up and spread one leg in order to get to the wound.

In all honesty, very indecent thoughts run through Katsuki's mind when he sees y/n in this position. That is until he sees the wounds on y/n's thighs. Immediately, he steps closer, kneels down and grabs y/n's knee hollow pushing her leg further apart. Y/n yelps as she almost loses balance.

Katsuki inspects the wound. „Rider's rash.“, he determines. Not uncommon if you ride a horse or dragon without proper clothes. Y/n's dress definitely falls under the category of improper clothes for riding. Katsuki wants to scold himself. He should've thought of this. It's not like y/n had any other choice but to ride with the clothes on her back since she had no others.

Katsuki lets go off her leg and grabs the rash cream.

„I-it's fine! I can do that myself!“, y/n says jittery and tries to grab the cream out of Katsuki's hand. She really doesn't want him to touch her anywhere near there. No, that's wrong. She definitely wants that but not now and not here.

Katsuki just swats her hand away and takes a big goop of cream. Carefully, he spreads her leg again applying the cream onto the wound. While he's very concentrated on treating the wound, he's also painfully aware of how close he is to the place his men would kill for. When the cream is applied he wraps a bandage around it. Without asking, he checks y/n's other leg and repeats the process.

Meanwhile, y/n's face burns in a bright red.

Once he's done, he lets go of her and pulls her skirt over her legs again. A gesture that y/n appreciates. Then, he rumbles through a bag and gets another pair of pants. It's shorter than the one he wears. He helps y/n into the pants and y/n stuffs her dress into the pants trying to use the fabric as a cushion for the wounds that already formed. Katsuki also wraps his cape around her shoulder and arms.

Then, it's time to fly again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They fly for the rest of the day. Only taking a quick pee break in between. While y/n is fascinated by the view for a while, she eventually grows tired. At some point, she leans back and rests her head against Katsuki's shoulder. He lets her because he knows how tiring flying can be to an untrained body. He remembers how beat he was after his first few flying lessons.

When the mighty Bear Fang Mountains come into view, Katsuki nudges y/n awake. Actually, she bolts awake and when she remembers where she is, she immediately clings to Katsuki's arms for balance.

„Wow“, she breathes at the sight in front of her. A large mountain range opens up in front of them. Are we flying lower or are these mountains higher than we fly?, she thinks.

„We call them Iron Peaks“, Katsuki tells her. He points along the range of mountains and repeats: „Iron Peaks“. Y/n follows the motion of his finger and mumbles: „Iron Peaks“. Katsuki corrects her pronunciation and y/n repeats the words until she feels Katsuki nod behind her.

Katsuki takes her hand and uses her index finger to point to a mountain to the right of them. „There's my home. There's where we're going. Back home.“, he tells her. Again, y/n repeats the last word Katsuki utters and he nods approvingly.

„Yes, we're going home.“, he mumbles into her hair.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's not long before the dragon starts flying lower and a settlement comes into sight. Y/n instantly recognizes how it looks different from the settlements in the kingdom. The settlement is made of tents instead of brick houses. Suddenly, a feeling of nostalgia hits her. While most villages in the kingdom were assembled out of brick houses, that's not where the wandering folk lived in.

Her people also lived in tents. Portable homes that can be set up anytime anywhere. And, of course, one cannot be struck dead by falling stones. Just the sight of the arrangement of tents makes her think of her people, her parents, and her childhood. Her heart aches and she can feel tears pricking in her eyes. Quickly she rubs them away and hopes that Katsuki mistakes them as the result of the cold wind piercing her eyes. She really can't wait to sleep in comfortable leather walls again.

Katsuki's mind is too busy to notice y/n's tears. He's growing more tense with each passing second.

The dragon approaches landing and y/n can make out human figures in between the tents. When the dragon's feet stand firm on the ground, a bunch of rough-looking men walk towards the dragon with loud roaring. For a second, y/n thinks the men are going to attack them until Katsuki lets out a triumphant howl in return.

Katsuki jumps from the dragon and his men immediately tackle him. Katsuki laughs and shoves the men away playfully. Y/n feels awkward watching him greet his friends from atop the dragon, so she carefully demounts the dragon by herself. The motion grabs the men's attention.

„A woman?“, a blonde man says with his eyes as big as saucers. „I thought you wanted to go hunting. You should've taken us with you when you planned to raid a place!“, another man complaints. Katsuki shoves him roughly.

„I wasn't on a raid, you dumb fucks. Basically, found that one roaming the woods.“, he tells them.

„Our chief is a lucky one then, heh?“, the blonde grins, „Is she a good fuck? Or you kept her decent so one of us can have her?“.

Katsuki shoots the blonde an angry glare. „Shut the fuck up, Denki. That one's mine, you got that.“, he growls.

The blonde named Denki raises his hands in defeat. „Alright, chief. But what will your mother say about that?“, Denki teases. Katsuki stomps his feet.

„I'm chief and that old hag needs to bow to my decisions.“, he shoots back.

It doesn't go unnoticed by him how his men exchange uncertain glances. While Katsuki took over the regiment a few years ago, the former chief of the tribe, his mother, still holds a certain power over people.

Y/n walks closer to the men and gives the men uncertain smiles.

„Why is she dressed like this?“

„She's so small. You sure she's gonna make it around here? Their kind is not known for being mountain-weather-resistant.“

„Are her boobs big? And her hips wide enough?“

The men swarm her trying to get a good look at her. Y/n feels really uncomfortable and, by the way the men look at her, she's worried they'll try to tear the clothes off of her.

Katsuki steps in between them. „Y'all shut the fuck up. Get your asses to work. Unload the dragon, and take care of the stag! Tonight we feast!“, he yells at them and grabs y/n's arm.

The men get to work and Katsuki wordlessly drags y/n behind him deeper into the settlement. More men wait outside their tents. Upon seeing Katsuki's angry face, they decide against greeting their leader. Nobody wants to deal with Katsuki in a bad mood. They also oogle at the woman at his side.

Y/n searches for women among them to no avail. Where are they?, she wonders. Do they stay in the tents? Are they with the kids?

She doesn't find an answer to her question. Then, Katsuki arrives at his destination. A large, painted tent in the middle of the settlement. There's a small brick hut attached to its side. One of the only stone constructions y/n spotted so far.

Katsuki leads her inside. Once inside, he lets go of her arms and throws the knife he was holding onto a table at the side. Y/n looks around carefully.

There's a large bed with furs and other blankets in the middle of the room. There are multiple wooden chests on the side of the tent.

There is a small table and two chairs on the other side. And there are weapons. A lot of them. Hanging from the ceiling. In buckets on the ground. Thrown carelessly onto the trunks.

Y/n is pretty sure that this must be Katsuki's tent.

"Y/n", Katsuki says sternly. Y/n turns around carefully. Katsuki says something that sounds like an order and y/n stares at him with furrowed brows. We really have to work on this language thing, she thinks to herself while shrugging helplessly to make him see that she doesn't understand a thing.

Katsuki sighs. He grabs her arm and pulls her to the side of the tent. Behind the table, there is an opening in the tent that is closed off with another piece of leather. Pulling it away, Katsuki reveals the entrance to the small brick hut y/n saw from the outside.

He pulls her inside and a sort of bathroom comes into sight. It's sparsely furnished but has everything that is needed. In the middle of the hut is a bathtub that is already filled with steaming water.

Katsuki points at her, then the water and says: "Bath!". Y/n nods and repeats the words. Katsuki nods and turns to leave.

The hot water feels good on y/n's skin. The cool mountain air already cooled down y/n's body and she's glad she can warm herself up a bit. Also, she hasn't washed herself since before the festival at the village. Now that she thinks about it, she must really stink. She wonders if Katsuki noticed.

Embarrassed, she scrubs her skin until it is burning. Katsuki's tribe must not care too much about smells at least there are no nice soaps or scented oils in the bathroom. Just an odorless curd soap. After y/n dried herself off, she wished she had some of that bee wax lotion that her mother made. Her mother always put some lavender oil in it which y/n find quite relaxing.

When she's done, she wraps the towel she found in the hut around her body. She doesn't want to put on her old dress since it's all sweaty and gross.

Katsuki isn't in the tent when she returns. She sits down on the bed while she waits for him. When she grows cold again, she loses the wet towel and wraps herself in one of the blankets.

After a while, the opening to the tent is lifted and Katsuki steps back into the room. He acknowledges her with a curt nod.

Y/n hops off the bed wrapped in the blanket. "Can I borrow some clothes from you?", she asks him. When she sees he doesn't understand, she holds up her dress and repeats: "Clothes?".

"Clothes?", he repeats and looks at the dress and then at her. Y/n can see the wheels in Katsuki's head turning. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he looks at the dress and then at her in realization.

The realization is that y/n is naked underneath the blanket.

Katsuki swallows hard. There's a naked woman wrapped in his blanket in his tent. Quickly, he tries to shake off the thought. He starts rummaging through the chests for some clothes for her.

He finds a woolen shirt and linen pants. He doesn't have any female clothes and he makes a note to get some for her tomorrow.

Katsuki throws the clothes at y/n and y/n almost drops the blanket. Katsuki wishes she would drop it. He's curious about how she looks naked. So, he tries his luck and keeps looking at her expectantly. Maybe she'll change in front of him.

She doesn't. Actually, Katsuki staring at her makes her a bit angry. It's rude, she thinks. "Turn around!", she tells him and makes a rotating movement with her index finger.

Katsuki waits another moment in hopes she will change her mind but then turns around. It takes all the self-restraint he possesses not to peek.

When he feels her hand on his arm, he turns around again.

"Socks?", y/n asks and shows him her naked feet and Katsuki scrambles for some socks. The socks are way too big for y/n but they are thicker than her own socks.

Y/n feels a lot better now that she wears some fresh clothes even though she must look ridiculous since the clothes are way too big for her and not something a woman would ever wear.

Katsuki however can't take his eyes off her. He hasn't taken her on as his mate yet and the fact that she wears his clothes is so... intimate to him. Like she's already his.

Y/n wraps the blanket around herself again since it's still way too cold for her in the tent. Katsuki leads her to the bed and makes her sit down.

He looks at her for a moment and pets her head for a second before telling her: "Stay here".

Y/n sighs deeply. She already learned what "stay" means. He must've told her a thousand times already. But, she doesn't complain.

She's tired and not in the mood to be confronted with his strange men outside. She just nods at him and lays down. Katsuki tucks her in and presses a kiss to her forehead.

When Katsuki leaves, it doesn't take long before y/n's eyes get droopy and she slips into a slumber.

Somewhen when the sun's already down, she is woken up by loud yelling outside. There are sounds of a celebration but y/n is too tired to care. She just pulls a pillow over her head and goes back to sleep again.

She's woken up roughly by Katsuki shaking her uninjured shoulder. He holds a steaming plate into her face.

Suddenly, y/n is awake in a second. Her stomach is grumbling. While y/n eats, Katsuki disappears into the stone hut.

The food is delicious. It's the stag meat and some form of mashed potatoes but spicier. While y/n eats, she notices how quiet it has gotten outside.

Seems like the party's over, she thinks when Katsuki returns to the main room again.

The food almost falls out of y/n's mouth.

He's naked. Absolutely butt-naked. He's not even trying to hide his manhood.

Y/n throws a pillow at him.

"What?", Katsuki snarks and y/n throws another pillow at him.

When he turns fully around at her to scold her for throwing things at him, y/n slaps her hands in front of her eyes.

"Tsk", Katsuki exclaims but has to hide his grin, "What? Did you expect me to act all innocent like you? This is my home, y'know. Also, you should get used to it!"

Y/n doesn't move until Katsuki puts on some proper clothes (which for him is thin linen pants and that's it) and even then her face is still burning red.

Katsuki lays down next to her and props up his head. Even though y/n's appetite is dimmed after the naked encounter, she finishes the plate to not seem ungrateful.

After she's put the plate away on the table, Katsuki grabs her waist when she returns to his bed. While it takes y/n by surprise, she doesn't fight it. Before she knows it, she's pinned beneath him and his lips are on hers.

Katsuki kisses her feverishly, starved even. As if he's been waiting all evening to kiss her. Which, to be fair, he did. The action overwhelms y/n for a second but when Katsuki doesn't pull back and y/n wraps her head around it, she kisses back.

Katsuki lets his hands wander. He avoids any body parts that get him hit with a pillow, at least for now. Y/n mirrors his actions and runs her hands up and down his arms and back.

Katsuki forces his tongue into y/n's mouth which she gladly accepts. With a dizzy head, she acknowledges that Katsuki is an extremely good kisser. At least to her. Not that she kissed that many people before.

When Katsuki starts pressing open-mouthed kisses onto her neck and collarbone, y/n lets out a breathy sigh. Katsuki's mouth and hands on her just feel too good.

While Katsuki's dick has been hard before this, it jumps at the sound y/n makes.

There's nothing more in the world he wants right now than tearing the clothes off of her and exploring every inch of her body with his mouth.

He knows it's off-limit until they become mates and for a second he contemplates if making her come on his tongue really breaks the rules since he's technically not mating her. He decides not to test the rage of the gods.

He detaches from her neck and rolls over facing her. Y/n is left lying on her back, breathing heavily.

"You asshole", she tells him and Katsuki has to laugh.

She turns to him and Katsuki opens his arms to her. Y/n crawls into his embrace while Katsuki pulls a heavy blanket over both of them.

For a while, they lay in silence. Katsuki strokes over y/n's back and presses a kiss onto her forehead every now and then. Somewhen Katsuki's movements become slower and eventually, they stop.

He must've fallen asleep, y/n thinks. Meanwhile, she's wide awake. She snuggles deeper into Katsuki's chest and listens to his soft, steady breathing.

Somehow, she feels at ease. Even though she's been brought to this place and its strange men. She should probably feel anxious about what happens tomorrow but she can't find it in her to stress out about it.

All thoughts eventually spin back to Katsuki and how she's sure that whatever happens, Katsuki will protect her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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