#me writing out pointless thoughts which no one will read | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 7 months ago

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“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are soulmates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?”

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from.

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

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

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

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

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

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

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

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closes on his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where is yours, then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, it made everything worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

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

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

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t go well in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

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littlelamy · 2 months ago

Note

Hey gorgeous!! I was thinking about Rafe having a yapper gf.. she talks about literally anything whenever because she can. And some ppl might find it annoying and everything but Rafe doesn't. And like one day they go to a party or sm and reader is rambling and some girls judge her about it, which is kinda sad cuz like reader thought about being friends w them.. maybe? And like that comment affects her more and like Rafe notices but doesn't say anything at first, but then it becomes concerning and he gets her to explain everything...

You dont have to write it if u don't want to! Luv u and ur work btw 💓

lamy notes: thank you so much baby!

rafe loves your voice. not just the sound of it, but the way you use it. constantly. like you don’t even think before letting the words spill out, like the world around you is just lucky enough to hear whatever is on your mind at any given moment.

sometimes it’s about your day, sometimes it’s about a random fact you read last night at two a.m., sometimes it’s completely pointless—like whether ducks know they’re ducks—but rafe never tells you to shut up. he just listens. sometimes he hums, sometimes he asks questions, sometimes he just watches you talk with that soft little smirk, like he could listen to you forever.

which is why it’s so weird when you stop.

it happens at a party. you’re talking—rambling—about a new tv show you just started watching, waving your hands around while rafe keeps his arm wrapped around your waist, nodding along, totally content.

but then, you catch it. a look.

two girls, standing by the kitchen, eyes flicking over to you. one of them whispers something to the other, and then—a laugh.

not with you. at you.

rafe doesn’t notice. he’s still looking at you. but something about their reaction, about knowing they think you’re annoying, makes your stomach clench.

so you stop talking.

just like that.

rafe doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you a look when you go quiet mid-sentence. but you just shake your head, wave it off, smile even though it feels wrong.

but as the night goes on, he notices more.

he notices the way you stop yourself every time you start rambling. the way you cut your own sentences short. the way you hesitate before saying something, like you’re thinking about whether or not it’s worth saying at all.

it makes something burn in his chest.

when you get back to his place, he doesn’t let you brush it off.

"what’s wrong with you?" he asks, shutting the door behind him, pulling his hat off.

you blink up at him. "what?"

"you’ve been weird all night."

"i’m fine, rafe—"

"bullshit."

your lips press together. you glance away.

he exhales sharply, stepping closer. softer, now.

"baby," he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "tell me."

you hesitate. but then, the words slip out before you can stop them.

"some girls at the party were laughing at me."

rafe’s entire demeanor shifts. his jaw tenses, his grip on your waist tightens, his eyes darken.

"who."

"it doesn’t matter." you shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "they just… they thought i was annoying."

rafe actually laughs, but it’s not amused. it’s incredulous.

"are you fucking serious?"

"rafe—"

"no, because that’s the dumbest fucking thing i’ve ever heard."

you don’t say anything. you just look at him, and his face softens, because he realizes—it got to you.

so he tugs you forward, presses you against him, one hand on the back of your head, the other gripping your hip.

"baby," he murmurs, voice so low, so sure, right against your temple. "i love when you talk."

your fingers tighten in his hoodie.

"i could listen to you all day."

your throat tightens.

"fuck those girls, okay?" he pulls back just enough to look at you, blue eyes steady, serious. "don’t ever let some stuck-up bitches make you feel like you need to be less."

and when he kisses you, slow and certain, you believe him.

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 @lil-sparklqueen

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darkwitchoferie · 4 months ago

Text

Train Ride

Summary: You start off as just Chan’s beloved girlfriend and end up in bed with all the members.

A/N: This is an expansion of a little oneshot I wrote on Tumblr. Link here. It is specifically an expansion on each of the scenarios in the oneshot, and maybe an additional chapter or two after that. Also, timing wise, this story does take place in the spring/summer. Seungmin’s chapter involves a baseball game and that’s a specific season. So, in case you wonder why anybody’s hair doesn’t reflect their current styles – that’s why. There are, at the moment, 8 planned chapters. That could change.

Also, for you - @skzficpriv for your comment on the original oneshot and therefore the encouragement to actually finish writing these out. Thank you darling!

This post contains sexual content, read at your own discretion.

General cw/tw for the whole fic, not just this chapter: talks of consensual somnophilia, free-use reader, unprotected p in v sex, vaginal sex, talk of and thoughts of sexual fantasies, anal sex between members, oral (m & f receiving), exhibition/voyeurism (thought not actually in public), polyamory, multi-partner sex, established relationship between Chan x fem Reader as well as between Han x Lee Know. 2nd person POV (you/your). I think that's all, might need to add more later.

wc: 2923

Master list

Chan tossed the wet cloth he’d used to clean you and himself into the hamper then lay back down beside you, tugging you over so you could curl comfortably into his side. He chuckled at your feeble protests at being moved, which stopped as soon as you felt the warmth of his bare skin against yours again. You burrowed in, pressing your face to his side.

On a yawn you muttered, “Wish we’d invite the boys to play with me,” before going limp as you faded into sleep.

Chan froze, looking down at your sleeping face. Surely you didn’t mean what he thought he heard? You couldn’t possibly mean that you wanted the rest of the group to join you two in your bed. Right? He thought about shaking you awake and asking, but knew that was pointless, you wouldn’t be any more coherent until after a full night’s sleep. He tried to calm his mind, reassured that he’d be able to ask about it tomorrow, and eventually fell asleep.

He woke up later than he intended the next morning. Quietly rushing around, so as not to wake you before you needed to be up, he didn’t even remember what you’d whispered until he was walking into the JYPE building and caught sight of Felix and Seungmin walking ahead of him. He stopped in his tracks in the lobby, your sleepy words playing on a loop in his head as he watched his two friends head for the elevators, unaware that he was behind them. He shook himself out of it when one of the company’s security guards tapped him on the shoulder. He thanked the man, saying something about not sleeping well, and made his way up to the recording studio he was expected in.

On his way up, he thought over his reaction, both just then in the lobby and the night before. If he’d been posed a hypothetical question like, how do you think you’d react if your girlfriend said she wanted your friend to fuck her – his immediate reaction would’ve been to say he’d hate the idea. He was possessive of you, everyone knew it. But that wasn’t the way he’d reacted to your words. Instead he was … interested might be too strong a word, but definitely intrigued. He resolved to compartmentalize it in his mind and focus on work until he could talk to you about it.

That lasted for maybe an hour. Until Minho groaned in frustration at getting the English wrong again and Chan’s mind immediately, and without conscious decision, jumped to wondering if he’d make similar noises while fucking you. That single thought started the spiral for him. After that his mind wander and he started to wonder more. What would Hyunjin’s face look like when he sank into your cunt? Did Changbin have as much of a thing for tits as Chan suspected he did? Would Felix's voice go deep or into his higher pitches?

And what about you? Would you make the same noises if Jeongin was the one fucking you as you did when it was him? Would you whine the same way for Seungmin? Who would be whinier – you or Jisung? He was absolutely sure Jisung was loud during sex and now, he was allowing himself to wonder exactly what sounds he and the others would make.

Now that he was thinking these thoughts, he was also recalling every interaction you’d had with the other members recently. How Jeongin’s eyes trailed after you when you walked around their apartment. Or how Jisung’s and Felix’s hugs lingered, something he’d always chalked up to both boys being tactile people to begin with. How Changbin’s hands slid just a little too close to your boobs when he hugged you from behind without actually touching them. Or how Hyunjin always insisted you were the best pose model for whatever he was working on and that he needed an otherwise empty room to focus. The way Minho would look at you sometimes and how similar it was to the way he looked at Jisung and they all knew the pair of them were sleeping together, despite not officially being a couple. How Seungmin didn’t even pretend to shy away from your touch if you happened to be sitting beside him during group gatherings. Or a million other things that he was suddenly looking at in a different light that made him wonder.

He had never really thought about defining his sexuality. You’d asked him about it once and he said he was attracted to people, not their gender. But he had admitted to you that, at the time you got together, he had a bit more experience with guys than with girls, which he’d chalked up to being a trainee throughout puberty. But he’d never allowed himself to delve too deeply into any attraction he might feel for his members, fearing it would make him awkward around them. Now though? Now it seemed that your half-asleep comment had lifted a lid off a box in his mind and all sorts of thoughts were tumbling out.

When they stopped for lunch, he made the seven of them leave ahead of him, playing it off as wanting some privacy to call you. The truth was, with his thoughts spiraling into the territory they were, he was hard. Very hard, and there was no way he could stand up from the desk and it not be obvious. He took several deep breaths, screwing his eyes shut, clenching his hands into fists, and tried to will away his boner. Eventually, he called Hannah and that helped instantly, putting him back on an even keel.

Then came dance practice in the afternoon and that put his mind right back in the gutter. Any body roll or anything that looked even vaguely like a hip thrust had him internally struggling with new images. Once, he excused himself to the bathroom and had to take care of his problem before it became too evident. Or at least, he hoped it hadn’t been noticeable.

The day ended earlier than usual, owing to Hyunjin and Felix both having separate photoshoots. While normally, Chan would take advantage of the early end and head back into the recording studio, maybe with Jisung and Changbin, maybe without them, this time he headed straight for your apartment.

“Channie!” You grinned up at him from behind your computer set up in the living room. One of the best perks, to your mind, about working from home was the ability to move your set up out into the living room or kitchen, or really anywhere that wasn’t your home office for a scenery change. “Everything okay?” You could tell immediately that something had your boyfriend edgy. Hopefully everything had gone well at the company.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. Almost done for the day?” He nodded at your computer.

“Just about. I was gonna make a pizza, do you want to pop it into the oven while I finish up?”

“Yeah, baby girl. That sounds perfect.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he walked by. He paced the length of your kitchen and back again as he waited, first for the oven to heat, then the pizza to cook. He could hear you working on your computer and didn’t want to interrupt, but he really needed to deal with everything that had been going on in his head all day. Now, surrounded by the familiarity of your apartment, nothing changed. He was still thinking about his friends and wondering how you’d look pinned under Changbin, riding Seungmin, or bent over for Minho.

By the time the pizza was done and you were shutting down your work laptop, he still hadn’t decided if he should just ask you about it, or if he needed to fuck you first, to at least get himself somewhat under control so you could have this conversation. He heard you packing away your set up and taking it into your home office, so he sliced up the pizza and brought two plates out into the living room.

“Thank you, baby,” you grinned at him, sitting beside him and snuggling into his side while you both ate.

Normally, your proximity like this would calm Chan, no matter what kind of day he’d had. You’d snuggle into his side, and he’d relax back into the couch cushions. Not this day. The fingers on his free hand tapped incessantly against your shoulder or the back of the couch. He kept shifting around and could not say at all what show you’d put on the tv.

You waited, somewhat patiently, sure he’d tell you what was going on after a while. Meanwhile, Chan was wondering how the hell to even bring it up. Eventually, you got tired of waiting. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

You sat up to look directly at him. “You’re edgy, babe. Like you get when something’s bugging you. What is it?”

“It’s not…. It’s about what you said last night, before you fell asleep.” At your puzzled look, he said, “You don’t remember?”

“Channie baby, I’m lucky I remembered my own name by the time you were done with me last night.” Smug, Chan grinned and puffed up his chest. “You’re going to have to remind me what I said.” You grinned, playfully rolling your eyes at his smug grin.

“You said, um…. You said you wished we’d invited the guys over so they could play with you too.” Your mind raced. The pair of you had talked about fantasies before, but you’d never voiced that thought out loud, afraid of how Chan would react. Would he think differently of you? If you denied it, would he even believe you? Was he disgusted by you? Or would he think you had or would be willing to cheat on him? Maybe he’d just get really possessive and fuck you into the couch and afterwards you could both pretend you’d never said anything.

Your thoughts were racing so fast that you didn’t realize the time for denial had passed. At least until Chan says, “Baby girl? Did you mean it?”

“I, uh… no?” You tried denying it, but no one would believe a denial that came out sounding that unsure.

“I think you did. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day, baby. Do you know how hard it’s been to get any work done today with these thoughts?” With your terrible denial, Chan grew bolder. You looked away from his face, biting the edge of your thumbnail out of nervousness. When you looked down, you noticed the bulge in his pants. Your eyes widened and shot back up to his face. “Do you have any clue how hard it’s been, all day?” He asked, pressing a palm against his clothed dick. “Hearing Minho groaning into the mic? Seeing Hyunjin roll his hips and wondering….” He trailed off, eyes darkening as he realized that your mind had immediately followed his train of thought and now you were thinking all the same things he’d been thinking.

“You’d… I mean, you’re not upset? That I’ve thought about them, like that?” You asked in a small voice, still somewhat unsure of exactly where this conversation was headed.

Your bed, it turned out, was where the conversation was headed. Chan had gripped your hips, pulling you onto his lap and hungrily kissing you without another word. He’d damn near torn your shirt trying to get it off as quickly as possible before groaning when he realized you hadn’t bothered with a bra that morning. You arched into him as he closed his lips around one nipple, teasing the other with his fingers.

When you started to roll your hips against the bulge in his pants, he’d stood up with you in his arms and swiftly strode to your bedroom, tossing you onto the bed and following right behind you. He didn’t give you time to get your bearings or get situated before he was tugging off your lounge pants and panties. His lips were back to roaming on your neck and chest as his hands smoothed up your thighs, pushing them apart so he could slot himself comfortably between them.

You’d gone from nervous to turned on so quickly that you were struggling to keep up with him, eventually just giving in and letting yourself feel his fingers, lips, and tongue, rather than try to keep track of exactly where your boyfriend’s roaming hands were. Until you felt the pad of his thumb pressing against your clit. You gasped, arching and trying to press yourself harder against that single digit.

“Aw, is baby girl needy?” he teased.

“Channie, please.”

He grinned, leaning down to nip at your collar bone. “You have to do something for me though.”

“Anything,” you agreed, desperate to have him. He pulled completely away from you and you whined. Then you looked over and saw he was standing so he could strip himself. As soon as his boxers were kicked off, you reached for him, pulling him back to you by his wrist.

He claimed your lips in a hungry kiss, right hand sliding down your tummy, over your hip, and covering your pussy. With less gentleness than usual, he dipped first one, then two fingers into you. He didn’t spend much time prepping you, just thrusting his fingers into you a few times before deciding he couldn’t wait anymore. But as wet and turned on as you were, you had no problems stretching to accept him.

He bottomed out inside you, your legs wrapped around his hips, him propped up on his hands and leaning over you. Before he started moving, he said, “You have to tell me what you’ve thought of.” At your blank look, he elaborated. “You’ve thought about my friends. Tell me what you’ve thought about. You said you wanted them to play with you, but I’m sure you have details.”

You groaned, partly embarrassed to be having this conversation but mostly because that was when he started to move. He started off with long, slow thrusts, letting you feel every inch of him dragging through your walls. You knew he’d been turned on by his own thoughts, but part of you was still nervous how he’d react to your fantasies.

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

“How could I possibly be mad at you?” he countered.

It took you a while, between your moans and gasps, but you finally told him your favorite fantasies. “I want them to use me,” you started off. “Whenever they want. Like when I’m wearing the necklace you bought me so you can fuck me whenever, wherever. I wanna do that for them too.” You gasped, arching against a particularly hard thrust. “Let them fuck me when I’m asleep after a long day like you do. Or – oh God – call me to the dance studio or recording studio ‘cause something’s not going right so you’re all stressed.” You dug your nails into Chan’s back as he leaned down and bit your neck, sucking a deep purple mark into the skin there. “Wanna cock warm Lixie while he’s gaming or Minnie while he’s reading. Be passed around to everybody during movie night. Wanna ride Bin’s thigh after a workout, when he’s still all sweaty. Let Hyune paint me naked or paint on me, then fuck him.”

As Chan’s thrusts got rougher, it got harder to speak, but you kept going at his insistence. “Wanna – ah – wanna sit on Ji’s face. Suck on Innie’s fingers while he fucks me. Let Minho bend me over the balcony fence so I have to be real quiet.”

Chan had your legs bent up so your knees were at your chest when you finally clenched around him, orgasm rushing through you. Every scenario you gave him, brought him closer to his own orgasm and he followed right behind you, the warmth of his cum flooding into you. He brought your legs down, gently massaging your thighs as you both worked to catch your breath.

With a burst of courage, probably encouraged by how he’d reacted to everything else so far, you decided to tell him one final fantasy. But still, you wrapped your legs around his hips to hold him to you, just in case. “I’d be happy with all that, and more. But I’d like to date them too, if they wanted.” You got quieter as you spoke, suddenly afraid that he might think you thought he wasn’t enough for you.

Chan shifted against you, not moving away, just shifting so he could look up at your face. “I wondered, earlier today, and probably before if I’m being really honest, about kissing them. Think I’d like kissing Lix or maybe Hyune the most. Well, no, maybe most is wrong.” He sighed, shifting again and resting his head between your boobs before he continued. “Point is, I know you love me. I love you too.” He kissed the side of your boob. “But I am totally okay with one or both of us dating one or a couple or all of them.”

You relaxed your legs, letting them drop to either side of his hips. Then started gently carding your fingers through his sweaty hair.

A short while later, as you were cleaning up in the shower, Chan asked, “So, would you want to try to see how many of your fantasies we can bring to life?”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x reader #skz ot8 x reader #bang chan x reader #yang jeongin x reader #felix x reader #hyunjin x reader #changbin x reader #kim seungmin x reader #lee minho x reader #han jisung x reader

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fireflyinks · 9 months ago

Note

ooc ep with mandy hamzah and martin then hamzah introduces u as his gf 👀👀 twitter insta tiktok etc is going crazyyyy abt it too

girlfriend reveal (hamzah edition)

hamzah x reader

a/n : not sure if i love or hate this but here it is!! sorry i haven’t been as active I SWEAR im trying to get to your requests!! this was such a good idea and lmk if you want me to write a version but with y/n being a content creator as well. much love!

contains : a little fluff, slight cursing (literally just bs), cuteness, hard launching

I rocked back and fourth on my heels, standing directly beside the camera’s view. Anticipation and nervousness swirled in my stomach.

It probably wasn’t as big of a deal as I was making it, I knew that, but my nerves were still going buck-wild.

After three months of dating, Hamzah was introducing me as his girlfriend on the podcast today. We both wanted to wait until it was the right time, and we had finally decided that it was now or never.

YouTube was a ginormous part of Hamzah’s life, so the thought of his fans not approving of me was a big fear of mine. He’d assured me that they would love me, but I knew that he couldn’t be sure of that fact.

After about three minutes of rambling on about something pointless, Hamzah finally cleared him throat.

“We also have a special guest this episode. Please welcome, my beautiful girlfriend, y/n.”

I walked into frame, sitting beside Hamzah on the already crowded couch. Mandy and Martin clapped at my entrance, and I giggled nervously. This was a weird feeling for me, since I normally wasn’t this shy.

Hamzah handed me a mic he had bought specially for this episode, since normally they only had three people on at a time and didn’t own a fourth mic. He also put an arm around me, which helped calm my nerves a small bit. Hamzah’s touch could almost always make me feel better. I guess it was a good thing then that I was basically sitting on his lap due to limited space on the yellow couch.

“Hello,” I spoke into the microphone, smiling sheepishly.

“Introduce yourself.” Hamzah encouraged. He was taken aback by my shy demeanor as well.

“I’m y/n, Hamzah’s girlfriend…” I racked my brain for other facts about myself, but nothing came to mind.

Mandy chimed in, “We finally managed to get Hamzah a girlfriend guys, this is a rare sighting.”

I laughed along with Mandy and Martin, and Hamzah just rolled his eyes.

“You did not manage anything, I got her myself.”

“Bullshit, I’m the one who introduced you two.”

It was true, Mandy and I had worked together for about a year now and she was constantly telling me about how I needed to meet Hamzah, how well we would get along. Finally, she planned a night for us all to hang out, and we just kind of clicked.

“Yeah, Mandy is actually a really good match maker.” I nodded.

Mandy shrugged, “You are both socially awkward so I thought you’d be perfect for one another. And I was right, of course.”

Some time went on, and my nerves slowly started to dissolve. After about an hour, we finished filming, and Hamzah drove me home.

“So…” he began, looking out at the road as he drove, “how’d you feel about that?”

I shrugged, “I was really nervous at first but I think it turned out okay.”

Hamzah placed his hand on my thigh, “I promise, you have nothing to worry about. Everyone will love you.”

—

Hamzah posted the video the next day, and I couldn’t get myself to read the comments or open any social media until I got home from work, five hours later.

I sighed, sitting down on my couch and fumbling with my phone, opening YouTube and pressing on the new episode, entitled “Girlfriend Reveal (Hamzah Edition)”, which happened to the first video on my feed. The intro music began to play.

There were already 500 comments.

awww they’re literally perfect for eachother ❤️

where is the Hamzah to my Y/n

the way hamzah looks at her…

I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I read the kind comments.

I commented a quick heart on the video before moving on to TikTok. My feed was already mostly slushy noobz clips, so I wasn’t surprised when I was the first thing I saw after opening the app.

It was the clip of Hamzah introducing me as I tried to fit next to them on the small couch, with “Margeret” by Lana Del Rey playing in the background softly. The comments were just as positive as the ones on YouTube.

OMG?

wait she’s like genuinely so pretty

they’re so socially awkward together, it’s perfect

Last but not least was Twitter, which scared me the most. I knew that if anyone would have a problem with me, they would most likely express it on Twitter.

I opened the app, and went to search, to be met with “Hamzah’s New Girlfriend” trending. This was either a very good thing or an extremely bad thing.

I clicked on it, and began reading some of the tweets under the hashtag.

hamzah’s new girlfriend is literally so gorgeous, im actually obsessed with the two of them together

hamzah’s new girlfriend genuinely seems so sweet, my heartttt 🥹🥹🥹

“thank you mandy”, we say in unison, hamzah and his new gf are literally PERFECT

Suddenly, there was a quick knock at the door. I got up to answer, wondering who it was. Hamzah was filming a video with Martin and Mandy had told me earlier that she was getting her nails done after our shift.

I opened the door, being met with a bouquet full of colorful assorted flowers. My heart felt as if it could burst. I picked them up, grabbing the paper tag on them to read it.

I knew they would love you - Hamzah

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

#i love hamzah sm #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah #martin and hamzah #slushy noobz #fluff #hamzah x reader #hard launch #fanfiction

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mehwmidklpe · 2 months ago

Note

I've been reading your posts for a while and I really like how you interpret the Connor/Leo x reader, like… The boys that every girl could want 🙂‍↕️, so I would like to ask for a request for headcanons or drabble (I like both of you, you decide ) about Connor/Leo (I don't know what your limit is, if it's only one preferably Connor) x child of hades reader, I really liked how you wrote the reader in your special on February 14th then… That's all, thanks! (I don't know if it was much 😧)

this actually made my day–or actually night idc

and I love both Connor and Leo so I'm not gonna choose and write a blurb for both of them

not proofread btw

"Connor Stoll!"

Yeah, he had pranked you again. He pranked you a lot, actually. He did it to get your attention cause he absolutely adores you. You knew that, the whole camp knew that.

That didn't mean he could just get away with those pranks though.

Right now you were walking aroud camp, looking for Connor, but when you found him, he was leaning against the tree, as if he had expected you, as if he'd been waiting for you.

"Was that necessary?" Was the first thing you asked him. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He shrugged, but the slight grin on his face betrayed him.

You nod at that before pulling him closer by the collar of his orange 'Camp–Halfblood' shirt.

"Listen, next time you pull shit like that on me again, you won't be able to leave the imfirmary for at least two months." You threathen him, face close to his.

But Connor didn't flinch, all he did was grin. "Hot."

Pointless.

This was pointless.

So you let him go.

"You're hopeless." You scoff. "Oh come on Y/n. Don't act like you don't like it when I prank you." Connor said, a sly smile on his lips.

That made you frown. "What makes you think that?" The curly haired boy only smiled. "Well, remember that time I entirely stopped pranking you because I was bummed since I thought you for real weren't intrested in me?"

You gave him a shrug. "That's because I'm not." "That's what I thought, until you practically started clinging to me, trying to get my attention back." The blue eyed boy recalled.

"I did not cling to you." You spat back. "Well you sure missed the attention I gave you." "I didn't–" "And you searched around the entire camp for me." He proudly added.

"I–What?" You were caught of guard at his words. "I figured you'd wanna shove a knife down my throat if I messed with your weapons and you'd try to find me. Which is why.."

His voice trailed off and he pushed some lianas aside, revealing a pickick blanket with some good–looking food on it.

"Wait, what is this?" You ask him. "Well hopefully a date." He answered. "And why would I wanna go on a date with you?" You said while crossing your arms over your chest.

The son of Hermes tilted his head. "Cause you like me."

"I'd rather die."

"That's because you're father is saving you a nice spot in the underworld."

"That doesn't change a thing."

"It kinda does."

"Why would someone like you want to be with someone like me anyways?" Was your following question. "Because you're a freaking badass." Connor informs you.

"We have nothing in common." You state trying to talk him out of it. "Yes we do.I love pranking people for fun or revenge. You like revenge." He started.

"I say that if we work together we could probably be pretty feared by camp. You like that, don't you?"

You stayed quiet at that.

"I just wanna be your boyfriend, Y/n. I wanna be able to call you my girlfriend." Connor then tells you. "Well too bad for you." You respond. He sighed. "Y/n.."

You went to turn around and walk away, but Connor grabbed your hand, spun you around again, pulled you closer and then before you knew it his lips were on yours.

This feeling was unfamiliar. Being the daughter of Hades made you cold, you didn't care about this kind of affection.

But this.. this felt nice, better than nice, actually.

As his soft lips moved and brushed against yours, his hand rested on your cheek, caressing it like he truly cared about you like no one ever did, you realized something.

You hate to admit it but Connor was right, you did have feelings for him.

Pulling away left you both speechless. He may have acted tough, but Connor was nevrves as hell Tartarus.

"I uhm.. I'm sorry." He stammered out, trying to stop the heat from creeping up to his cheeks. "No.. no.. it's okay.." You assured him.

The two of you just stared at each other for a while, your arms still around his neck, his around your waist.

"Yeah... I think a boyfriend can't hurt..." You said, barely above a wishper. "Cool.." He said, still just staring at you. You gulped. "Cool.."

"Get out."

Leo Valdez stood infront of the door of cabin 13.

The Hades cabin.

Your cabin.

"Nah, I'll pass." With that, the stupid latino invited himself into the cabin, walking in and looking around as if it was for sale.

"Nice place." He told you. "This is the least nice place in camp, Valdez." You state, tone cold. "Any place is like elysium when you're around." Leo grinned which earned him an eye roll of yours.

You sighed deeply. "You can't even be here. It's against the rules." You inform him. "What rule?" He asks you. "Campers can't be alone in a cabin together unless they share a godly parent." You quote.

"The only exception was the Hermes cabin which is where the unclaimed children used to live, but because of Percy that's not really a problem anymore." You then told him.

Leo tilted his head. "Why can't they though?" He proceeds to wonder. "Because of... sexual circumstances.." You mumble, ashamed of saying it.

The boy's face lit up. That definitely got his attention.

"So basically you're implying that you're thinking about us doing sexual thi–" "This is a really bad timing for Hazel and Nico to be absent at camp." You whine, not wanting to hear any more of Leo's words.

He grinned. "You're not denying it." "I don't want anything to do with you, Valdez. That's me denying it. You're welcome, now get out." You're tone held no emotion in it as you spoke.

Leaving the cabin?

Nah

Leo had other plans.

"Did you draw that?" He questions when his gaze falls onto your sketchbook on your desk. "That's none of your business." You spat at him, quickly closing your book.

But Leo had gotten a glimps of it that was good enough to have it stained in his brain. "You like drawing weapons you can't have?" He asks you.

"Okay that's it. Out."

A few days later there was knock on your cabin door again. You sighed when you saw the same boy frol a few days ago stand infront of it.

"Leo, I told you I don't want you here. Take a hi–" "I got you something." He interrupted, determined to show you what he brought with him.

You sighed deeply. "I don't want anything that you have even touh–" Your voice trailed of when you saw him holding the weapon you had drawn.

Leo cleared this troath. "I uhm.. I could tell you really wanted a cool weapon like this, so i made it for you." He started. "And look."

He started fliping the weapon which made it turn into another weapon, then he did it again and again, and again–

Your breath was practically stolen from you. "Leo that's– I mean how did you even do that–is that for me?" You had a million questions, your cold behavior fading.

The curly haired boy scratched the beck of his neck. "Yeah.. I made it while thinking of you.." He said, barely above a wishper. "That... that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." You said honestly.

"I made it for you because I really like you... a lot.. if you know what I mean." Leo admitted.

That sure got you.

You opened the door wider for him.

"Yeah, sure, who cares about the rules anyways. Come in." You invite him.

That was the first time you ever let Leo into your cabin.

And it sure wasn't the last.

Cause why couldn't people be alone in a cabin together?

this was meant to be shorter but I got carried away

I really hope this was good enough though

if you wanted smth about how they'd be like if they are already dating I can totally do that too if you request it!

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michanvalentine · 17 days ago

Text

I just read a post here on Tumblr. I don’t feel like making some elaborate speech—because I’m lazy. And honestly, it would be pointless.

All I’ll say is this: in a massive game like BG3, reducing a character to a single narrative arc—especially an evil one, and especially when the vast majority of first-time players tend to take the hero path—would be a huge mistake.

If that were the case, Astarion would make no sense in any heroic playthrough and would just get staked at the first opportunity. Or maybe a little later, especially if you’re playing consistently. All morally ambiguous characters in BG3 follow the same good/evil final pattern: either they stay on the path forced onto them by others (almost always abusers), or they break free and carve out their own.

It’s literally the theme of the game, for fuck’s sake—you don’t need a degree to get it. Even the song “I Want to Live” is about that. They’re designed to reflect the player’s choices and playstyle, to be adaptable so that everyone—especially players who are morally thoughtful—can enjoy them and face meaningful dilemmas.

I honestly can’t understand this need to strip Astarion of all his nuance, inner contradictions, strengths, and his potential to be something else—and flatten him into some monstrous, evil being who wants nothing but blood and power. It’s so frustrating.

I mean, seriously—the devs and writers busted their asses to deliver an immersive, complex, and emotionally layered experience, and despite all of that being crystal clear in the game, people still insist on chopping off pieces of it to make a version of the character that fits their narrative—but which is, in truth, just a mutilated shell.

And no, this has nothing to do with which of Astarion’s arcs is better, cooler, or more “valid,” for the record. People can play however the hell they want.

What it does have to do with is the absurd assumption that he has no alternative to ascension. That he has no duality. That he isn’t as adaptable as the others, and that he’s some kind of monolithic character who—unlike literally every other character in any media ever—has no arc of transformation, no narrative development, no complexity.

And that’s such a ridiculous thing to even think, especially when you consider that Astarion is one of the companions who clearly received the most attention from the dev team. Seriously, at that point it’s just another slap in the face to poor Wyll, who’s out there being completely forgotten.

Sometimes it feels like Astarion fans themselves throw out bullshit takes just to piss off other Astarion fans. I’m relatively new to the fandom and this stuff still leaves me speechless. There’s a difference between talking about preferences and headcanons, and talking about facts.

People even go as far as speaking on behalf of the devs—what they supposedly intended or didn’t intend during the design and writing process. Like… really? You’re in their heads now? Everyone’s a Mind Flayer when it suits them, huh?

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fandom critical

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lightlycareless · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii, can i request a scenario on how naoya (when he has reached a point where he loves wife!reader from an arranged marriage) would react to one day not being greeted at all when he comes home? It is completely silent, no response as he calls for her and is getting a bit worried as he starts searching the rooms. But then he sees her laying on the couch, shivering and sweating from a cold that’s so intense she’s barely lucid and can’t even tell he’s there and talking to her

Heya!!

So... I took some liberties when writing this, kind of went a completely different route (the sick part, alongside worried Naoya still remains though), it just occurred to me when reading your ask, but I hope it's still of your liking 🥺!!!

anyways, here are the warnings: mentions of death, miscarriage, a very concerned and overprotective Naoya, a bit of fluff, and everyone wants to spoil you rotten lol.

And without further ado, happy reading!

“Y/N, I’m home!”

Home.

A word he never really cared for, always considering it sappy, alongside the fondness that was usually assigned to it, which Naoya couldn’t think of as nothing but ridiculous, if not hilariously overrated.

For many years, Naoya thought that a home was simply the place that one was raised in and that’s about it. Nothing of the sentimentality others liked to apply to it, brag about it…

Until, of course, he finally came to understand what the word meant; why it was so special, and why it was important to have one.

A home wasn’t made by the people he knew as family, blood related, found in the place he was forced to be in since he was born, and probably die in—no; it’s the one that was made by the people of his choice, people he met through his course of life, connected with, and now, cherished.

Amongst them, you.

He considered himself lucky to have found the love of his life, a concept he considered so… foreign, impossible for someone like him, if not a stupidity of delusional people desiring more from life.

So was Naoya destined to think for the rest of his existence, condemned by his same family to live a life of loneliness, hatred, and die the same way.

But you’d come to show him otherwise, shockingly, and unexpectedly, and in such a way he couldn’t even put up a fight, completely surrendering to you and the wonderful feelings that being in love with you provided.

Now that he’s experienced them, he couldn’t find the reason as to why his family would ever reproach such beautiful thing as harshly as they did—or that he believed them in the first place…

Well, that’s not something that bothers him anymore; the Zen’in clan could continue on in their hard stuck ways for all he cared; he, on the other hand, plans to spend the rest of his days alongside the woman of his dreams, starting by today, finally back in your arms after days of being pulled into pointless missions after pointless missions, which he would not hear of for a few weeks—having earned a well-deserved break for his consistently good performance.

Naoya even prepared accordingly for the occasion, having bought gifts from all the places he’d been to, as well as ideated ways to distract you from the boring estate and his nagging relatives he knows you don’t enjoy being around with, only tolerating them because they were, well, your in-laws, his family—with exceptions of those you do get along, and for them, he’s grateful that they do.

Ah, he couldn’t wait to see you, your face, and the adorable way it brightens up whenever receiving him.

To tell you of his day while resting his head on your lap, with you passing your fingers through his hair, gently soothing his stresses away as you reassure him that he’s the best sorcerer out there, he’s just… unlucky to bump into lesser talented ones.

Get something to eat too, he’d like his favorite for a start, miso soup—and perhaps have you feed it to him? God, it’s been a while since both have done that, and it’s not because he doesn’t like doing it, or you for that matter, but rather, he doesn’t want to risk being seen by others, it has to be in the utmost privacy, after all! He isn’t to be vulnerable in front of his family!!

Oh, he needs wishes to see you—right now. And he’s absolutely sure you’re feeling the same way…

If so… why hadn’t you responded? Why hadn’t you come to receive him in the same manner you’ve always done?

Naoya knows that his schedule can be a bit… unpredictable, making it difficult for you to know exactly when he’ll come back home—but even then, it didn’t take you that long to meet him after announcing his return.

You’d always come to the entrance, no matter if it happened right that moment, or a bit later; you just… did.

But today… it seems that you opted to break the routine by taking far longer than you usually do.

He’d remain attentive to his surroundings, hoping to either hear your approaching footsteps or voice softly calling for him at a distance, yet as time went on, he was received with neither…. And Naoya only begins to grow more worried.

Your husband tries to not jump to the worst conclusion just yet, opting to think that you were perhaps simply caught up tending to the house, maybe even partaking in an unwanted conversation with one of his relatives and having trouble brushing them off—for no matter the times you’d reminded them that your husband was back, and you needed to be there to receive him, still acted as if it wasn’t that important.

Things that implied that even when running late, you were still ok.

Yet…

“Y/N!” Naoya calls once again, hoping for a change…

…

Silence.

It’s by this time that he decides it’s better to search for you than to stand around and wait for you to magically appear.

Naoya begins by going into the main wing, eyes scanning through the gardens, your usual place of leisure when not busy, where you’d calmly enjoy the diligently tended for flowers (the ones he had changed to your favorite as soon as he found out which ones they were) while snacking on something, or in the company of your loyal staff—if that were the case of your absence, he understood why you didn’t answer.

But he wouldn’t find you near any of the gardens, or anywhere in fact! A statement that weighed even heavier upon finding out that the staff was in the same predicament as him, for when he asked a nearby servant of your whereabouts, he was received with the following answer:

“We haven’t seen her” Naoya’s heart sinks.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” he breathes. “Where could my wife—did she—did she leave the estate?”

No. You… didn’t. Because that’s not what you told him you’d be doing a few hours ago, after letting you know he was on his way back home; if anything, you replied with how excited you were to see him again and that you’d be eagerly waiting for him!

So obviously, their words didn’t make sense. But if so… where were you?

Naoya now frantically searched for you through every wing, room, space, chamber, closet, just— anywhere, literally anywhere you could be while repeatedly calling out your name in hopes of getting a response, or even a glimpse of you; he doesn’t care what at that point, he’s happy with either!

Yet, the longer he went on without an answer, the bigger his sorrow became, to the point where his mind was machinating nothing but the worst-case scenarios, slowly losing his inhibitions as he repeatedly wondered Where were you? How come no one has seen you? Did he have to escalate this situation?

Just—Where are you, Y/N?!

Thankfully, there would be no need to pursue bigger solutions for he’d get his answer soon enough after entering the east wing, passing through the living quarters, and arriving to the laundry room, one of the last places he’d thought you’d be—rightfully guessing so, for you were there, apparently washing whatever garments you had pending, which you hadn’t been able to wash due to a variety of unknown reasons…

But far from feeling elated to have found you, Naoya felt as if whatever he had left of his heart was effectively broken, which felt short compared to the way he found you.

“Y/N!”

The sight that received him is one that will remain imprinted in the back of mind: you were laying on the floor, on your side, tightly clutching to your stomach as you breathed heavily, eyes tightly shut while groaning in what Naoya could only interpret as pain.

As if his worries weren’t through the roof at that point, this last conclusion is what urged Naoya to hastily make way to your side, swiftly kneeling to your level as he calls out for you once more.

“Y/N—Y/N” He’d breathe, firmly yet carefully placing his hands over you with intentions of picking you up, but his hold falters when his fingers briefly graze your skin, making him gasp in return. “Y/N you’re—you’re burning!”

This would be the only time you’d respond to him, barely able to move your head onto his direction, slightly opening your eyes to see him, a gaze that shows how much pain you were going through, barely able to understand what was going on, except for gently breathing the word that makes his heart squeeze out in pain.

“Na—Naoya…”

Any hesitation is effectively thrown out the window by that point, picking you up and rushing you towards their shared bedroom, all while barking orders to the nearby staff, demanding them to call for a doctor, as quickly as possible, unless they wanted to be jobless by the end of the day!

The staff reacts accordingly, and a few minutes later, the family doctor arrives to the estate, guided to your room and seeing that you were already being tended to, or at least that’s the idea he gets from the dampened towel on your forehead, undoubtedly in efforts of lowering your fever—which unfortunately, had been for nothing.

Well, he was there now, and he didn’t waste time either to get to work, quickly assessing your condition by the apparent symptoms, starting by your temperature, the color of your skin, and even the way you reacted to him while doing so, completely uncooperative—apparently, whatever put you in this state had evoked great instability from you, thus the doctor found it necessary to put you under sedatives.

But even when he was able to quickly gain control of the situation, the doctor still couldn’t arrive at a proper conclusion, less when the people around you had an even smaller idea of what struck you.

“I—I don’t know.” Naoya would respond, angrily, frustrated—and rightfully so. How come none of the servants had noticed your absence? Or worse, hadn’t seen anything that could hint as to what your sickness was about?! “Can’t you just—help her?!”

“That’s what I’m trying—I can’t help her if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.” The doctor responded as calmly as he could, but even he had to admit that everyone’s seeming ignorance annoyed him as well. “But I can still say that this seems much more than just a simple… sickness.”

“What do you mean?” Naoya frowns, the doctor looks at the nearby servants, tasked to be on stand-by if needed.

“I’d like to discuss this in private.” He tells them.

The servants don’t wait for Naoya to repeat the order before they’re already out the room and away from their earshot; a request that while didn’t raise any concerns from Naoya —if anything, he was glad their pesky, useless presence, was finally away from you— the doctor’s face was quick to convince your husband that something far worse than what met the eye.

And this made Naoya’s nerves reach a new limit.

“I told you; I don’t know what happened—” Your husband is quick to defend, believing the doctor was to interrogate him once more, only to be interrupted.

“You don’t need to tell me for me to know what happened.” He interjects, Naoya’s eyes widen.

“I’m lost.” Naoya scowls. “Stop talking cryptically and get on with it!”

“I’ve seen these symptoms before, Naoya. And as I said, these are not from a simple sickness, an allergy or any of the matter” He takes a deep breath. “I heavily suspect she was intoxicated—and not accidentally, but rather, intentionally.”

“Excuse me?” Naoya frowns. “I told you to stop talking in riddles, say what you—”

“Poisoned, Naoya. I believe your wife was poisoned.”

Naoya’s world comes to a screeching halt.

You…

You were poisoned.

According to the doctor, you—You were attacked, besieged, with malicious intents.

Taken advantage of in the one place you’d never be on edge, your home, the same one he had repeatedly reassured your father that you’d be safe in—the Zen’in estate, home to the prestigious Zen’in clan! There was no safer place in the whole world! There couldn’t!

No one— no one wouldn’t dare do such a thing here—they knew better! Naoya would force them to now better…

Yet, someone dared to commit this transgression against you.

And to make it all worse….

Almost got away with it.

Who would even think of doing such transgression against you?! You?!

You had no quarrels with anyone, and even when you did, you handled things in such an amicable way just so you’d live peacefully, free of nonsensical arguments—you had no space for them in your life!

And yet, this still happened, and right underneath his nose….

There’s no doubt that he’ll put an investigation into order to find the bastard responsible for your suffering, and once he does, he’ll make him regret his existence, to the point he’ll have him begging for mercy—and even then, it wouldn’t be enough for Naoya.

However, that is something that will have to wait until he knows you’re safe, healthier, which the doctor had slowly began to help you with by giving you something that will immediately trap the poison from being further absorbed by your blood—activated charcoal, so he remembers— as well as some other prescriptions for side effects he wishes to prevent.

“Your wife was very lucky to survive, have you waited a second more—”

“I wasn’t waiting.” Your husband immediately responds, offended by his wording. “I wasn’t aware of this until I returned.”

The doctor presses his lips together, taking notice that throughout his whole visit, Naoya has never left your side, nor freed your hands from his.

“And I’m not surprised.” He silently admits.

Naoya hates the notion the doctor was implying, that this was an inside job. But considering the odd behavior of the staff, their seeming ignorance of your location and your status… it all pointed to that same conclusion.

The boiling fury inside him grows bigger.

“How could this be?” Naoya seethes.

How could someone get this far, this close to you, and no one suspecting a thing?

Your husband might’ve reproached the way the doctor expressed himself, but there was an undeniable truth behind them; he truly was lucky to have gotten back home just when he did, for had he taken a second longer, just one, you could’ve die—

Outside of that, the second most important question regarding this whole situation was…where was your staff? Why, of all days, were they absent?

Naoya is confident that if Mariya, your closest confidant, had been around, this would’ve never happened in the first place; the moment she saw anything out of the ordinary, she would’ve pulled all the stops and acted accordingly.

Yet, she was nowhere to be seen, and this makes Naoya both highly suspicious, and furious.

Where was she? Where are the rest? Why would they leave you in your most needed time? Did they plan this? Plot against you?! Where the hell could they possibly—

“They’re going to be away for the weekend to visit their families.”

He suddenly remembers; you told him so earlier that week through a text.

“Will you be ok?” Naoya also remembers asking; he didn’t feel happy knowing you’d be alone without your most trusted staff.

“It’s just a few days, Naoya. Besides, they deserve a break! I don’t want them to get tired of me, you know?” you laugh. “But you better come back quickly, ok? Just because they’re not around doesn’t mean I like being alone…”

“I won’t take long. I promise.”

If only he’d kept his word…

Well, if that was to be the answer to their absence, then it wasn’t fair to hold any level of animosity towards them, a weight being lifted from his burdened shoulders upon realizing your staff could strill be trusted in.

Now all that was left to worry about is finding the culprit… and the status of that too.

“Is she ok?” Naoya would ask.

“She is, I managed to—”

“No, I mean… that.” Naoya’s voice hints to a silent agreement between the two. “Is… that ok?”

The doctor quickly catches what he means, affirming so by a nod. His reassurance lifts an immeasurable weight from his heart, even greater than the alleged betrayal of Mariya and the rest. One less thing to worry about.

“What now, then?”

“Since the damage was limited, to say the least, it won’t be necessary to move her to a hospital, however—”

She’s still in danger. Naoya concludes. More so if the attack came from someone inside… And what makes him think that just because he’s back they’ll stop trying?

If anything, seeing how close they got, they could try once again!

The mere thought is enough to push him into taking what is perhaps the most radical decision he could’ve taken in this situation, something that might come to torment him in the future, but until then, he won’t care, not even a bit; not when he had your safety to worry about:

That is… Naoya fired everyone, effective immediately.

He took no heed if any of them had been serving the family for years, if they were close friends of his father, or if their livelihood would be affected— Naoya just wanted them out of his sight, the estate, and as soon as possible, less they wanted to receive more of his anger, before continuing with the rest of his plan.

Due to the gravity of said situation, Naoya knew he had to contact your family; he also knew that you would’ve refuted the idea as soon as he mentioned it to you, not wanting to worry them if you’ve truly been attacked, but he couldn’t do this to your father; not when he was amongst the few people in the world he knew had your wellbeing as utmost priority— as well as holding a great amount of respect and appreciation for him, specifically for the way he welcomed him into your family.

Eiichi, your father, had to admit that getting a call from the Zen’in estate that didn’t come from you surely surprised him beyond any comprehension, and yet, that would be nothing compared to the shock he’d get upon knowing the motive behind said call; Naoya swore he almost heard your father passing out, or at least, in the process of.

“Poisoned?!” Eiichi gasped, tightly clutching onto the phone—he might’ve as well passed out and dived into a nightmare! “Is she ok?! Where is she right now?”

“At the estate, with me—the doctor didn’t think it necessary for her to be hospitalized since he was able to stop the poison from spreading any further, but she still needs rest.”

“And the baby?” the referenced secret between Naoya and the doctor; your pregnancy.

“Fine.” He breathes, swallowing. “The doctor didn’t tell me of any damage done to the baby… but I’m—I’m still taking her to the doctor, just—just to be sure.”

“How could this happen?” Eiichi laments, heart breaking not only for you, but for Naoya as well. Your father knew all too well what it was to lose the love of his life, a pain that he would never desire on anyone, not even his own enemies…

One that he could slowly begin to hear in Naoya’s voice; oh, he could only imagine the pain he was going through, or what waited for him if he had lost not only you, but his child too.

But, well, the worst is over… at least for now.

“Someone from the staff did it.” Naoya declares, Eiichi’s heart sinks even further. “But I’ve taken care of it, I’ve fired everyone.”

And your father, contrary to Naoya’s relatives, did not question him. If anything, he seconded his decision, because had he been in your husband’s shoes, he would’ve done the same thing.

“Was her staff involved?” Your father asks, feeling a slight… anger with the idea that the ones you greatly cherished could’ve plotted against you.

“No, they were not; in fact, they were out of the estate when all this went down.” Naoya responds. “But I know that if they had been here, this would’ve never happened in the first place.”

“Bring her here, with me.” Eiichi immediately suggested, Naoya blinks, startled by the idea, if not against it.

“Father—"

“We can take care of her while she’s recuperating, take her to the doctor too. I’ll make sure that she has everything she needs. And not to misjudge your staff, or lack of, but the people here would never hurt her—they’ve known her since she was a child! There won’t be another safer place for her to be than here, Naoya. At least… until she’s better.”

Previously, Naoya would’ve questioned the veracity of his words, done all he could to prove you were much better with him, but after this occurrence… he had to agree.

As much as it hurt him to know you’d be away from him, especially when you were pregnant… he knew this was the right decision to make. He couldn’t expose you to another similar situation—not even if he got a completely new staff… or if you didn’t want to leave.

So, Naoya accepts Eiichi’s suggestion, alongside buying him a ticket for the earliest available flight to Kyoto; a few hours later, your father would arrive to the estate, rushing to your side, keeping you company while tending to your every need as Naoya prepared everything for your departure.

When you eventually regained consciousness, you were (although a bit surprised) overwhelmingly elated to see your father visiting you, for it had been so long since you’d seen him, probably around the time you announced your pregnancy!

However, that excitement would soon diminish when Naoya told you why he was there… alongside the cryptic explanation of your “sickness.”

“It was an allergy.” Naoya would say, not wanting to stress you by the fact that you were intentionally poisoned, although that excuse did little to stop you from doing so. “Rare, but it can happen, especially with pregnant women.”

“An allergy…? But I didn’t…” you frown.

“It happened to your mother, once.” Eiichi followed Naoya’s lead. He hated lying to you, but… he concurred that keeping you safe, both mentally and physically, was worth doing so. “It’s nothing but hormonal changes, so don’t worry much about it.”

“I guess…” you frown, pressing your lips. “But that still doesn’t explain why I have to leave.”

“We need to check what caused your allergy” Naoya responds. “It might be something about the food, the flowers, or even the wood; I rather you be safe than to go through that scare again.”

“But is… all this really necessary?” Naoya gives you a tight smile and a nod. “Naoya, I—"

“It’s not all bad, Y/N.” Naoya says.

“Besides, don’t you want to spend time with your papa? It’s been so long since I’ve spent time with my adorable pumpkin!” Eiichi laments.

“Dad!” you gasp, flustered by his words. “Don’t—don’t say that in front of Naoya…”

“What? It’s true! And that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do since I learned I’m going to be a grandfather!”

“Stop it!” your face becomes redder. “You’re embarrassing me!”

Naoya chuckles; it’s not like he’s seen you in… worse situations. Or better?

“But… I guess a visit is overdue.” You eventually concede, Naoya and your father sigh out of relief. “Though what about Mariya, Haruko, and Hitomi?”

“They’ll go with you, if you want.” Naoya says; he doubts they’ll say no, especially after knowing of the whole fiasco that occurred when away, might even offer themselves before he suggests the idea.

“If I didn’t know any better, sounds like you want me gone.” You jest, Naoya frowns. “It’s a joke, of course…”

“There’s nothing more I would like than you staying here, but until we figure out what caused that reaction from you, I’d rather not risk it.”

“It’s only temporary, Y/N. Besides, look—I brought you gifts!” Eiichi says, taking out the bag he brought from home seemingly out of nowhere, filled with things he knew you’d love, such as sweets, your favorite mochi’s of course, alongside some plushies that would always brighten your day when you were a child. “And there’s much more back home…”

Naoya can’t help but feel relieved you had your father for support, but at the same time, a bit jealous and, well, threatened. Not for bad reasons, of course, it was simply because how the hell did he not think of bringing you gifts first?!

“Dad… you’re embarrassing me in front of Naoya.”

“Ah, that’s a parent’s bane, isn’t it? To always embarrass their children—you’ll see what I mean when you both have your baby.”

Perhaps the main reason why you ended up agreeing to leave was because your pregnancy did not seem affected by your supposed allergy; had it been you would’ve refused to leave your husband’s side!

… Well, you still would’ve refused either way, but perhaps a bit more. You hate the idea of being away from the father of your child for too long, after all.

“I don’t think so—Naoya and I are going to be the cool parents, you’ll see.”

“That’s what your mom and I thought, and look at me now, can’t even say anything without you telling me I’m embarrassing you!” Eiichi says, you chuckle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mom was cool! You were always the funny one!”

Naoya smiles.

Now he knows for sure that there’s no safer place for you to be in than with your family, even if that were to be on the other side of the country…

After Naoya prepared everything for your departure, the three eventually made way to the exit, where you and your father would bid their last goodbyes.

“Won’t you accompany me?” you ask, a slight pout on your face, he smiles in hopes to cheer you up, but really, he felt miserable.

“I want to, but I can’t.” He explains. “I have to deal with this as fast as possible if you’re to come back quickly.”

“… Will you visit me over there, at least?” you frown.

“Yes. As soon as I have a chance, I’ll go see you.” Naoya promises.

It had all been too soon, just a few hours ago he arrived at the estate, and now, you’re leaving. Naoya laments that he couldn’t spend a day with you before your departure… but he guesses this to be a rightful sacrifice for your well-being.

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping away from my wife and baby for too long.”

At those words, Eiichi couldn’t help but frown out of sorrow.

It wasn’t fair that neither of you had been able to enjoy this wonderful occasion as you should.

He still remembers the excitement in your voice, the glint in your eye, and the beaming smile on your lips when announcing your pregnancy—alongside the nerves that came with it, of course, which Eiichi eased by reminding you and Naoya that their enthusiasm was nothing but indicative they were already on their way of becoming the loving and supportive parents their baby needed.

But as excited as both were, Eiichi had to cruelly put a stop to their celebrations, especially after Naobito was made aware of this, who wished to proceed by announcing the news to the whole community.

“I have to disagree, Naobito.” Eiichi would be the first to reject the idea, much to everyone’s surprise—yours, specifically.

“And why is that?” He’d ask back, not understanding why the father of the expecting mother, of all people, would be the one to reject so.

“It’s best if Y/N keeps her pregnancy a secret, at least… until it’s undeniably noticeable.”

“But… why, dad?” you asked. This was a moment of absolute joy, to be treated as such! So why did he intend to keep it a secret? Was he… disappointed?

No. Never. He was nothing but happy to see you happy and become a grandfather himself for the first time in his life!

But as a man of his years, he’s learned to be cautious of how said blessings are to be celebrated, as well as seen his fair share of happiness turn sour… things that Eiichi would rather take upon him than allow them to ever befall you.

“Because there’s people out there that might try to hurt you—or the baby.” He’d explain. “Naobito cannot not deny this, but if anyone hears that you’re pregnant with the Zen’in heir’s baby, those that want to hurt the Zen’in clan, or our family, will see this as the perfect opportunity to do so.”

“I’d never allow such thing, rest assured, there’s no safer place than—” Naoya quickly interjects, wanting to reassure your father, but Eiichi was set on his warnings.

“I wouldn’t have said this if I didn’t see it myself.” Eiichi reminds him, Naoya swallows. “We live in a highly competitive world due to the nature of our families; I’ve lost my wife because of this! And I’d be damned to allow it to happen again to my daughter.”

He hated to remind you of the harsh truth; hated to see how your face would sadden, the excitement for your first child, his first grandchild, quickly disappearing…

“Why would someone do that?” you murmur, frowning.

“They wouldn’t dare—I’ll make sure of it.” Naoya hisses.

Eiichi remained silent, sad for you and your husband. Because even if you’ve experienced first-hand what it is to lose someone through these matters, both have yet to fully understand the extremes those supposedly loyal to them can go to if properly incited. Especially for someone who had so much to lose, just as the elite members of prestigious Zen’in clan.

Even then, your father would not allow such pain to reach you, not the same way it almost did to him and your mother, so, he insisted you keep these news secret from the world—and if you must, only if you must, reveal it to your most faithful ones; the rest could learn when your stomach was too big to deny.

If you do so, keep your baby hidden from the world, safe from those that harbor nothing but pain and sorrow… all will be fine. Eiichi promises so.

…

Or so, that’s what everyone hoped would’ve happened, because if there’s one thing to be learned from this incident, is that no matter how cautious you were, word of your pregnancy still managed to land in the wrong ears, and now, were actively against it.

The question no longer pertained as to how, but rather, who; who was the author of this terrible act?

The notion that someone of Naoya’s relatives, indirectly informed through Naobito’s… drunken rambles, soon crosses the minds of your father and husband. If so, it would make sense as to why they’d use an innocent staff member to do the deed, keep their hands clean of the whole situation, instead of going to bigger extremes.

It’s the most probable of the theories, but they could not annul the following: jealousy from the servants.

Naoya considered that statement to be the most delusional one your father could’ve gathered, but he’d be wise to remember how others perceive him—or more like what he represented. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched that others would desire what he had, or him, in some cases. And naturally, you’re an obstacle to that goal, your baby even more so…

It wasn’t fair, but it was your reality.

Nonetheless, Eiichi and Naoya will still do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

“It’s just for a few days, pumpkin.” Your father would say upon seeing the sadness in your face, which remained even when reassured that Naoya would be with you as soon as possible. “Besides, you’re going to see your brother and sister too—they’ve missed you very much, you know? They’ve been wanting to spoil you and their future niece, or nephew!”

You smile, it’s good that even when in the storm, your family is still able to exude happiness. You could only imagine how enthusiastic they’d be when the baby was finally here.

“I know… I missed them too.” You admit, before looking over to Naoya one last time. “Well… I hope that whatever is keeping you here is quickly dealt with.”

“You won’t even notice I’m gone.” Naoya promises, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything—before you know it, you’ll be back at the estate, with me.”

That’s a promise he unfortunately, doesn’t know if will become true inside the promised timeline, but will do anything in his power so it does.

Either way, it’s safe to say that Naoya did manage to keep one part of his promise—and that would be the one where he reassured you wouldn’t even notice his absence, done through sending you endless amounts of gifts, every day, effectively filling your room to the brim with all things he’d knew you’d like, and some for baby too: from clothes for you, to cute onesies he’d like his baby to wear when she was finally here.

“You still think the baby is going to be a girl?” you’d ask through one of the many videocalls he’d make—one daily, at the very least. “Wait a minute… you better not have spoiled me!”

“I just know” He reiterates with shrug; you roll your eyes. “If not, then I’ll have lots of things to return.”

“Well, if it’s worth anything, I also feel like our baby is going to be a girl.” You smile, warming up Naoya’s heart. “I can’t wait to meet her—I just know she’s going to have your eyes!”

“Or yours, I hope.” He longs, you blush. “Have you been eating well, my love?”

“Yes; and no allergies yet.” You explain, Naoya feels relieved—at least the problem didn’t follow you there. “Maybe I was just unlucky that day, Naoya… Are you sure I can’t return to the estate yet?”

“Not until I’m sure you’re going to be safe here.” Naoya responds, and while his words are meant to be comforting, you can’t shake off the sense that something worse happened; that something far bigger than a simple allergy had struck you, specially with the way your staff and family would act around you, going as far as denying you of any information pertaining to the Zen’in.

But… if your husband had a reason to not say anything now, then the best you could do is trust him. The truth will come out eventually, you suppose. So instead you could focus on other pressing matters.

“Well, at least don’t send me too many gifts.” You continued. “While I appreciate them, between you and my father, I don’t think my house has enough room to store all the things you’ve both given me.”

“Who’s given you more things? Me or your dad?” Naoya nonchalantly asks, you gasp.

“Naoya! That’s not the—take it seriously! Control yourself with the gifts, ok?” you say, he chuckles, but ends up agreeing; at least until the topic has quieted down, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to let your father win the upper hand like that one day ever again. “Or at least save them to when I’m back at the estate… which I hope is soon.”

“Almost there.” Naoya says. “Just a few more things, and we’ll be together once again.”

… even if the answer was to be the same, you still needed to ask.

“Is… everything ok?”

Not precisely, not when he has yet to find out the one responsible for all this…

But he’s gotten a lead, an idea of where to start, of who to hunt—which he knows he’ll find in record time thanks to the fury he harbors, further motivating him to do this as quickly and precisely as possible just so he’d have you back home, with him.

“Nothing you should worry about.” He reiterates. “Just keep focusing on your health, the baby, and not doing anything strenuous.”

“I’m just pregnant, Naoya… nothing extraordinary. I still want to help around., you know?”

“I know, and you’ll be able to do that and more in due time, but for now, keep safe, for me, ok? And our little mochi.”

“When will I see you again?” you ask again, hoping that perhaps this time around, the answer will be different.

“Soon.” He promises. “Soon, my love.”

Once he deals with the bastard that hurt you.

Naoya will give them nothing but a glimpse of the sorrow and pain they’d put you through, his fury—make their life a living hell, make them regret the foolish idea that they could ever get away from it; and still, he doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied with his revenge.

He’d want more, he’d want everyone to know that his family are not ones to mess around with.

He’d burn the whole world to set the message across if necessary—and that would only be the bare minimum for you, the love of his life, and now, his baby…

His home.

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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multi-fandom-imagine · 10 months ago

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🏕️ camping || Bigby Wolf ||

A/n: My love for Bigby has returned, so I had to write some dad!Bigby things

Bigby didn't do camping, he spent enough of his life time in the woods so why the fuck would he do it willingly.

But then you asked which in turn got the pups excited and he couldn't say no to them which in turn lead to him driving his shitty ass truck to some shitty ass camp ground in upstate New York.

Rolling his neck, he parked the truck as he barely had a chance to tell the kids to stay safe.

"Hey! Don't go far." Bigby shouted as all seven of them rushed out of truck as then ran off to the lake to play in. Shaking his head he turned to find you sleeping. Letting his fingers caress your cheek his gaze softened. He was so lucky to have you, his best friend, the one he loved. "Red, we're here."

Blinking sleep from your eyes, you let out a yawn then turned to smile at him. "Thank you for doing this." Leaning forward you pressed your lips into his for a gentle kiss.

Humming, Bigby gave you a smile shaking his head as he placed one last kiss to the top of your head.

"You don't need to thank me, I can't say no to you let alone the kids."

Stepping out of the truck you raised your arms above your head. "Well I'll go check on them, do you need help setting up?"

"I'm good, go have fun with the kids."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Bigby glanced at the two tents. A smaller one for the kids than a much larger one a few feet away. He knew it was pointless though since he expected them to come to you half way in the night.

It was the choir of 'daddys' and 'dada' that snapped him out of his thoughts. Each of them jumping on his leg trying to knock him down.

"Come swim with us daddy!" One of them asked, she was already climbing up half way through his pant legs.

Grabbing her by the scruff he then set her down rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What did I say about shifting in public places."

Bigby looked over his children, half of them in their tiny wolf forms as the others stayed as normal humans.

"Don't." They chimed.

"So why-."

"Mommy said we could."

Letting out a grunt he then dropped his shoulders nodding his head. While it might be safe for them, he knew he had no chance to due to his size. "Come on let's go swimming...but do not leave my side."

"Yay!!!"

Catching his breath, Bigby sat next to you in one of the chairs as the kids continued to play and splash around in the lake. "How do they have so much energy?"

Snorting, you closed the book you were reading as your head then rested on his chest. "They are children Bigby."

Letting his arm wrap around your waist he then closed his eyes. "Not to mention they are part wolf."

Smiling you closed your eyes enjoying the sound of your husband's heart beat, of your children's laughter as you fell asleep.

You weren't quite sure how long you slept but it was night time, the sun long set as the kids were gathered around the campfire listing intensely to whatever story there was telling them.

"I see sleeping beauty is finally awake."

Shaking your head, you pulled your chair giving Bigby a look as one of the kids crawled into your lap.

"Please, don't stop on my account."

Giving you a grin, Bigby retuned to his story. Your gaze fixated on him.

While some of the people in fable town may still not trust Bigby, a few may still hate him. He had you and his children. The ones that mattered most.

He might be known as the Big Bad Wolf but to you he was your loving husband, an amazing father.

And nothing will ever change that.

#drabbles #drabble #bigby wolf #bigby wolf x reader #twau bigby #sheriff bigby #the wolf among us bigby #fables bigby #bigby x reader #bigby wolf x you #sheriff bigby x reader #the wolf among us #twau x reader #the wolf among us x reader #dc #dc x reader

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cinnamoonblue · 6 months ago

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Chapter IV | Sweater Weather

Summary: You moved to one of the biggest cities in the world - Grand Line to pursue filmmaking career. Soon enough your path will cross with the vocalist of upcoming band called “The Neighbourhood”. At first you decided to be just friends - because it would be easier, but sadly as everything in life sometimes by taking the easy path we regret a lot of things.

Main characters: Portgas D Ace x Reader (female)

Supporting characters: Nami, Usopp, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Deuce, Shanks, Buggy, Sabo, Eustass Kid, Koala, Marco, Robin (more to be add)

Description: Modern AU | Musician Ace

WARNINGS: explicit language, use of nicotine/cigarettes, use of drugs, postpartum depression, mentions of death, family trauma, conflicted feelings

Word Count: 15,2K

<- previous chapter | story masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter ->

NOTE: I’ve planned to write this chapter even longer, but then I decided that it would be pointless as most of the things would be repetitive. Here are the descriptions of some filmmaking terms, so when you are reading you know what the characters are talking about: D.O.P - Director of Photography/Cinematographer, the person who works closely with the director, and the person who determines the framing of the shots and capturing the scenes AC - First Assistant Camera, the person who is responsible for the focus of the camera and the lenses Call Sheet - The daily schedule, filled with all the information needed for the actors and the crew about when, where and what will be filmed Storyboard - Visual representation of a film sequence and breaking down the actions into individual panels, sketching out how the video will unfold shot by shot I hope that all of this Filmmaking things are not boring you, but I feel like if I don’t write them down the story will feel super fake and the logic will be missing and it won’t be clear why certain things are described a certain way, if you get what I mean 😅 Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the previous ones, or even more hehe… also … there are some major foreshadowing in this chapter 👀 hihi enjoy ♡

It has been two weeks since the Halloween party, which I try not to think about much. Nami was quite upset with me the first few days after it, as I left without saying goodbye and because I wasn’t answering the next day. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about the party with anyone. When we met on Monday in lectures, I lied to her and Usopp that I felt super sick and because of it I left without saying anything not wanting to ruin their funny, and they bought it. Everything was fine, until I saw Ace once at the coffee shop, luckily for me he had his back facing me, so he didn’t see me. I recognised him by his orange beanie, but I quickly left as I wasn’t ready to see him again. Still, almost everyday I caught myself thinking about him at least once, going back to the moment we “shared” at the party. He had his ways to get under someone’s skin, I gave him that. We have barely spoken or knew each other, yet I couldn’t shake him off my thoughts. The way his actions and words were so contradicting. I still remember the burning feeling he left inside of me by just barely touching my skin, I can only imagine what it could have been if he had kissed me. Or maybe I totally misread the situation, but I would never know.

The only thing keeping me from thinking of him was the fact that I was extremely busy with the upcoming short-cut projects at university. I was stuck writing and rewriting my script, not being satisfied with it fully, and we must submit our final draft by the end of this week. Because of that we didn’t have any classes this week and I haven’t gotten out at all. Nami and Usopp texted me a few times to join them outside for a drink, even Luffy texted me to hang out, but I turned them all down, as my main focus right now was submitting my final draft.

Today I had consultation with one of my teachers regarding my script, as I wanted a second opinion if the story and the actions were clear. My meeting was scheduled at 2PM, so I got plenty of time as I woke up quite early, not being able to sleep in the past few days. I decided to get dress and grab a coffee from my favorite coffee shop. I put a pair of dark baggy jeans and just a basic grey cotton t-shirt, not feeling like dressing myself up today, as stress was taking over me. I didn’t even bother to put makeup or anything, I just put my jacket on, grabbed my bag over the shoulder and headphones and left. As I was on my way to the coffee shop when the next song that started to play from my headphones was Ace’s song. I had saved them all on my playlist; aside from Ace’s confusing behaviour at least his band’s music was good.

Touch my neck and I'll touch yours You in those little high-waisted shorts, oh

The song started to bring memories from the party, especially when the choirs hit.

'Cause it's too cold for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

I wasn’t in the mood for this, so I quickly changed the song.

“Fucking Ace.” I cursed under my breath.

The sky was cloudy today, and I didn’t check the weather app, and it seemed like it was going to rain. Soon drops of rain started to pour from the sky and I started to run towards the cafe. My jacket didn’t have a hood, and my hair got wet and messy by the time I reached it. It was quite busy when I got inside, and my usual seat was taken so I went to wait on the queue before I sit somewhere.

“One black coffee, please” I ordered to the barista. My card declined as I was trying to pay. “Oh, I’m so sorry, give me a second.” I apologised to them, as I probably ran out of money, and I had to transfer from my savings.

“I will pay for her and make them two.” This smooth, low voice that I would recognise from miles away said behind me.

“Ace” I turned around immediately facing him. He just winked at me, paying for the coffees. The barista handed us the coffees and we thanked him.

“Thanks for the coffee.” I glanced at Ace and went to find a place to sit, leaving him by himself. I found a small table at the back of the shop. I sat down and pulled my laptop from my bag, trying to calm myself down. Of course, off all possible days I met him today. As the day couldn’t get any more stressful for me it had to serve me Ace on top.

“Mind if I take a seat?” Ace stood next to me, waiting for my respond. He had this little smug smirk on his face, and that slightly irritated me.

“Sure.” I gave him a short response. He sat down across from me, leaning his back on the wall, resting one of his arms on the back of the chair and the other on the table, his whole body facing away from me. I took a quick look at him. He was wearing baggy jeans with an oversized grey hoodie, which was wet from the rain, and his red bead neckless hanged around his neck as always.

“We are matching today.” He pointed out, tilting his head towards me. I looked down at myself and realised that we were wearing matching outfits. I gave him a simple nod, looking away from him back to my computer. “You look tired.” He said taking look at my tired face.

“I am tired.” I sighed.

“Is everything okay? Are you okay, doll?” His voice had a hint of concern.

“Don’t call me that.” I snapped at him.

“Why are you so moody? Someone stepped on your tail this morning... doll?” He mocked me. I shoot him a glance from behind my laptop not in the mood for jokes. “You look cute when mad, you know.” He chuckled at me, the smirk not leaving his face.

“What do you want Ace?” I raised my eyebrow at him.

“Nothing, just to sit and chitchat with a friend.” His answer pissed me off, like he forgot what happened two weeks ago.

“Ace...” I took a breath calming myself down before continuing. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’m under a lot of stress right now, so if you want to sit here – sit but I’m not in the mood for a chitchat.” I didn’t want to be mean at him, but also, I couldn’t hide my irritation right now. He just nodded and sipped from his coffee. We were sitting in silence – me on my laptop, writing and rewriting whatever felt right or not, and Ace was just scrolling on his phone. I took a sip from my coffee and couldn’t help but wrinkled my nose and furrowed my eyebrows as always. I heard Ace chuckle under his breath.

“What?” I asked Ace.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, his smug smile not leaving his lips.

“You are laughing at me, aren’t you?” I nagged.

“Please, doll explain this: why drinking coffee if you hate it?” He turned his body to face me, putting both of his forearms on the table, holding his coffee cup.

“Because if I drink something that I like I will get addicted to it and then I will want to drink it all the time – that’s why.” I responded.

“How may coffees you drink a day?” He had this mischievous spark in his eyes.

“Depends on the day, but sometimes two or three.”

“Doll, I think you are already addicted.” I rolled my eyes at his comment.

“Stop calling me ‘doll’, Ace.” What was with this pet name, he hasn’t stopped calling me ‘doll’ since Halloween.

“Why? You don’t like it?” He teased me.

“You call all your friends ‘doll’?” I teased him back.

“No, only you.” His voice was low, almost like a whisper, eyes glued on mine half lidded as always. Instead of a smirk he had this little smile playing on his lips. I broke the eye contact looking back at my laptop, starting to type on the keyboard again.

“What are you writing there?” He leaned on his hand, his voice soft.

“My script for the short-cuts.” My respond short, eyes not leaving the computer as I was re-reading the script, checking for mistakes or if I need to add extra remarks.

“Is that why you are so stressed?” He straitened up his posture, studying my face as he was sipping from his coffee. I simply nodded in response. “What is it about?” He asked and I looked at him hesitating if I should tell him.

“It’s about a man, who fell in love with this woman from the moment he saw her, but so did his best friend.” I chuckled feeling a little embraced telling Ace the plot of my script. “But his best friend hit on her first, so they started to date, and the whole scene is about them announcing their engagement and the man – the main character, gets lost in his thoughts of ‘what if’. ‘What if’ he did a move on her first, and they were the one dating and he knows how he would have treated her better ect.” I was babbling as Ace was just looking at me, taking every word, I said. “And then the ‘what if’ moment gets interrupted by his girlfriend who shakes him off the thoughts asking him what’s wrong and why he doesn’t congratulate them, and he quickly brushes it off and congratulates them only to whisper to his best friend's now fiancé that it should have been him.” I took a deep breath and raised my eyebrows in anticipation for Ace’s opinion on the script.

“Can I read it?” His voice and eyes sparkled with interest, so I turned my laptop and handed it to him. His face was unreadable while he was reading it until he handed me the laptop back.

“Well... what do you think?” I felt my confidence leaving me, as he wasn’t saying anything.

“I think that I don’t know much about scripts, nothing at all actually, but...” He paused for a second. “I can’t wait to see your film, doll. I really liked it.” Ace leaned on the back of the chair; arms crossed around his chest as he smiled at me.

“What? You mean that? You really liked the script?” My eyes widened of surprise hearing his response. “Like, you really, really mean that?”

“Yes, doll I do.” He chuckled. “Have more fait in yourself.” I didn’t know how to respond to this. I've heard this a lot – be more confident, have more fait in yourself, yet the ‘imposter’ syndrome could never leave me.

“Thank you, Ace. This means a lot.” I smiled at him.

“Nothing to thank me about.” He raised his cup of coffee to his lips and before he took a sip he added. “And if it sucked, I was going to tell you.” I playfully rolled my eyes at him.

“I rewrote it like a hundred times. I have a consultation with my teacher at 2PM, because we are submitting them tomorrow, so I hope he likes it, and I don’t need to rewrite again.” I closed my laptop and put it back in my bag. Ace looked at his phone to check the time.

“You still have some time, like almost two hours.” We stayed in silence for a moment, I was avoiding his gaze, as my shyness started to take over me, the memories of the party surfacing on my mind.

“How are your ears, by the way? I forgot to ask you at the party.” The mockery in his voice was so clear.

"My ears?" I didn't understand what he meant my that.

"Yeah, that video with you and Usopp." A big grin spread across his face when he.

“No, no, no don’t remind me.” I got all flushed as I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed of the accident with the microphone and Usopp. Ace laughed at my reaction.

“I love that video, I made Nami sent it to me.”

“What? No! No, no, no!” ‘Nami how could you?’ I was thinking to myself, why would she do that, why would Ace want that video. “Please, Ace delete it.” I begged him. “It’s not even that funny.”

“Yeah, it’s not funny – it’s hilarious.” He snorted, clearly enjoying mocking me like this. I shook my head giving up, my face still covered with the palms of my hand, as I knew that he wouldn’t delete it. “Hey, look at me.” I looked up only to see my shocked face zoomed on his phone screen as a screenshot.

“Ace!” I squealed, reaching with my hand to snatch his phone away to delete the picture but he quickly pulled it away. “Aceee.” I stomped my food like a little kid.

“Easy, doll. Going through someone’s phone is not polite, you know that?” He snapped his index finger hitting me on my forehead, laughing at my reaction, as I pouted.

“You are so mean.” I told him. “What are your plans for the day?” I leaned on my chair, mimicking his posture.

“Go to the studio, play a little with the guys, then talk with our manager about some marketing stuffs and deals – nothing interesting.” Ace shrugged; he didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

We stayed for an hour more – talking and laughing. It was so easy to be myself around him, yet sometimes I caught myself getting a little tensed when he smirked at me or made some teasing comments. I wanted to ask him what exactly happened with him at the party two weeks ago, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment we were having. Even thought we had four years difference I couldn’t really feel it as Ace was still carrying this very boyish energy in him. I got to learn a little bit more about him, and what he likes and dislikes. When it was time for me to head to university he suggested to walk with me to there since he still had some time before him and the guys meet.

The weather outside was still the same but at least it wasn’t raining. We were walking next to each other, almost no distance between our bodies. He was telling me more about his brothers, and things they did as kids.

“So, wait, wait.” I interrupted him. “You are telling me that your aunt Dadan didn’t have any money for your vocal lessons, but the moment Sabo said that he wants to learn how to play drums she immediately signed him up?” I was in disbelief.

“Yea, he is her favourite, as he is you know – blue eyed, blonde, cute.” He mocked her voice as he was describing Sabo. “Then you have Luffy, and last one is me – the black sheep.” He winked with a mischievous smirk.

“Why are you the black sheep?” That piqued my curiosity.

“Our friendship is way too fresh for this conversation, doll.” He bumped me with his elbow on the side, chuckling. I laughed it off, not wanting to push his boundaries.

“Okay one very, very important question before I go.” We were almost to the university when I stopped him before we part our ways. I stood in front of him, with the most serious look on my face, looking straight at his eyes as I pointed my finger at him and spoke. “Which is your all-time favourite movie?”

“Hm...” Ace frowned his eyebrows, thinking for a moment. “I’m not sure, I have to think about it, doll.” He smiled at me.

“I will be waiting for your answer.” I turned around and started to walk towards the school gates.

“Hey, doll.” Ace called after me. “You never gave me your number.”

“Not until you tell me your favourite movie.” I yelled behind my back, waving him goodbye as I entered the gates. My cheeks flaming hot, my heart was bumping fast, and for the rest of the day I don’t think that I would be able to take off the smile from my face. Maybe just being friends wouldn’t hurt, I’m sure I could put my little crush aside and before I know it, we would have this amazing friendship. Some people are better left as friends – and if Ace and I are one of them, so let it be it.

Ace was watching (Y/N) leave and as she disappeared from his sight, he laughed to himself. She was very interesting person. The way she changed her moods so fast, the way her eyes sparked when she talked about things she loved or was excited about, the way when even without saying anything her face betrays her and says it all – she was very fun to hang around. (Y/N) crossed his mind a few times in past two weeks, part of him regrating not taking his chance with her at the party, but then that was for the best. She was a nice girl and a friend of his friends, and he didn’t want to hurt her or give her some empty promises that he couldn’t keep. The least you two could of do was to try being friends, after all better friends than strangers. And she was quite young, Ace remember how he used to behave in his early 20s. The last thing on his mind was to keep someone for a longer than a month, when the world offered him so much; it should be the same with her – after all she was such a catch for the eye. Even today, all tired with sleepy bags under her eyes and messy hair, she was still very cute to look at. Ace wasn’t stupid he did feel the attraction they shared towards one another, but he was doing her a big-time favour by setting their boundaries straight. Although teasing from time to time wouldn’t hurt, she was such a tease herself, which was making it so hard for him.

Ace got to the building where the studio was located. The building was old and had five stores. The studio the guys were renting there was on the second floor. Before going up Ace wanted to light a cigarette or two. He leaned on the staircase and lit up one. ‘Favourite movie, hm...’ he was thinking about an answer he could give you of a movie that he really liked and could say that resonated with him.

“Yo, Ace.” He tilted his head to the side and saw Law walking towards him. They gave each other a quick bump on the shoulders. Ace pulled out his cigarettes from his pocket offering Law one, but he refused.

“What’s up with you? You seem moody.” Ace asked him, as Law seemed not to be in the mood. Law and Ace had been best friends since high school. They met after Ace was kicked out in 9th grade, from the one where him and Sabo were attending together. The first day Ace and Law met, they didn’t really like each other or spoke. It wasn’t until one day when Law was getting beaten up by some 11th graders bullies, and Ace jumped to help him, only for them to end up with detention. Since then, their friendship started. No one else but Law knew off Ace’s darkest secrets, and vice versa; even Sabo and Luffy didn’t know as much about Ace as Law knew. They both could easily read the other like an open book. Which was why Ace could tell something was disturbing Law.

“Nothing.” Law replied, but Ace wasn’t falling for that.

“Come on, bro. If you don’t tell me then who?” Ace took another cigarette lighting it up. He looked at Law again, raising his eyebrows questioningly if he was sure that he didn’t want to smoke one. Law sighed annoyed and took one, lighting it fast and taking long puff from it.

“So?” Ace waited for his respond, but he thought he already knew the reason behind it.

“Robin.” Law glanced at Ace knowing that he got the whole picture already. Ace snorted, shaking his head knowing that he guessed right.

“What did you do this time?” He looked at his friend frustrated face, knowing that it was probably him that messed up something again. Robin and Law were an on and off thing, that only Ace knew about, and it has been two years since this was happening.

“Why do you assume that I did something immediately?” He snapped at Ace, which only confirmed that he did in fact did something that lead to them fighting again. If Law was in a bad mood because of Robin then it meant that he fucked up, if he was going mad, almost insane then Robin did something. That has happened only once and it was when she wanted to end everything with him, and Ace swore that for the tenth years of him and Law being friends, he had never seen Law losing his mind the way he did that night.

“Fine.” Law said after a while. “You remember the chick from the Halloween party? Well, somehow Robin found out that I slept with her, so she is nagging on me now, how for a thousand time I broke our agreement.” He threw the finished cigarette on the ground, stomping it frustrated.

“Why do you even have this agreement in the first place?” Ace got annoyed as this wasn’t the first time this happened; since Robin and Law started seeing each other, they decided that they didn’t want anything serious, but if something was happening between them, they must not sleep with other people.

“I don’t know man, I just don’t want to go through this again.” Law exhaled. “Plus, we haven’t done anything in a month and so, so.. I thought to myself why not, you know.” He shrugged, the sound of regret could be heard in his voice.

“Did she tell you how she found out?”

“No, no idea. But there was this chick that walked on me at the party, but I was wearing the mask, so I doubt it that it was her. Even thought she looked familiar.” Ace didn’t say anything, he knew that (Y/N) walked on Law, but he decided to keep this information to himself, after all he doubt that she knew Robin.

“What are you planning to do then?” Ace threw his finished cigarette and nodded to Law to get going inside.

“Find a way to fix it.” Law murmured as they were going up the stairs.

The apartment where the studio was, was quite small a one room apartment but very practical. The whole space was turned into one big, isolated sound room. Thanks to Deuce and some of his connections the guys were able to rent it for themselves only for a very nice price. Going in Ace and Law were met with Deuce and Sabo, who were here since the morning. The guys greeted each other and started to chitchat as they were waiting for their manager. Some time passed and he finally came.

“Yo, what’s up Marco?” Sabo was the first one to greet him. Marco was a man in his mid-thirties, blond hair styled in a very interesting mullet style. He had been recently become the guys’ manager, as he had been in the music industry for the past ten years now. It happened after they were performing in some underground night club, and by chance Marco happened to be there that same night. After they were done with their set, he went to speak with them and gave his business card to get in touch with him.

“Same as usual, how are things with you boys?” Marco smiled at them as he pushed his glasses up adjusting them.

“Same as usual here.” Deuce replied, the rest of the boys agreeing.

“I don’t have much time today so I will get straight to business.” Marco clapped with his hands. “We can not afford to postpone this anymore so it’s time for you to finally decide which will be your debut single from the EP and we need to film a music video for it, as soon as possible.”

“Easy answer – ‘Sweater Weather’” Ace said not waiting for the rest of the guys to have a word.

“Are you all on the same page for this?” Marco glanced at the other guys to make sure that they all agreed with Ace’s choice of song.

“I think we all agree, it is our most streamed song.” Deuce said, Law and Sabo agreeing with the choice that Ace made as well.

“Okay, that was faster than I expected.” Marco chuckled. “I was thinking between ‘Sweater Weather’ or ‘Cry Baby’, so I agree with your choice guys. Now for the video, I already have some directors in mind. The first one is Ja-“

“We already have.” Ace interrupted him.

“What do you mean we already have?” Sabo looked at his brother confused, they have never talked about filming a video, let alone them already having the crew for it.

“Yes, Ace; what do you mean by this?” Marco asked, as confused as the rest of the guys.

“I have already spoken with some people, and they are down to film our first video. That’s it. No need to search for director or crew, we already have.”

“And they are?” Marco raised his eyebrow waiting for Ace to give him more clear answer.

“Luffy's friends.” Ace shrugged.

“You must be kidding me?” Sabo quickly snapped at him. Ace just shook his head, looking at his brother questioningly. “Ace, we need professional director and crew, not some kids who barely started to do this.”

“They are not kids, and I’m sure they will do pretty well. Plus, you don’t seem to call Usopp a kid when he is producing music for us, do you?” Ace snapped back at his brother.

“Because he has the talent for it, but he said it himself he is not such a good director.” Sabo tried to reason his brother. “Also have you asked him?”

“No, I haven’t.” Everyone whined annoyed with Ace. “But I will. And also, I didn’t say that Usopp will be the director.” All eyes were again on Ace.

“Who will be then Ace?” Sabo hissed, waiting to hear whatever his brother had come up with.

“(Y/N).” Ace shortly answered.

“Who?” Law and Deuce asked at the same time, the name sounded familiar, but they couldn’t put the face to the name.

“You are kidding me, right? Is she even good? Have you seen any of her work at lease?” At this point Sabo started to have a headache. He knew who his brother was referring to. Sabo also saw the way Ace and this (Y/N) girl behaved around each other at the party, so it better not be what he thought it was.

“Yea, she is pretty good.” Ace quickly lied. He had never seen any of her work, he was taking a big risk suggesting that, he wasn’t even sure what gotten into him to even suggest it. But something in his gut was telling him that it would work, that it would be worth taking the risk.

“Ace, I swear to Go-“ Sabo got interrupted.

“Guys, guys.” Marco raised his voice. “This is serious, this would be your first video ever, it must be professional, and very well made, not some school project. I don’t care how good these kids are or not, we are hiring you professionals.” The rest of the guys agreed with Marco, but not Ace.

“Listen, I know that this sounds crazy but trust me on this one. Plus, if its turs out bad then we can go for a professional, okay?” Ace tried to fight back.

“Ace this will be waisted time, why don’t you understand this?” Marco took off his glasses massaging his eyes, Ace was the hardest to work with.

“Yeah! Ace this will cost double.” Sabo stood up and looked at Ace, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It won’t, believe me because it will turn out good, I have a good feeling for this.” Ace also stood up getting closer to his brother. “Come on, trust me on this one, when have I ever let you down?”

“How do you guys feel about this?” Sabo turned toward Law and Deuce.

“As long as its turs out good I don’t care who will film it.” Deuce said, as he only cared for the final product.

“How are you sure that they will even agree to do it Ace?” Law asked.

“I have a feeling, okay.” Ace snapped. “Look I will ask them, we meet with them and if our ideas don’t match, we don’t hire them for it, and we go with whoever Marco has in mind.”

“Okay, this works for me.” Law sighed, not at all in the mood to argue today.

“Ace..” Sabo hissed his finger pointed at his brother. “You- you better be right or else I will beat the shit out of you for this.” He turned around and angrily sat on the couch.

“Um guys, it’s me who has the final word here, remember?” Marco looked at all off them in disbelief.

“Marco, you make sure to speak with the right people to make this viral, we fix the rest.” Ace patted him on the shoulder and left without saying anything more.

“He is unbelievable to work with.” Marco threw his hands in the air looking at the rest of the guys who weren’t paying him much attention as well.

“Hey, Usopp. What’s up my man?” Ace said over the phone. It was around 6PM when he got home and decided to speak with Usopp, about the video.

“Chillin’ with Kaya at home, you?”

“Just got home and wanted to speak with you.”

“’bout what?” Usopp asked. Ace was close to all Luffy’s friends, Usopp was even one of them that he could call his own friend.

“How do you feel about you and your friends from uni, filming our first music video?” Ace got straight to the point.

“Ace, we are still learning, plus I’m not the best director.” Usopp was more than surprised by Ace’s proposition.

“I know, I know, but think about it wouldn’t that be a great opportunity for you and your friends?”

“It would definitely be, but again we barely started I don’t know how we would manage to do something as big as a music video for you guys. Plus, it will be your debut video why don’t you go for professionals, you surely ain’t that broke.” Usopp joked.

“It’s not about money.” Ace quickly responded. “I just want you guys to do it.”

“I don’t know Ace. I really don’t think that this is a good idea.” Usopp hesitate.

“You don’t need to be the director, someone else can be.” Ace was quick to add.

“(Y/N) is good, but I doubt that she will be down for it.” That was exactly what Ace needed to hear.

“Do you mind giving me her number, so I can speak with her?”

“Yeah, sure. But good luck, again I don’t think she will agree. But I will send you, her number.” Usopp huffed, knowing that (Y/N) would not agree, but still it wouldn’t hurt if Ace wanted to try. Before they hung up Ace thanked Usopp and waited for him to send the number.

My consultation went pretty fast, as my directing teacher was super pleased with my script, he gave me some advice on what I could possibly change to make it easier to film after, but other than this it went well. Before I got home, I stopped by our chill area as I saw some of my classmates. We talked for a bit, exchanging some ideas and jokes here and there. It was nice to know that I wasn’t the only one being so overly stressed for the short-cuts.

I got home and prepared myself something to eat. After it I sat down to make some last changes on the script before I submitted it. I sighed in relief, knowing that I was halfway done with this assignment, and all we have left was to film and then edit it. I was just hoping that the actors I have assigned for my movie would do their roles good.

I laid down on my coach trying to find something interesting to watch. I wasn’t sure what I was in a mood for. While searching for something to watch I could feel that my fatigue started to take over, as my eyes were slowly starting to close. I had fallen asleep when I heard my phone ringing. I looked at the screen and it was unknown number, usually I never pick up if I didn’t know who was calling. I looked at the time and it was almost 8PM. Exactly before whoever was calling hung up, I picked up the phone.

“What’s Eating Gilbert Grape” The voice on the other end said.

“What? I’m sorry who is calling?” I sat on the couch, rubbing my eyes.

“The answer that I couldn’t give you earlier, doll. ‘What’s Eating Gilbert Grape�� – that’s my favourite movie, or at least one I can say that I really liked.”

“Ace? How- How did you get my number?” I was fully awake now; how did he find my number.

“I have my ways.” He chuckled.

“Creep.” I snorted.

“Are you happy with my answer?”

“Surprised. But not a bad choice at all.”

“What are you doing, doll?” I could feel his smirk over the phone.

“Nothing, I had fallen asleep on the couch, you?”

“Oh, sorry for waking you up then.”

“It’s okay. Now how did you get my number?” I was curious to know how or who gave it to him.

“I told you; I have my ways.” His tone was so teasing. “But I’m actually calling for business not for chitchat.” Now that piqued my interest.

“What business?”

“How do you feel about directing a music video?” I was taken aback hearing this.

“Um, I have never done it so, I’m not really sure how I would feel. Why?” I was confused by this sudden question.

“I want you to direct our first music video.” Ace blurted out.

“What?” I shouted not expecting this at all.

“Please, don’t shout in my ears.” Ace laughed at my reaction.

“I’m sorry. But seriously, are you insane? I’m so new to all of this, like the whole filmmaking thing, and music videos are slightly different to shoot than films, so I can’t Ace, I’m sorry I-I can’t take such responsibility.” I quickly said, turning down his offer even thought it would have been such a great opportunity, but he must contact someone professional.

“Come on, doll. I believe in you, I’m sure you will come up with something great.” He chuckled, not giving up.

“Listen, Ace...” I took a deep breath. “I’m so flattered that you believe so much in me, but I’m not that good.”

“Please.”

“Ace.” I sighed.

“Please, doll. We don’t want something over the top, we need super simple video, so we can put out there, plus we will pay you. So, please consider it and give me a call back tomorrow, okay?”

“I don’t think that my mind will change but sure.”

“Thank you, doll. I will be waiting for your final decision.” He said before hung up.

I sighed once again, but this time loudly. Why? Why he wants me to do this? He hasn’t even seen my work, why he trusted me so much to a point where he wants me to direct his band’s first ever video. It’s not that it would be that hard, it’s more the fact that with this video they are establishing themselves officially as a band, and their overall look. The offer really piqued my interest, and my mind started to think about a possible video idea, but I forgot to ask him which song they were planning to film it for. I grabbed my phone and saved his number, before I texted him.

“Which song will be the video for?”

He replied shortly after: “Sweater Weather”

I opened Spotify and went to their profile. It was their most streamed song, so it was logical that they chose it for their debut music video. I played the song and started to create a storyboard in my mind. Ace didn’t give me much information, so I if I agree to do this, I have a lot of questions for him. Do they have a crew already, or I will have to think of someone to help me? Do they have something in mind that they will want us to recreate in the video? When do they want to film it? And so many more questions popped up in my head.

“Oh, Ace....” I sighed to myself.

“So, you gave him my number?” I turned to Usopp when we finished with our class for the day.

“Yeah, he called me and asked me if we want to shoot their video, but I turned him down, as I’m not very good with directing, but they he told me that it can always be someone else, and I mentioned you and he wanted to speak with you... so... what are you down for it?” Usopp looked at me, trying to read my face.

“Well, that’s the thing. Part of me wants to, but another one tells me that I lack the skills.”

“You know,” Nami interrupted our conversation. “Dave from year two has done some music videos before, why don’t you guys speak with him, he might help you.” She suggested.

“This is a very good idea, Nami. I didn’t know that.” I hugged her. “But, yeah I’m down only if you guys are?” I looked at them both.

“Oh, no. I have too many things to do because of the short-cuts, and my group sucks guys, so I’m out.” Nami quickly turned me down.

“I can be your D.O.P, but I will need a first assistant camera.” Usopp said.

“We can ask Dave, if he is up for it, he can help us.” I smiled at Usopp, happy that he was down for the job. “Otherwise, it will be just you and I.”

“I’m actually surprised that you are planning to do it.” Usopp was right, I was surprised by myself as well, Nami also agreed with him.

“I know, but I have an idea that I think it will match their band’s vibe very good, and it won’t be hard to film at all so I think it would turn out pretty well, if they like my idea as well.” Nami and Usopp were both aware that I was not the most confident person when it came to how talented and good I was with filmmaking. Even thought both had told me millions of times that I should believe in myself and my skills more, sometimes it was really hard, yet I was always down for a challenge.

“Does any of you have Dave’s insta or something, so I can text him?” I pulled out my phone opening Instagram, to search his name.

“Yeah, here.” Usopp showed me his phone so I can copy Dave’s username. I followed and texted him. It didn’t take him long to respond, saying that we can meet somewhere later and talk about it. We agreed on meeting for a drink around 7PM, so I had quite some time until then.

“Usopp, will you come as well?” I asked him before we say goodbye.

“Nah, I won’t be able to, Kaya and I already have plans.” He hugged me and Nami goodbye. “But keep me updated.” He said before he left.

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked Nami as we were walking towards the metro station.

“Going out with Luffy and Vivi, if you wanna join after you finish your meeting with Dave.”

“I will think about it, as I will have to speak with Ace after it.” I didn’t want to promise anything for later, as I might be too tired to go out. Nami smirked.

“What?” I looked at her suspiciously, as her smirk was quite mischievous.

“Mmm, nothing.” She just glanced at me, her smirk growing.

“You don’t get to tell me, nothing with this smug smile growing on your face.” I nagged her.

“Well... Ace, hu?” Her eyebrows wiggled playfully. “Did you two know each other before? I remember Usopp mentioning something.” She pushed me a little with her elbow.

“Oh no, no, nothing like this.” I brushed it off quick. “We met accidently that’s all, it was even that Friday when they were preforming at my uncle’s bar, so it was pure coincidence.”

“But Sabo told me he saw you going somewhere with him at the party two weeks ago, and then you left without saying anything and you weren’t speaking with us much after that...” She looked at me, trying to study my face if I was lying to her. “Did something happen? You know I will not tell anyone. I’m just concern and Ace... well, Ace is Ace.” She chuckled.

“No, I swear nothing happened. We just talked for a bit inside and then we went somewhere, and I decided to go home.” I didn’t really lie to her, because all of this did happen, I just didn’t mention any details.

“Okay, I believe you if you say so.” Nami wasn’t fully convinced but decided to let it go. “But don’t fall for Ace or anything like that.” She added. “He is an amazing person, no doubt about that, but he is a womanizer, so for your own sake don’t cross this lines.” Her warning was valid, and this wasn’t the first time I heard this, but Ace and I already set that boundary anyway, so I didn’t need to hear it again.

“Don’t worry I don’t see him that way.” Now this time I lied, but my little crush on Ace was something Nami didn’t need to know.

I started to get ready around 5PM. I decided to wear something casually just a pair of flared dark blue jeans, with a black off shoulder blouse with a belt around the waist. I added some silver earing and quickly fixed my hair and makeup before checking the clock and to see what time it was. It was almost six, so I took my purse, put my black kitten heels and coat on, and left.

It took me around forty-five minutes to reach the place where we agreed to meet. It was a very nice and cozy jazz bar. I’ve never been to this place before, but just from the looks of it, it seemed like a place I wouldn’t mind coming to again. I looked around and I saw Dave sitting on a small table for two. I waved at him as he saw me.

“Hey, Dave thank you so much for meeting me.” I smiled at him as I was sitting down.

“No worries, the pleasure is mine.” He smiled back. “What would you like to drink?” Dave was super nice, I have spoken with him only twice so far and only in university, so I felt a little awkward right now.

“Just a glass of sparkling wine would be perfect.” I told him and he went to order for us. Dave was also a nice-looking guy. His hair was dark brown and full of curls, his jawline was sharp, and his beard was nicely shaved in a goatee style. He was dressed in a relaxed fit short sleaved black shirt and some linen white pants; he also had an earing on his left ear. Dave came back and handed me my drink with a smile. He sat back on his chair and we both shared an awkward laughed.

“So, music video, hu?” He said, flashing me another of his charming smiles.

“Yes, I got the offer last night, and I still haven’t accepted it, as it’s the band’s debut video, so I’m quite unsure if I should take the risk, you know?” I took a sip of the wine, glancing away from Dave.

“I know the feeling, don’t worry about it.” He reassured me. “Which band are you talking about?”

“‘The Neighbourhood’, you know them?” Dave shook his head. “Oh, you need to check them out, they are pretty good and growing popularity quite fast.”

“I will take your word on that.” He chuckled. “So how did they end up asking you to direct their video?”

“I’m a friend with the vocalist, and he really wants me to do it, as quote-unquote ‘he believes that I would do an amazing job’.” I waved my hands around in a question marks.

“That’s good, if you ask me - take the opportunity. Plus, I have heard that you are one of the tops of your class, and that you have quite a different vision from the rest so go for it.” Dave encouraged me.

“Yeah, ‘different’.” I shook my hands to my head, but Dave just looked at me confused, not getting the reference so I just brushed it off. “Um, I was wondering... would you like to help us? It will be just Usopp and I, and we will really appreciate it if we have a AC.” I bit my lip, looking at Dave from under my lashes.

“Well, depends on when you guys are filming, but sure.” He nodded, a coy smile forming on his lips. “But wouldn’t it be better if I’m your D.O.P as I have more experience with the camera than Usopp?” He made a very good point.

“Yes actually, you are right, we should do this instead.” I eagerly nodded as he also had experience with music videos. “And as for when we are shooting, I have no idea, I will call Ace later and hopefully he will give me more info.”

“That’s the lead singer, I guess?” Dave asked, hit of curiosity in his voice. I nodded with a smile in response.

“Now tell me more about your experience with music videos.” I playfully nagged him, as I was interested to know more about how things work with music videos. Dave started to tell me how even before he attended university, he had already done some music videos. Most of his friends were apparently musicians, and as amateurs they couldn’t afford to pay a professional photographer, so knowing about Dave passion with the camera they would always go to him. Time passed quite fast as we were talking, but we got interrupted by my phone, as I received some message.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about me, doll.” I read the message. I cursed myself as I totally forgot to text Ace today, but I wanted to speak with Dave first before I confirmed anything.

“Will you, please, excuse me for a second.” I told Dave, standing quickly from my chair and went outside to call Ace. The phone rang a few times before he picked up.

“Hey, doll.” His low raspy voice filled my ear.

“H-hey Ace. I’m so, so sorry for not calling earlier, I just wanted to check with a classmate from year two if he can help Usopp and me with the video.” I blurted out quickly as I felt embarrassed for making him wait for so long.

“So, I take this, as a ‘yes’ then?” His voice still low.

“Yes, I would love to film your video, Ace.” I whispered, my heart was beating fast against my chest, like I was making a deal with the devil or something close to this. The feeling hit me like a sudden wave, I couldn’t even explain it.

“Glad to hear this.” He whispered back. “What are you doing by the way?”

“I’m out with the classmate I told you about.” I cleared my throat.

“Date?” He teased me.

“No, no. We are talking about the video mostly.” I quickly explained myself. Ace laughed at my response. “What are you doing?” The question slipped my lips before I could stop myself.

“Chillin’ at home.” He hummed.

“Nice.”

“Mmm... if the date is bad I can always safe you, you know?” He joked.

“It’s not a date.” I whined at his comment.

“Sure, sure.” He mocked me again. “Well, wanna meet tomorrow with me and the guys to speak about the video?”

“Yes, this would be actually amazing if we can do this as soon as possible.”

“You got it. Send me your address I will come and pick you up.” A little smile twitched on my lips as he didn’t ask, he just stated it. “Bye, doll.” He quickly ended the call.

I slowly moved my phone from my ear, I could feel my cheeks burning and I quickly shook the feeling away. Opening my messages, I texted Ace my address and got inside the bar. Dave smiled at me as I sat down.

“So, what were we talking about?” I smiled back.

I woke up around 9AM the next morning, as Ace was going to pick me around 10:30. I was tired as I stayed until late last night, creating a storyboard with pictures so they could easily understand what my idea was. I got up, brushed my teeth and made myself a quick breakfast before I got ready. After I did my makeup, I looked around my closet wondering what I should wear today. I set my mind on a flared jeans again and just a simple cropped white t-shirt. My phone vibrated, notifying me that I have a message.

“Here.” It was short and simple; I caught myself smiling at it. I quickly put on my snickers and jacket on, before grabbing my backpack with my laptop in it. I ran down the stairs and when I opened the building’s entranced door, I saw Ace leaned on a motorcycle. He was smoking a cigarette, head tilted on the side. Dressed in all black with a black leather jacket on. He quickly turned around when he heard the front door closing, blowing the smoke away and throwing the cigarette on the ground. When I stood in front of him, he straightened his posture, looking down on me he winked.

“Ready to go, doll?” He smirked at me, handing me a black helmet. I took it and looked at it, then the Kawasaki motorcycle behind him. It was all black and scary looking. I looked back at Ace and shook my head with a scary look in my eyes, handing him the helmet back. He hearty laughed at my reaction.

“Come on, don’t be a baby.” He nodded me to get on it, as he put the helmet on my head. “I got you, doll. Nothing to be scared off.” Ace reassured me as he got on it and waited for me to do the same.

“Ace, I swear to God, if you had told me, you were picking me on this thing I would have never agreed.” He laughed again at my comment as I was shaky getting on it.

“Hold on me tight.” He grabbed my hands and wrapped them around his torso. My poor heart was going to explode. Not only I have to be on this scary thing but on top of it I had to be this close to Ace. “Lean your body on my back.” He looked at me over his shoulder before putting his helmet. I just nodded in response, too scared to speak. Ace turned his bike on and the engine rumbled. I tightened my hold around Ace. I could feel him laughing as his body trembled in my arms. Then he took off. As he was driving, I started to think to myself how much the motorcycle suits him. With getting to know him more and more with every passing day him owning a bike was making a perfect sense. It was as wild and free as his spirit.

Twenty long minutes, we finally arrived where their studio was. Ace parked the motorbike and took off his helmet. He looked at me over his shoulder and chuckled.

“You know, you can let go of me now.” He teased me. I immediately released my grip and took of the helmet. “So how was your first every ride?” The smirk on his face growing bigger, as he saw my flushed and scared face.

“I made it alive, so I give it eight out of ten.” I quickly got off from it.

“Eight out of ten? What should I do to earn the other two stars?” He chuckled, his smile big.

“You drove too fast.” I crossed my arms across my chest.

“I drove fast?” His eyes widen in amusement. “Doll, I swear I have never, ever, driven my bike as slow as I did today.” His whole face was in disbelief.

“Next time even slower.” I pointed my finger at him.

“So, there will be next time?” He teased me with a smirk. I rolled my eyes at him, but I couldn’t hide the little smile that played on my lips.

Ace got off the bike and nodded me to follow him. We entered the building and went to the second floor. Ace opened the door to their studio for me, and I thanked him. Inside Sabo, his girlfriend Koala, and Law were already there.

“Hey you two.” Koala welcomed us with a smile. “Nice to meet you again (Y/N).” She came to hug me. Sabo nodded at me, and Law’s eye widen when he saw me, and I quickly looked away. It was nice to know at least that it was him and not Ace that night at the party.

“Where is Deuce?” Ace asked.

“He is coming, caught in traffic, Marco as well.” Sabo explained. “So, you will be our director?” I could feel the hint of doubt in his voice, and I understood why he would doubt me in a first place. I barely started to study; I was an armature with a capital ‘A’.

“A-as long as you like my idea – y-yeah.” I awkwardly shrugged.

“Well, better be good then.” His tone was quite serious and a little harsh.

“Sabo.” Ace snapped at him, glancing at his brother warningly. Sabo just huffed and looked at me again.

“Sorry (Y/N), I just want the video to be perfect.” His tone was a little softer now. I lowered my gaze to the ground and just nodded.

“You want to drink something?” Koala asked me nicely. I thanked her but denied her offer.

After ten minutes, Deuce and Marco walked in. Deuce greeted me, and Marco introduced himself to me with a handshake.

“So, you are the director that Ace is putting all his trust for the video on?” Marco patted me on the shoulder with a smile. I glanced at Ace, but he quickly avoided my gaze.

“I guess, I am.” I cleared my throat. “Let me take my laptop, so I can show you the plan that I made yesterday, you can disagree with everything or add things to it as well.” I felt my heart beating fast again, my anxiety starting to built up. I pulled my laptop from my bag and held it in my left hand towards them. “Please let me know if you can’t see something or if it’s not clear enough.” I took a deep breath and started to explain my idea for the video. “The video will be shot in a greyscale, mostly medium shots, with some close ups here and there. The vibe of the whole video should represent the general vibe of the EP itself, so taking the things you guys sing about in the song and the album in general, I suggest that we take some shots of them all together driving around Grand Line coats line in a vintage car, then walking around at a funfair, lounging in an apartment and walking along a beach.” I added at the end that if they were satisfied with the idea, we must shoot next Monday and Tuesday as we would need sunny weather. I patiently waited for their reaction. I looked at Ace, who was leaned on the wall, arms crossed over his chest, he just nodded at me and wink. I heard clapping and turned my head to see who it was.

“Bravo.” Sabo clapped standing up from the sofa. “I love it. And I’m surprised. Wow.” He had a big grin across his face.

“I like it, too.” Law said, nodding at me granting me his approval.

“Same, here.” Deuce added. Koala gave me the thumbs up with a big smile across her face.

“I like the idea as well, but I would like to add one small detail.” Marco said clapping his hands, looking at the guys. “It is romantic song after all, so we need to see some romance. So, I would like to suggest that we hire a model, and we have some scene with her and Ace.” Marco looked at me with raised eyebrows, expecting to hear my opinion on it.

“Y-yeah, o-of course.” I chuckled, nodding my head slightly. “As long as Ace feels comfortable with it, we can include it.” We all looked at Ace.

“Why me, tho?” He raised his eyebrow toward Marco. “Can’t Sabo do it with Koala? This will save us time and money.” He pointed out.

“Because you are the lead singer in the group Ace, and as one, the main focus is on you.” Marco explained short and clearly.

“Ha, Ace, since when you mind making out with models?” Deuce mocked Ace.

“I don’t, I’m just thinking if we are doing this on Monday and Tuesday, how we gonna find a girl so fast?” Ace rolled his eyes.

“Like you don’t know a hundred pretty girls.” Law snorted at him. Ace laughed at him and told Law to shut up. Marco interrupted them.

“Guys if you can’t find a girl, this is why I’m here for.”

“What you gonna dress up as a girl and make out with Ace?” Sabo joked and everyone burst out laughing at Marco.

“Of course not, but I can always contact a model agency.” Marco huffed, as much as these guys were talented, they were as much as hard to work with as well. “So, we make it possible, right?” He turned to look at me. I just nodded at him. “Perfect, I will contact you for the payment later and you sent me an email with what you would need for the set and what we should rent and whatsoever.” He handed me his business card and bit us all goodbye.

“Have you guys ever been in a video or something before?” I asked them as I was putting my laptop inside my bag. They all said ‘no’. “Well, better prepare as it will feel strange to see yourself on the screen.” I laughed a little.

“Have you done it yourself?” Deuce asked me.

“Yeah, and I hate it, that is why I prefer to be behind the camera.” I have always felt bad for the actors, as I knew it wasn’t easy at all for them to look at themselves on the big screen. I have done it a few times and I hated the feeling of seeing myself. The difference between a phone camera versus film camera was so big people had no idea. Even my father, till this day doesn’t feel comfortable to see himself, and he is pretty self-obsessed person. “Well, I will have to contact Usopp and Dave and let them know that we are doing it this Monday and Tuesday, I will have to go now as I will need to find locations where we could film without a problem.” I announced as I grabbed my bag and bit everyone goodbye.

“Wait, I will come with you.” Ace came after me.

“No need, I can do it alone.” I reassure him.

“I didn’t ask, doll.” He winked at me, closing the door behind us.

We arrived at the west coastline beach after almost forty-minute ride. We got of his bike and Ace smirked when he locked at me.

“How was the ride this time?” Ace teased me.

“Honestly this time you could have driven faster.” I teased him as well.

“You little...” He hissed at me, biting the inside of his cheek as he shook his head.

“Hop, hop, we don’t have all day mister.” I clapped my hands and made him follow me. I started to take some pictures of where would be best for us to stand and shoot them driving by as we had to be careful with how fast they should move. Ace was quite polite to write down every note for me, and things that we would need. Then we went to look around at the funfair.

“Do you wanna get on one of the rides?” Ace whispered in my ear as I was taking pictures making mental notes to myself.

“Oh, I would love to, but now we have to work, so some other time.” I moved my head slightly as I answered him, not realising how close he was standing to me, only for our faces to end up millimetres apart. We both took a step away from the other quickly. Ace cleared his throat telling me that I was right, and we should focus on work.

Time passed so fast and before we know it the sun was setting. It was beautiful, the sky was coloured in light pink and purple, the waves were crashing softly, as today it wasn’t windy at all. Some people were sitting on the beach, others were running around or playing with there kids or dogs. It almost felt like a summer day even thought it wasn’t. We were walking on the beach, shoes in one hand as we were talking about random stuffs, it was so easy to open and speak with Ace. The comfort I felt around him was so strange and nice at the same time, something that I have never experienced with another person before.

“And how are you and Shanks related?” Ace asked, his eyes not leaving my face.

“Well, we are not blood related, let me clarify this first.” I waved my hands around. “But him and my dad have been like brothers since they were kids, so yeah. Ever since I can remember Shanks has been part of my life...” I paused for a second, swallowing the bitterness in my voice. “Especially after my mother left me and my dad, he literally became my second dad.” I exhaled the breath that I didn’t even realise I was holding.

“I’m sorry to hear this, doll.” Ace gave me a soft look, as he ruffed my hair. I pouted at him as I tried to fix it, and he chuckled. “Look at least, you grew up with a father that from what you’ve told me so far, loves you unconditionally.” His voice was so gentle when he told me this.

“Yes, I am lucky to have a father like him.” I smiled thinking of my dad.

“But... I don’t know if I should ask this or how...” Ace paused for a second, gathering his thoughts. “Why she left...?” He glanced at me, to make sure that he didn’t overstep some boundary. “Actually, don’t answer this forget about it.” He brushed it off quickly.

“No, it’s okay.” I shrugged, I felt like I could open about it to him. “She never wanted to be a mother in a first place, so after she gave birth to me, she got in a very deep postpartum depression, and it did take a big tool on her.” I paused for a minute. “My dad tried everything to help her, but she refused, and she turned to hard drugs, so... yeah my mother is a junkie.” I breath out, looking at Ace who was listening to me, but his gaze was lowered to the sand. “When I was around five, she just left a note that she doesn’t want to hear or see us anymore, and since then I have no idea where she is. My dad still cares for her, and I never really understood why, especially after all she put him through. I found a few years ago that he is her emergency contact, and I got mad about it, as she doesn’t deserve him. Last year she tried to contact me, but cut her off fast...” I bit on my lip, looking at the sand as Ace and I were walking in a silence for a moment. “But yeah, this is the short version.” I clapped my hands, dropping one of my shoes and picked it up. “Your turn now. I’m curious to know how you are all brothers, yet your last names are all different” I pushed Ace’s shoulder a little bit, causing him to chuckle.

“Well, we are not blood related at all.” Ace laughed when he saw my reaction.

“Wait, what? Even with Luffy? You two are like twins.” I couldn’t believe what I’ve heard.

“Yeah, I know it’s scary how much we look alike, but no, not related at all.”

“I’m really curious now, but if you don’t feel like speaking about it’s okay.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can share a little bit.” Ace poked my side, and I giggled. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “My mom died when I was born, and my father has been killed a little before my mom gave birth to me, so I know nothing about my parents.” I saw his jaw clenching hard as the tone of his voice changed as well. “Then her sister, my aunt Dadan, took me and raised me.” He snorted, his tone sounded lightly but his face was giving him away. Sadness and pain were written all over it. “Then she applied for a foster parent, and that is how Sabo came to the picture. As you know he is her favourite.” Ace looked at me tossing his hair aside the same way Sabo does all the time, and I couldn’t help but laughed. “Then the most annoying, gut wrenching, cry baby ever came into our home aka Luffy. God, I hated him from the bottom of my hear at first.” The way Ace was telling his story was heartbreaking, as he was trying to turn it into comedy so bad. My heart was aching for him. “Then some things happened and as of today, I can really say that Luffy is the only person I’m willing to give my life for.” The smile he had on his face when he was talking about Luffy was so pure and honest.

“I don’t know Luffy very well, but he does look like quite the pure soul.” I smiled at Ace as he nodded.

“You should definitely get to know him; he is the best.” Ace eagerly said his mood totally changed now. I felt my stomach growing and Ace looked at me. “Someone’s hungry, eh.”

“Yeah, I have only eaten a breakfast today.” I chuckled.

“I know a very nice Italian place here, wanna go and try it?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice.” We both shared a laughed and started to walk toward the restaurant.

The drive to my place took us almost an hour. A long and a very scary hour, as I had to ride on the back of Ace’s motorbike for a third time today. When he finally stopped in front of my place I relaxed on his body. We stayed like this for a minute – my hands wrapped around his torso and as I was leaned on him, and he had his hands on my knees. He was he first one to take of his helmet, running his hand around his messy hair. I pulled away from him, taking my helmet off as well. Ace looked over his shoulders at me.

“You had fun today, doll?” His eyes half lidded; he seemed a little tired.

“I did.” I smiled at him, getting off from the bike. He nodded with a smile at my response. “We see on Monday then. Thank you for the rides, and the dinner by the way.” I added, but Ace brushed me off.

“Please, that’s nothing.” He winked at me, pinching my cheek. I scrunched my nose at him, and he laughed at me. “Well, see you on Monday, doll.” He went to put back his helmet before I stopped him.

“Wait, Ace.” I grabbed his hand, as he lowered it and looked at me, raising his eyebrow. “You were the only one who didn’t say anything about the video idea... did you not like it?” My hand still on his, he just gave it a little squeeze and smiled at me.

“I loved it, doll.” Then he went on and put his helmet on. “Now go home.” He ordered me. I nodded and turned around to go. As I opened the front door, I waved at him one more time, as he was waiting for me get in safe, before he drove off.

I woke up at 6AM on Monday, as we were going to our first location at 8AM. Yesterday Usopp, Dave and I spent the whole day making the floorplan and the storyboard based on the pictures I took on Saturday at the locations. I sent the call sheet and a list of things we need for the shooting. Marco surprised me so much by how fast he arranged and found everything that we would need for the shoot. I quickly dressed myself in a pair of baggy jeans and oversized hoodie. I put some day cream and mascara on as I didn’t have much time to get ready, and received a text from Usopp that him and Dave were downstairs. We were going with Dave’s car as the west coastline was an hour drive away. I quickly put my sneakers on and left. Usopp and Dave greeted me when I opened the passenger door.

“Ready to film your first music video?” Dave charmingly smiled at me. I nodded with a smile. “Good, we got you some coffee.” Dave said, and Usopp handed me one, him sitting on the backseat.

“Are you guys ready? It’s going to be a long day.” I took a sip of my coffee, hating the taste of it as always. They both nodded and we drove off. Usopp was in charge of the music in the car, so we had a fun ride. We arrived on time and started to unload the equipment Marco rented for us, as he wanted the best quality for the video. Law and Deuce were the first ones to arrive. I spoke with them on the side while Usopp and Dave were fixing the camera.

“Do you know when Ace and Sabo are coming?” I asked them, as I wanted everything to go according to the time schedule.

“Yea, they will be here soon.” Law replied.

“They had to go and take the car that Marco rented for today.” Deuce explained to me. While we waited for them, I explained a little bit to Law and Deuce what I would need them to do while we film. After fifteen minutes we heard a honk. We all turned around and saw Ace and Sabo driving slowly towards us in a very nice 1969 Mercedes-Benz. Sabo was the one behind the wheel, and Ace was chilling on the passenger seat. They parked and got out of the car.

“Yo, what’s up people, you liking my ride?” Sabo pointed at the car. “I will be the one driving it, keep this in mind.” He squinted his eyes at Law and Deuce giving them a warning look. “How is the director doing?” He gave me a hug which surprised me.

“I’m doing good, thanks. You, Sabo?” He gave me the thumbs up and went to speak with Usopp and Dave. “Hey, Ace.” I waved at him as he was standing next to the car, smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, (Y/N).” He gave me a little smile, but I tilted my head and raised my eyebrow at him. What happened with ‘doll’? I walked up and stood in front of him.

“Are you okay?” I was concerned, was he in a bad mood or something. Ace looked at me confused, moving his head on the side blowing the smoke away.

“Yeah? Why?” He chuckled. I blinked a few times and shook my head.

“Nothing, just... just checking on you.” I murmured. “Are you excited to start shooting?” I bounced on my heels, as I waved my hands in the air. Ace laughed at me as he took another puff of his cigarette.

“I think you are the most excited among all of us.” He smiled at me.

“(Y/N)! Can you come, please?” Dave shouted, him and Usopp needing me to help them. I mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to Ace and went to check on them.

After twenty minutes we were ready to start shooting. I explained to the guys what I would need them to do for the first scene we were shooting and they all nodded understanding my instructions.

“Oh, and one last thing when we shoot a take, I will be most likely first check with Dave and then with you guys and it’s technical stuffs, so don’t think you are doing a bad job, okay.” I gave them the thumbs up, and we were ready to start. The first scene we were shooting was of them driving down the street, we shoot it from five different angles, and we were switching between medium to medium close-up shots. It took us around an hour and a half to be done with this. Then we drove besides them in the same speed so we could catch a better close-ups of them in the car. We finished around lunch time, so we decided to take an hour break. I wasn’t hungry, as when I’m working, I get too focused on the task that I skip meals, so instead I wanted to go and take some shoots of the buildings around us and the palms.

“You guys go, and remember we will meet at the funfair entrance, okay?” I said as I picked the camera stand under my arm and the camera case I was holding in my other hand.

“Don’t tell me you are not going to eat.” Ace scolded me.

“I want to take some shoots of the buildings around, so we don’t waste time later and I’m not hungry, so you go guys.” I reassure him. He was going to protest when Dave interrupted him.

“I will come with you (Y/N). I don’t want you to carry all of this by yourself.” He came next to me and took everything from my hands.

“Are you sure, Dave?” I didn’t want to take from his time of the break as he was already doing too much by helping me and Usopp.

“Of course, I am. Come on, I’m following you.” He gave me a coy smile and I nodded. I waved the guys goodbye for now, everyone else waved too, except Ace. He side-eyed me and shook his head before following the guys. I frowned confused as of why he did this. I nodded to Dave to follow me, and we started to walk. The hour went fast, but luckily thanks to Dave’s experience we captured everything I had in mind. Dave was fun to hang around with. We were laughing and joking the entire time.

“So, you want me to handheld the camera when we shoot at the funfair?” He asked me again, making sure that he understood correctly.

“Yes, exactly.” We went back to his car to leave the camera stand as we wouldn’t need it anymore.

“Have I done something bad to you?” He joked with me, and I giggled at his expression. Doing a handheld shoot was probably the worst thing for the cinematographer. I messed around with him and squeezed his bicep.

“Nah, Dave, I think you can handle it perfectly.” I winked at him, and we both laughed. We started to walk towards the funfair where we were meeting the guys next. When we reached the entrance, everyone was already there. “Hello, again guys. Hopefully you had a nice break, as now we are back to work” I gave them a big smile, Sabo and Deuce cheered, Law just nodded, and Ace’s face was unreadable. I cleared my throat and explained to them that right now they just need to have fun, and we will try our best to capture everything that we would need for later when editing. Usopp and Dave were switching every few minutes, so their hands didn’t get too tired. I was having quite lot of fun with them and so did the guys, at least it seemed like it. Ace and I locked gazes a few times, but he was the one who broke it first every time. Was he mad at me for something? I tried to shake this feeling away and focus on my main priority right now.

“And it’s a wrap.” I shouted and everyone clapped.

“Uh, I hate you (Y/N).” Dave smirked at me as he took off the camera from his shoulder and gave it to me so I can check the last footage we shoot. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he chuckled at me. Usopp came next to me to check the footage as well.

“Do you guys want to see it?” I looked at them four, but they shook their heads.

“We want to wait and see the finished material.” Sabo exclaimed.

“Okay, then we see you all tomorrow at...” I turned to Usopp as he knew the call sheet better than me.

“3PM, the attic apartment Marco rented for the day. You have the address on the call sheet. Also, Ace should I contact the girl that’s coming tomorrow and give her the info, or you will do it?” I have totally forgot about this part, a little pang of jealousy grew inside of me, but then I remind myself ‘no lines to be crossed’.

“I will be picking her up, so I will take care of this.” I bit the inside of my cheek when he said that. I gave him a quick glance and I saw a little smirk playing on his lips.

“By the way, who did you ask?” Law raised his eyebrow at Ace with curiosity.

“Samantha.”

“Wasn’t she pissed at you for ditching her at the Halloween party?” Sabo mocked his brother.

“Not anymore.” Ace snorted. I cleared my throat and turned to the guys who were messing with each other.

“Well, then guys.” I clapped my hands and put my fake smile on. “Thank you for today and see you tomorrow then.” I avoided looking at Ace while waiting for Usopp and Dave to put everything back in the case. Once they were ready, we all said goodbye and went back to Dave’s car.

“That was fun, can’t wait for tomorrow.” Usopp exclaimed once we were in the car.

“Yeah, these guys are fun to work with.” Dave agreed with him. “Hey, are you okay? You seem a little down.” Dave observed my face. I recomposed myself and smiled at him.

“Yes, yes, I am. Just a little tired.” He patted my back gently, believing what I told him. We drove off and I leaned on my head on the window. Tomorrow was going to be an even longer and tiresome day. I closed my eyes for a second and I fell asleep in the car.

“Everything set up?” I asked Usopp and Dave.

“Yes, it’s all done.” Dave nodded at me. I breath out as I looked at the band.

“Where is Ace?” One thing I would never tolerate was someone being late on set, without notifying anyone. And Ace was almost forty minutes late.

“He is coming, maybe he is in traffic or something.” Sabo tried to defend his brother.

“You know what guys, lets start shooting.” I clapped my hands. “Which one of you wants to be filmed first as we will roll some close-ups?”

“I can do it.” Sabo volunteered. I nodded and gave them some instructions as it would be easier if they interacted between each other even though the camera would be focused mostly on Sabo.

An hour later Ace finally showed up with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of the girl, which I guess was named Samantha.

“Sorry guys for being late.” He bit us a quick apology. I didn’t even look at him as I was so pissed. “This is Samantha, and she will be helping us for today so be nice.” She giggled at his introduction, and she waved everyone ‘hello’. Usopp and Dave greeted her, as they introduced themselves by shaking hands with her. She came to me reached her hand for a handshake. We shook hands and I bit her a quick ‘hello’.

“At least, you aren’t the only girl now.” She smiled at me; I nodded at her and returned the smile. She was beautiful – tall, blonde, with a very nice body; she was like a real-life Barbie. I cleared my throat.

“Well now that everyone is here, we need to take a master-shot of you guys, then some medium and the last thing we will do is the close-up of Ace and his scene with Samanta, clear?” My tone was quite serious.

“Can’t we take mine and Samantha’s first?” Ace asked me and I finally glanced at him. He had this smug look on his face, that pissed me off even more, but I kept my composure and answered him with a smile.

“No, Ace we can’t. Why we can’t, you may wonder? Because we waited for you for almost two hours, so now you will have to wait, am I clear?” The smile might have been on my face, but my tone was sharp and clear that he shouldn’t mess with me right now. He just smirked and nodded, not saying anything further. “Then let’s start rolling.” I clapped and explained what they should do now for the master. Two hours later we were done with it and only Ace and Samantha’s scenes were left to shoot.

“Thank you, guys so much. It was so nice to work with you. We don’t need you in the rest of the pictures but it’s up to you if you want to stay here or go and do whatever you want.” I spoke to Sabo, Law and Deuce. Sabo came and hugged me as he thanked me and said he can’t wait to see the final result. Deuce did the same, and Law just high-fived me. They bit goodbye to the rest and left.

“So, according to the story board we have two close-ups left and one medium close-up of the two of them.” Dave came to me and spoke over my shoulder. I looked up at him and nodded. “Which one should we take first? Hers or his?”

“Let’s take hers first.” I nodded at him. “Hey, Samantha.” I called her, as she was standing in front of Ace, as they were obviously flirting with each other. She turned to face me, looking at me a little confused. “Sorry for interrupting your conversation, but we need to take some shots of you alone, so I will need you to stand next by the window and then on the couch.” She quickly did as I told her to, and we started to roll. It didn’t take us long to shoot her angles only around twenty minutes. I thanked her, and then turned to Ace. He was looking at me, face unreadable again. I clenched my jaw as today he was really walking on my nerves.

“It’s your turn Ace.” I called him. He pushed himself from the wall and came closer to me.

“So, what do you need from me, director?” His tone was light, but his face was like a stone. I bit the inside of my cheek before answering him.

“The same as her.” I gave him the shortest answer possible. He nodded and stood next to the window. There was this built-up tension between us, Dave looked at me raising his eyebrow. I shook my head at him like everything was fine, and he slowly nodded. We had to readjust the camera as Ace was quite tall. We started to roll, and I couldn’t take my eyes of the screen. He did look very good in front of the camera; I couldn’t deny him that. The way his hair was falling around his face, his freckles, his dark brow eyes and his full lips, he will definitely sweep away many harts once they become known name. “And cut.” I softly said moving my gaze from the screen to him. Our eyes locked, but I locked away.

“Okay, let’s move to the last scene we have to film and it’s a wrap after it.” I cleared my throat before looking at Samantha waving at her to join. “Now I need you to get closer to each other, and the most important thing is that Samantha feels comfortable with whatever you guys spoke about doing, so the moment you feel slightly uncomfortable we cut on the second, okay?” I locked at her seriously, as I didn’t want to put any woman in a position where she might feel uncomfortable on set.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry (Y/N), I know Ace very well.” She winked at me mischievously. I shared a fake laughed with her, but good thing she didn’t catch it.

“Okay, so whenever you guys are ready, just let us know and we will start to roll.” I stand between Dave and Usopp. “And action.” I called. Samantha went and laid down on the couch, taking Ace’s hand in hers, making him hoover over her. She ran her hands up and down his back, up to his neck, pulling him closer to her. Then she buried her fingers in his hair. She pulled him even closer as she pulled herself up a little. They were inches away from kissing each other, and I bit the inside of my cheek, my hands squeezed in a fist. I couldn’t watch this any further.

“Cut.” I called out. Everyone locked at me confused. “What?” I smiled innocently at them.

“Why did you cut?” Samantha asked me and frowned when Ace pulled up from her. I could see his smug smirk on his face. I moved my attention back to Samantha and with a smile I replied to her.

“Because we have it, it’s perfect, you can check it out if you want.” I suggested looking at the footage again.

“It’s pretty good.” Dave reassured her.

“Well, you are the professionals, so if you say it’s good, I believe you, but still, I want to see.” I moved aside so she could look at the screen. “Oh my, Ace.” She squeaked excitedly, looking at Ace. “We look so hot; you should see that.” Ace made a grimace and shook his head. I covered my mouth to suppress my laughter. Ace saw me and rolled his eyes at me, which lighted up my mood. I calmed myself and announced that we were done.

“It’s a wrap guys.” Dave and Usopp cheered, and Samantha clapped her hands. Ace only nodded. “Thank you so much for the opportunity, Ace.” I was still pissed at him, but at the same time grateful. “I should edit it by Friday and when it’s done, I will send it to Marco.” I told him as we started to pack the equipment.

“No need to thank me, (Y/N).” Ace patted me on the shoulder, before he nodded to Samantha to get going. She wished us good night and they left. The bitter feeling of jealousy came back. I couldn’t deny it, but also there was no point of me being jealous. He was just my friend, a friend who was walking on a thin ice around my nerves, nothing more or less.

“Well-done guys, well-done.” Usopp high-fived me and Dave. “I can’t wait to see how it will turn our after you edit it (Y/N).” He exclaimed excitedly.

“You know if you need help with the editing, you can always call me.” Dave added, coming closer to me.

“I think I will manage, but I will keep this in mind.” I smiled at him. “Let’s pack these faster guys, I’m starving, and I really want to go home.”

I was laying in bed; it was almost midnight, and I couldn’t fall asleep. I was tossing and turning in bed for the past hour and a half. Ace was stuck in my mind, and that scene between him and Samantha. On top of it, the whole ‘Me and Ace know each other good’ was like on repeat in my mind. Knowing that I will have to edit and look at the footage of it was eating me from the inside. And what was with his attitude in the past two days? I swear Ace from Saturday and Ace from the past two days, were two completely different people. My phone vibrated. I grabbed it and I sighed loudly as I read the message on the screen.

“Did someone step on your tail today, doll?”

I hesitated if I should reply. The audacity this man has.

“Yea, someone who was almost two hours late.” I angrily typed and sent. Not even a minute later he replied.

“Sorry, about that doll ;(” I just left him on seen. “I would love to be the first one to see it btw” he sent a second message.

“I will think about that” I replied.

“Don’t be mad at me, doll” I just looked at the message from the notification banner and didn’t even mark it as seen. Also, the ‘doll’ thing was back, not that I wanted him to call me this, especially in front of everyone else, but I kind of got used to him calling me that. I turned on the TV to watch something that would hopefully put me to sleep. ‘Fucking Ace’ I cursed under my breath.

NOTE: Sooo.... I really hope you liked the chapter, and the interactions Ace and Reader had. From now on there will be more and more of it. Also I gave you a little bit of Ace's pov in this chapter, but still there is so much more to reveal of his character, as in general Ace is a very complex persona. Please leave your opinion or text me, as I would love to get to interact with more of you ♡ and a big thank you for all of you who take off your time and read my fanfic, I know it's not the best written one but I appreciate your support with all my hear ♡

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cherry-titz · 1 year ago

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HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said.

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight.

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones.

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.”

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest.

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?”

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck.

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile.

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear.

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.”

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form.

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming.

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all.

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them.

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat.

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them.

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure.

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all.

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers.

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.”

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.”

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone.

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat.

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits.

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better.

Y/N never sees him again.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #dark harry styles #dom!harry #dom!harry styles x sub!reader #dark harry #harry styles writing #harry styles imagines

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kaija-rayne-author · 4 months ago

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Dragon Age, as a series, deserved so much better than Veilguard.

Spoilers for Veilguard and maybe other DA stuff.

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played DAV. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

The Solavellan romance deserved a much better end than 'die and go to fade prison'. I agree that Inky would likely be happy to leave. She's as traumatized as Solas for having to lead when she didn't want to. But I needed more than a craptastic Romeo and Juliet ending.

I refuse to do the heavy lifting for the writers. If it wasn't shown in the game or in supplementary materials, it didn't happen. Showing us the story was the writers' and devs job, not mine.

I mourn what will never be, even as I work on a Solavellan fix it fic.

How could they betray the IP so badly?

How could they betray their fanbase so badly? The fanbase that kept hope for that game alive for 10 years. I've seen so many people saying they've lost their interest or passion for the entirety of Dragon age. That they're not even remotely interested in another game because absolutely none of the choices we made in previous games matters anymore. They've wiped everything clean... or blighted it anyway. (I have absolutely no interest in another DA game. Not with Epler/Busche/Weekes involved. And whoever designed that ridiculous fighting system.)

The only way I could possibly be interested in another game would be if they loudly decanonized DAV, gave us a DLC (they've already confirmed there will be no DLC) that showed us Solas and Inky happy and not in a horrible place. One that showed us that somehow, something changed for the elves.

But that's so unlikely it's laughable.

The elves deserved a better ending. Are the survivors still enslaved or living in alienages? What actually changed for the elves except the largest portion of the Dalish being dead from blight? (That’s a real elvish win, isn't it?)

I'm a stubborn person. I refuse to let Epler's 'hate-revenge on Solas fan fic' ruin something I've loved for years. I still have the first 3 games. I'll make an actual happy ending and a decent romance for Rook in my fic.

And by the fact they paid a fortune to big gaming magazines while denying game keys to bigger honest reviewers... they knew.

They knew gamers wouldn't like it and tried to blow so much smoke up our asses with the interviews and AMAs.

How do they even sleep at night?

I'm a creative too, I write, do graphic design, digital (learning) and traditional (good) art.

My stories are important to me. They deserve not only an ending, but an ending that respects the characters, lore, and world that I've created.

My readers deserve that, too.

I, as the creator of my stories, deserve a decent, respectful ending.

Dragon age deserved it, too. A good, well thought out, and well written ending to the story of the Dreadwolf storyline, which, if you're paying attention, is intertwined through all 3 games. It's not just in Inquisition. One that made sense to the collected Lore, his struggles and mistakes, his literary role as an anti-hero.

I would never be able to do what they've done to a beloved series. I could never knowingly mislead fans like they did.

It's just a really painful reminder that beloved stories can be utterly destroyed in the wrong hands. And a reminder that there's so much talent and skill in Fan fic.

Busche worked on the Sims. No wonder the companions often feel as interesting as wet cardboard. Most Sims NPCs do, too. (I actually enjoy the Sims, but the NPCs aren't why I like it.)

And she had the gall to blame 'culture wars' and 'identity politics' for why the game is tanking. Rather than take ownership of the incredibly bad calls made for DAV.

It's just gross. I wish I could stop thinking about it. But Dragon Age got me through some tough times. It means a lot to me.

And it just deserved better. So did we.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #veilguard #da veilguard #dragonage #solas #solavellan #bioware critical #Veilguard Critical #Veilguard Spoilers #DAtV critical #DAtV spoilers #DAV critical #DAV spoilers

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princessvelaryon · 7 months ago

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Y’all I’m so tired, defeated and just plain sad. I only posted one full story, a drabble and a few headcanons. I write little drabble in my inbox and in my moots inboxes and I get anon hate. It’s been going on for a while and I guess I feel guilty for not posting and publishing them because I know my beloved moots were going through the same thing. So I guess I feel like I should have posted them in solidarity. However, I am a coward and extremely sensitive and I easily believe any criticism about myself. I was terrified to publically respond to these posts because I believed the comments and I was scared that other people would agree too and the bullying and harassment would only get worse. I feel spineless because I read the same comments and I think the rude anons might be right.

This past summer was amazing and I have never had more fun in a fandom. HOTD and its amazing writers actually inspired me to write and publish my stories again for the first time in years. I had so much inspiration, so many ideas and so much enthusiasm and excitement and now I can literally feel it slipping away. I try just to write something just to get it out there but I just feel so empty and I feel like it is pointless. I just used to have so much fun on here and now I don’t know what to do. I got a ton of people excited for my WIPs and upcoming stories and now I kind of dread writing, which I never thought would happen. Writing has been my hobby and my passion ever since I was a small child and I’m in my 20’s now. All of this drama and harassment just crushed any enthusiasm I had. It could be temporary but I just don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to get my passion back. Writing and creating was one of the only hobbies I truly enjoyed and now I feel so empty. I truly really, really regret not being brave and publishing my fics earlier in the summer before all of this happened. I just feel like I missed the boat, I screwed up, I’m annoying and that everyone hates me.

#hotd x reader #hotd imagine #cregan stark x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon imagine #cregan stark imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader

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nicksolemnlyswears · 2 years ago

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HAN LUE HEADCANONS PT. 3

pairing: han lue x waitress!reader

word count: 8.7k

warnings: smut

notes: part 3 is finally here! so sorry for the delay. i wanna say thank you for all the love on part 1 and 2 as well as in the requests. this will be the last part of the waitress!reader headcanons for now. i left the ending open to give myself space to come back and add more if i'd like. i've been thinking of doing a mini series of han and that other person that comes up in the end (sorry im trying not to give anything away).

if you guys want me to expand on any part of the headcanons even if it's just a one liner let me know and maybe i can write a small drabble or oneshot on it.

i have my fingers crossed that you like how it turns out. i definitely have a favorite part of this particular part of the headcanons. again, thank you! enjoy!

ps. want to add a little warning that these headcanons might not be the most grammatically correct in terms of punctuation just because i don't go deep editing. it's a choice i make but if you've read my oneshots you know i am better than this lol.

PT.2

-everyone has a side of the bed, you and han are not an exception. from the first moment you slept over at han's the side farthest from the door has been your side.

-on a random day the conversation comes up and you ask han why the side closest to the door is his side. he tells you it's in case an intruder were to break in (which is highly unlikely) you'd have time to escape.

-lowkey all this time you guessed he picked that side because it's right under the ac vent and he gets hot at night. so you call out his bullshit and he admits that's partly the reason, but what he said remains true, it's safer for him to be right by the door. ridiculous because there is no way you are going to run away and leave han to fend for himself.

-talking about apartments and sides of beds. when you moved out of your place you brought along a box or two of knick knacks that couldn't be stored in a warehouse. you placed them strategically around han’s (now both of yours) apartment.

-han admits he likes having a shared space with you. you gave it a different flare with your decorations. or simply, you took away the fact that it was a former bachelor pad.

-he likes coming home to you everyday. whenever you stay with mindy, for one reason or another, it feels lonely. something he'd never felt before. it's like somewhere along the way he got attached to you and now he's constantly seeking you out.

-one thing han detests though is the abundance of pillows on his bed. you don’t even use all of them! before going to bed you throw them by the chair on the corner of the room. he says it's pointless, you say it's decor.

-because you have a semi normal schedule now you have more time to visit han at his garage. you make sure to talk a bit with reiko and han's other friends but most of the time he steals you away from them.

-if the crew at han's garage is not careful they run the risk of finding you and han in compromising positions. you try to prevent han from getting carried away but it's hard when you want him just as much. you've had to apologize to twinkie and sean one too many times. poor boys can't even look you in the eyes after what they've witnessed.

-han is the type of guy to tell you to check something out under the hood of the car despite you warning him you don't know shit about cars. he couldn't care less, it's an excuse to see your ass bent over his car.

-you would be talking to him about how it all looks like a bunch of scrap metal when you feel him pressing up against your backside. you'd look over your shoulder and han would say 'everyone went out to grab a bite. thought i'd have mine right here, baby.'

-you would roll your eyes at him but would push up against him nonetheless. in record time he'd push down your pants and underwear and sink his cock into you. you hang on to whatever part of the car you can as han thrusts repeatedly into you. 'you look so fucking pretty, baby. should’ve gotten you like this sooner.’

-all this time you're moaning and calling out his name. until he suddenly slaps his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. with slow deep thrusts he'd lean down to whisper in your ear 'fuck, baby. they're back, but don't worry i'm almost done. just keep quiet for me.'

-han knows his way around your body so with precise touches to your clit and the angle of his thrusts he makes you cum quickly which prompts his orgasm as well. his near silent grunts are music to your ears.

-by the time sean comes looking for him han is bent besides you on the car pointing at something called a radiator. had he been there 5 seconds earlier he would've found han tucking himself into his jeans and you pulling up your pants.

-with han's help you get the restaurant running in eight months. it was a long eight months filled with work, day and night. the old diner was remodeled in its entirety which included kitchen, storage area, and dining space.

-you lovingly named the restaurant CATCH MY DRIFT. it's cheesy and punny but you love it. you found it necessary to pay homage to han in some way.

-the soft launch is successful thanks to your staff, some of which are the same people you worked with when it was a diner. you and han invited friends and other important people who would help spread the word about your little restaurant.

-mindy was in charge of the restaurants social media. she made it her mission to help you succeed and she did a wonderful job. she took beautiful pictures of both the restaurant and you. the socials began gaining a following pretty quickly thanks to her and her abilities.

-after the first official day of the restaurant being open and all the staff left, you prepared a table with candles and rose petals. there is one last person you had to serve for the night.

-han had been there with you through it all. he's been your support through every sleepless night and anxiety attack due to your fear of failing. he made last minute runs to get anything you might've forgotten and forced you on aimless drives around town to get your mind off things.

-han made your dream a reality. han wove himself seamlessly through all your hopes and dreams and became an integral part of them. now you can't see your life without him by your side.

-han returned to the restaurant under the impression he was going to pick you up. you might not work the night shift as a waitress anymore and you know how to drive now too, but he'll always pick you up and take you home. it gives him time to talk to you before you go through your night routine, head to bed and he heads out to the races or any other errand he has to run.

-when he enters he sees the romantic setting and you waiting for him in a beautiful red dress. you smiled softly at him and took his hand in yours.

"what's all this?" han asks, following you to the table where you pull his chair out for him.

"it's a thank you," you say, walking around the table to find your seat that faces him.

"you didn't have to, baby. you've been working all day," han shakes his head, although there's a grin plastered in his face. he appreciates what you've done.

you've told him countless times how much it means to you everything he's done. the moment he walked into your life he changed it all for the better.

"maybe i didn't, but i wanted to. all of this was possible because of you," you tell him, grabbing his hand that lays on the table, "will you let me start making it up to you?"

-it's come up on your late night conversations how you're guilty of han spending so much money on you. the last thing you want is to make him believe you're with him for the money. so you take each opportunity that presents itself to make it up to him.

"alright. what you got?" han asks.

you uncover the dinner plates to reveal a simple bacon burger with fries. no pickles. han's smile spreads even further touched by the gesture. it's been a long time since he's had one of these.

"i figured you missed your order considering i have been feeding you fancy dishes all these months," you chuckle, remembering all the tastings han had to go through. "i'll always have a stock of burgers and fries just for you. all you have to do is ask."

"have i told you i love you," han says, lacing your fingers together.

you hum quietly, pretending to think and say, "not today." you bring his hand up to your lips, kissing the back of it.

"i love you, baby," han repeats for the first time today but for the thousandth time since he said it first.

-there are times where han runs out of his snacks and doesn't have access to a store immediately. wether it's because he's at the races or driving around the country side or any other reason.

-when this happens he gets really antsy. he'll pick at loose threads, or at the skin around his fingers, he'll drum his fingers against something, or his leg will bounce. it's very noticeable that something is bothering him.

-it happens while on a trip around europe. han planned it as a vacation for the two of you for your second anniversary. he (you) had exhausted all his snacks and you were about an hour away from civilization. an idea suddenly pops into your head, han wants to have his hands and lips busy and you have the perfect thing.

-you take off your seatbelt and lean over the center consol. han doesn't question you until you kiss his cheek down to his neck.

"what're you doing, baby?" he murmurs, his eyes briefly looking at you before they return to the long stretch of pavement.

"making you crave something else," you whisper in his ear, biting his earlobe.

"get in my lap," he immediately responds. han's pretty tall so there's a huge gap between his chest and the steering wheel, leaving his lap free for you to sit on. 'if i fits i sits' style.

-you don't hesitate, since you've adopted han's risky behavior. once in his lap he catches his lips on yours. the focus he has to maintain on the road while kissing you is enough to make him forget his cravings.

-you eventually forget what lead you to this as you get lost in the kiss. it's not often you get to take the upper hand. taking advantage of the situation you slip your tongue inside han's mouth, massaging his tongue with yours.

-when he makes it to a gas station in the middle of nowhere he parks far away from the pump. you whine about having to walk the long distance to the convenience store.

"i need you now, baby," he grunts, grabbing the back of your neck to smash his lips against yours and showing you his true intentions.

"hannie this car is tiny, it'll be so uncomfortable," you whine against his lips.

"it's either the half a millon car or the public bathroom," he breathes, lifting your dress without waiting for your answer.

"i can make it work here," you huff, straddling him. you bump your head on the roof of the car but han quickly pulls you down flush against his covered cock.

"that's what i thought," he groans into your mouth as you grind against him.

-when you finish your risky endeavor you stumble out of the car and speed to the bathroom to clean yourself. han goes inside to grab snacks and pay for gas. he grabs snacks for you as well seeing that was what led him to run out in the first place. you made up for it in your own way though.

-in terms of your family, you haven't talked to them in about four years. once you spoke up about hating your college major and the fact you were gonna switch they presented you with a choice. continue the path your father paved for you or leave.

-you gave it a lot of thought. you finished your semester and everything. but in the end you decided you didn't want it. you hated your classes and was miserable. so you left. and your father told you not to come back unless you got your priorities straight.

-mindy took you in, let you live with her while you found a new place to live and a job. without your parents support you couldn't afford the culinary school you wanted to go to. with what little savings you had you got your apartment and soon found a job in the american themed diner.

-the diner was your saving grace. they let you stay on the overnight shifts. you didn't have a family to go to, you didn't exactly go to school during the day either, so it worked.

-you had other jobs along with the diner but none lasted and then han came along and it all changed for the better.

-you think about your family often. you remember your parents and sisters birthday and the anniversaries. when those days come along you keep yourself occupied.

-one night you and your staff are cleaning after a long shift and the door chimes as someone enters. you ignore it believing it's han that's come to give you company and take you home, but someone clearing their throat makes you look up.

-your mom stands there, she's still the same as the last day you saw her. her clothes are as expensive as ever, her shoes and bag matching perfectly.

"i thought i'd find you here," she speaks smoothly with her head held high as she assesses the restaurant.

"how did you find me?" you ask not giving her the pleasure to have your full attention as you finish wiping down tables.

"there's been buzz going around about a brand new restaurant. one of my friends came and saw you," she goes silent. "she was right, it's a nice place, is this all yours?"

"is there something you want?" you ask her, finally facing her. you didn't feel inclined to go on to explain your mysteriously wealthy boyfriend funded it.

"we need to talk," she tells you plainly as if she hasn't lost the right to speak to you.

"we're talking," you huff, ignoring the true meaning of her words.

"in private," your mom grits, grabbing hold of your arm much like when you were younger and refused to listen.

-to avoid a scene you know she's fully capable of making you guide her to your office. it's simply decorated with a desk and a few chairs scattered around. there's a white board on the wall where you write down your menu ideas and to do lists. there are also sticky notes on it that han has left behind throughout the months. some are sweet and encouraging and some are naughtier with innuendos and inside jokes.

"talk," you say when she stands in the middle of the room taking it all in.

"is that a way to treat your mother?" she scolds you.

"we haven't seen each other in four years and you suddenly come here. just say what you have to say," you angrily exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest.

"i never agreed with what your father did," she then reveals.

"and yet you didn't do a single thing about it. either way, he got his perfect daughter" you humorlessly laugh, referring to your sister who did everything your father expected of you. "is that why you're here? to suddenly apologize?"

"i want you to come back home," she responds.

you shake your head, "that's not happening. i have a life and i can't drop it just because you want me to. besides it's not like dad wants me there."

"he does, he's too stubborn to admit it, please come back," your mother pleads, forcefully grabbing your hand in hers.

"why now? i refuse to believe this is coming out of nowhere." you rip your hand from hers and a disappointed expression crosses her face.

"your dad is sick. the doctors don't think he has a lot of time," she gulps, turning her back to you.

you're quiet as you process her words, "i'll think about it. if you'll excuse me i have a restaurant to take care of."

you leave her behind and see her walk out of the restaurant soon after. your mind remains busy there after as you mull over her words.

-days go by of constantly thinking about it. han notices the moment he picks you up that night but wants to give you time to bring it up. except you don't.

-three days later he finds you in his bathroom, deep in your thoughts in his bathtub, the water a bright pink from a bathbomb you must've used.

-he gets in the tub with you. the water is still hot as he sinks in and sits behind you. you must've gotten in not long ago. instantly you relax against him. han wraps his arms around you, tracing figures against your stomach and thighs.

"rough week, baby?" he murmurs in your ear.

"mm yes, the delivery came late, not once but twice. burned my finger, cut my finger, burnt some food, feel like a loser," you list out, rubbing his thighs which are around you.

"it's one bad week, among a sea of other good ones," he reminds you, lacing his hands with yours.

"hope so or i'm retiring at the ripe age of twenty six," you smile, turning your head slightly to kiss his jaw.

"it's okay. i'll be your sugar daddy," he jokes with you. although he definitely would be your sugar daddy if you decide not to work another day in your life.

-theres a glass of wine by the bathtub that han notices. you only drink wine when something is troubling you. with gentle coaxing han convinces you to tell him what's been on your mind.

-it's he who convinces you to go and see your dad at least once. he put into perspective you might regret it in the future. you're not doing it for them, you're doing it for yourself.

-you contact your mom and tell her your decision. she invites you over for dinner. it'll be just the four of you. you didn't want to bring han in case all hell broke loose.

-as you get ready han helps you with the clasp of your high heels. you prop your foot in his knee, your dress riding up, revealing your black lacy underwear. he takes the opportunity to caress your leg from your thigh down to your ankle. he'd buckle the strap of the heels he gifted you that make your ass look great and then he'd kiss your knee.

-han would repeat the process on your other leg too. only that after you straighten up he'd pull you down to his lap to kiss you and try to convince you to a quicky. just this once you don't give in. you don't want to cast a bad impression by being late to see your family for the first time in four years.

-nervously you knock on the door. your mom answers and she welcomes you in. it's oddly strange to be back in this house, you feel out of place. you peep the wall where your parents measured you and your sister when you were growing up. the dent on the wall you caused using your bike inside. your childhood is present still.

-your mom failed to mention she didn't tell anyone you were coming as your sister is quick to stand "what is she doing here?"

"i invited her," your mom tell her.

your dad is quiet as you take a seat where you always sat when you lived there. there's an unbearable silence until he speaks, "can i ask why the sudden appearance?"

"mom told me about your situation," you tell him with a frown.

"what situation?" he prompts, looking at your mother.

"that your sick...although you look pretty healthy to me," you softly say, redirecting your gaze towards your mother.

"i lied yes, but i thought this was the only way to get you here," she shakily admits, secretly hoping you don't up and leave.

"mom, oh god," you sigh in relief. your shoulder no longer holding the weight of your father possibly dying.

"do you realize how fucked up that is?" your sister adds.

"it got her here!" your mom yells, making everyone go quiet.

-the rest of dinner goes by as normal as it can. your parent ask you about your new life and everything you've been doing. it was agonizing. you answer most of their question albeit reluctantly.

-the question you've been dreading comes up. 'are you dating anybody?' you tell them you're in a two year and a half relationship.

-you avoid saying he's the one that funded the restaurant. you owe everything to han but if you tell them it was him who put in the money they will probably discredit you and your abilities.

-your dad calls you over to his office to talk after dinner, your sister glares at you, she's upset you chose to leave, cause it means you turned your back to the whole family. she believes you're selfish because you 'forced' the family business onto her.

-you emptily apologize for coming home when he told you not. surprisingly he asks you about your new priorities and although they don't necessarily align with what he had in mind for you, he accepts them and asks you to be around more.

-more importantly he apologizes for what he did. he had a health scare recently and realize he wanted you by his side (it’s where your mom got the idea). after talking to him you leave. going back to talking to your family will be hard because for the longest time you suppressed it.

-han waits for you back home, your true home. he's watching tv, an old japanese movie from the 90s. you tell him all about your family dinner and how your mom lied but he was right. you would've regretted not going.

-feeling good about your night you give in to han's advances. throughout the night he couldn't shake off the sight of you in your pretty dress and heels. he doesn't ruin the illusion as he only takes off your panties. the dress and heels stay on as he fucks you, your legs pressed to your chest as he wants to be as deep and close to you as possible.

-while your parents want you back in their life you don't instantly go back, choosing to show them you got back on your feet without them. you have a new life.

-but once your moms birthday rolls around you don't feel the need to busy yourself, instead you pick up the phone and give her a call wishing her a 'happy birthday'.

-han eventually meets your family. your mom is instantly charmed by him so much so that by the end she has him calling her by her first name. he certainly made a great impression with the flowers and expensive earrings he picked out for her.

-your dad takes longer to come around but by the end of the night han has him wrapped around his pinky finger as well. your dad likes that he's a 'business man'. if only he knew how shady han really is.

-in just in a few hours they were able to see how much you and han care for each other. it's in the way han searches for you in the busy room. he looks out for you constantly in a non-possessive way. or the way you constantly reach out for him to hold his hand or wrap his arm around you.

-han is not one for big and elaborate love gestures. he believes in showing his love and appreciation everyday with smaller gestures. like restocking your skin care products when you're running low or leaving hand warmers on your coat pockets in the cold winters or buying take out of whatever food you're craving.

-he listens to you when you rant about your interests like the new season of Game of Thrones or about a new compilation that came out of your favorite artist. he'd make an effort to learn about it just so he can have an input in your conversation. han loves the way your eyes light up whenever he voices out an opinion, especially when it goes against yours.

-'friendly' debates are your thing as a couple. it's coincidental that in some minor things your opinions are different. like if the dress is 'black and blue' or 'gold and white'. you swear its black and blue but han insists it's not.

-the same goes for you, because you see all the effort han makes for you, you try and learn about cars and drifting and learn the names of whatever technique is popular. you learn about his favorite foods and favorite movies (which are mostly american and from the 90s) and tag along for the occasional race.

-han's favorite way of showing you his love is with colorful post-it notes. you'd often find them in your office in the restaurant, in the mirror you use to get ready for the day, the fridge door, on your kitchen counter along with your favorite chocolate bar. you'd even find them on the depths of your purse.

-funny thing is you've never caught him sticking them anywhere. so it's always a fun surprise.

'don't worry about lunch today. i'll stop by the restaurant with your favorite! -h'

'i love you, baby -h'

'roses are red, violets are blue, i love you, let’s go screw -h'

'cutie pie ;) -h'

'stop stealing my peanut crackers :( -h'

'you're both my favorite chef and my favorite meal -h'

-after two and a half years of dating han you finally get the opportunity to meet the toretto crew. they would be staying in japan for about a month in a mansion they rented out in the mountains.

-han is beyond excited that his friends are visiting. he constantly talks about them and has all these plans for when they arrive.

-you're nervous to say the least. this is his chosen family and he's been through so much with them. gisele was part of that family too and you feel the pressure of being compared to her once you meet them.

-you convince han to go meet up with then first and you'd join them later that night. you didn't want him to wait so long for you to finish work. besides in your mind it's better if he catches up with them before you get there. you wanted him to enjoy being with his friends without worrying about you.

-when the day finally comes you say goodbye to a sleepy han, go prep the restaurant, work your butt off for the day and once you clos the restaurant you go to mindy's house to get ready.

-you visit her to distract yourself and to have someone call you ridiculous for being afraid of meeting han's friends. it also helps as she distracts you with talk of her newish relationship.

-as you scramble through your toiletry bag looking for a hair tie, you push away your deodorant, tampons, dry shampoo. but you come back to the tampons realizing it's been over six weeks since your last cycle...

"mindy!"

"i know what i said was out of bounds but he called me a dramatic bitch!" mindy exclaims from her spot on the bed where she scrolls through instagram.

"tampons!" you yell, pulling them out of your bag.

"what about them?" she asks, looking at you over her phone.

"i haven’t used them.”

"you want me to give you a prize or something?" she mumbles, shooting you a strange look.

"no, mindy, no. i haven't gotten my period!' you begin pacing around the room with the box of tampons in your grasp.

mindy jumps from the bed and begins panicking as well, “oh, we'e going through this. we're having the pregnancy scare, how exciting! every pair of best friends have to go through this."

-mindy runs to the pharmacy on her block to get you a pregnancy test while you chug down two water bottles. she gets you one of each test they had. you had to pee but your nerves made it difficult. mindy forced you to chug down a soda too cause if you don��t pee wilingly you'll do it forcefully.

-through all this mess han calls you. he's been expecting you for the past hour. everyone is excited to meet you. he's spoken so much about you and your name has slipped past his lips a few times during the day. they can tell he's more than obsessed with you.

"hey baby, are you on your way?"

you’re dressed but your makeup is barely done. considering the stress you’re currently going through you definitely have to put on some makeup.

mindy motions to you to respond as she holds your phone on you hands because you were washing your hands free of pee.

"h-hey hannie, two more minutes and ill be on my way. mindy is going to take me," you scrunch your eyes at the stutter. you never stutter!

"okay, let me know when you're nearly here," he says unsure.

"mhm, bye," you say, motioning for mindy to hang up.

"girl that wasn't smooth. he knows something is up," she flat out tells you.

"you're not helping," you grumble.

-while the three minutes tick away mindy forces you to sit and have a chat. she asks if you’ve talked to han about a future together. marriage and kids and the whole deal. she asks what you want to do if the result comes back positive. she’s cool being the fun cool aunt but if you don’t want to go through with it she’ll be your confidant and drive you to the clinic.

-once your phone alarm goes off you walk into the bathroom alone. with a racing heart you turn on the phone to record yourself because be damned you don't have this reaction to show han later. baby or not.

-one test after another you turn them around with shaky hands and they all say the same thing, p o s i t i v e

-you sob not out of sadness but overwhelmed. this is so messy. you just got the restaurant running, you're not married and you are expecting a baby. the only thing that seems right is that it's the love of your life's baby.

-you step out the bathroom ten long minutes after. with one look mindy knows all she has to know. she helps you finish getting ready, puts drops in your eyes to reduce the redness and drives you over to han. on the way out you give yourself a look in the mirror but you look just the same. you're only a couple of weeks along it would be crazy to see a difference so soon but you already know everything is different.

-mindy drops you off after hyping you up all the way to your destination.

"thanks for bringing her," han says, helping you out the suv.

"anytime, she might have her license but there’s no way i’m letting her drive." she jokes at your expense.

"i’m not that bad a driver. you just don’t let me practice," you defend yourself.

-han grabs your hand and your bag and walks you to the front door, you can hear music and chatter from his friends. but he stops before going on.

-he asks if you’re okay. and you tell him you’re nervous, a half lie. han nods in understanding. ‘they’ll love you, baby.’

-he kisses your lips lightly before opening the door because he hasn’t seen you all day and he missed you. but of course roman pierce has to interrupt. he opens the door, interrupting their moment, ‘aye! she's here han is hogging her.’

-roman insists he knows japanese and tries greeting you using the language. you respond fully in japanese just to fuck with him, even adding the bow in your greeting. he bows back and just stares back with an empty smile. he did not understand a word you just said.

-han pushes past him and leads you to where everyone is gathered. he introduces you to everyone and you say 'hi, it's nice to finally meet all you. i've heard so much!'

roman stands besides han with a scowl and whispers. ‘man you could’ve told me she speaks english.’

-you are received with open arms as han introduces you to everyone that came along. dominic, letty, mia, brian, tej, roman, ramsey and all of their kids. it’s nice to be able to place faces to the names you’ve heard for the last two years.

-with you now present they ask all about how you and han met, eager to view your perspective. you respond as much as you can, laughing at the quirky remarks the others throw. they tease han like never before and he deserves it because he went MIA for three years.

-it's enough to make you forget momentarily about the pregnancy tests in your overnight bag. until letty offers you a beer, you pause but react quick enough where no one notices your hesitation. you'll just have to sneak your way around this one.

-han is a lot more reserved around the toretto crew than when he's around sean or twinkie. there's no big in-your-face make out sessions or random gropes of your ass. he respects the crew to much to subject them to that.

-doesn't mean he's not constantly attached to you. throughout the night han has his arm around your shoulders or his hand pressed on the small of your back. it helps a lot ease your nerves when facing the room of friendly strangers.

-eventually the subject of your restaurant comes up. you barely get the name out when ramsey squeals in excitement. turns out she's a big foodie with an instagram account and on her to-do list for japan is visiting your restaurant. she didn't know you were the same person until now. 'you're all welcome whenever you'd like. i'm there most of the week,' you tell the bunch.

-as the hours go by the crew starts turning in for the night. han pulls you up from the couch you were sitting on and guides you to a room.

"what did you think?" han asks as you both change into your pajamas.

"you were right they are all very welcoming. even if i have only known them for a few hours i see you guys have a very familial relationship."

you sit on the edge of the bed with your head hanging. the weight of your secret is crushing you down, your stomach has been swirling since you and han retreated to the bedroom.

han stands in front of you, tilting your head up to look at him. his eyes are soft as he rubs his thumb across your cheek. "what's wrong, baby?"

"'you love me, right?" your eyes fill with tears. suddenly feeling an unreasonable fear in the pit of your stomach. han has shown you more than enough times how much he loves you.

"more than anyone i have ever loved," he assures you. han is concerned. you've never been overly emotional and nothing has happened that he's aware off.

you hug him by the waist, burying your head on his stomach. he hugs you back, holding your head and running a hand up and down your back.

you pull back from his embrace, wiping your tears and some snot and manage to hiccup your news, 'hannie, i-i'm pregnant.'

han freezes momentarily. he thinks he heard you incorrectly but he couldn't have. your words were clear. leaning down in front of you so he's level with your- still not showing-belly he gasps, "we're having a baby?"

-one nod of yours causes a tsunami of questions. when did you find out? how? are you happy? how far along? boy or girl?

-han is over the moon. he is taken aback by just how happy he feels. he wants this but he thought it wouldn't happen for another year or two. the baby is more than welcome though.

-just earlier today he had been thinking about having kids with you as he watched the o'conner and toretto children run around.

-with both of your emotions running high han pulls you close and kisses you like never before. he takes you to bed and fucks you hard and deep and slow. him on top of you, never ceasing his attack on your lips. whenever he does it’s to tell you he loves you and how happy you’ve made him. it's like he wants to get you pregnant all over again.

-'wait, is that why you were switching our beers earlier?' han asks when you’re laying in bed, your head on his chest. you laugh at his question, having forgotten your attempts at not drinking alcohol.

-at around 4 am you and han sneak to the kitchen where you make a snack. you were starving and so was han. he sits you on the kitchen counter as you eat. he stands between your thighs speaking softly about future plans with your baby now included in them.

-'it's 4 am, don't you two sleep?' its tej who came downstairs for water. he shakes his head in disapproval at the two of you going back to his bedroom once he got his water.

-letty is the one to bring up the happiness that oozes out of you and han the following days, 'you two look awfully happy.'

"got some good news the other day," han softly drawls, "you want to tell them?"

you're sitting on his lap with his hand wrapped around your waist as you nod, "we're expecting a little lue."

-the crew is nearly as happy as the two of you. they congratulate the both of you. the girls whipping you away from han to ask all the questions and give you any advice you might need. the guys tease han about not wasting any time with you.

-han is surprised yet not because you two go at it like rabbits. he's surprised he didn't get you knocked up before then. your birth control must've given up.

-han is happy, he is content, he is satisfied. you're pregnant and having his baby. the crew visiting tokyo only amplified his joy. not even roman's teasing put a dent on him.

-as he's talking to dom, brian and tej a question comes up. is han going to ask you to marry him? his response is simple. no. or at least not yet. he doesn't want to ask you to marry him just because he knocked you up. when he asks he wants you to be sure that it's because he wants it too. and he does want it right now, he adores you. the baby only put his plans to propose on pause. he knows you're the one for him, he's known for a while and he's in no rush.

-his life has consisted about running and races and winning. but with you it's different. he feels like he can slow down and take things at his own leisure pace. make things right and give you everything you deserve.

-you've never called han daddy. it's not your kink and you don't think it's his either considering he hasn't asked you to call him that. now that you're expecting you have teasingly been calling him that. he finds it endearing to say the least.

he passes you something across the table? 'thanks daddy'

'can daddy do the dishes?'

'mommy has a craving for rocky road ice cream, do you think daddy will be good and get some for me baby?' you ask looking down at your belly.

-pregnancy is not kind to you at first. in the first trimester, everything you eat ends up flushed down the toilet. you're miserable. han sympathizes with you and helps you out as much as he can. holds your hair back, rubs your back, prepares your toothbrush, etc.

-because of all the puking you barely show at first until suddenly you popped and the nausea stopped in the second trimester. that's when you started noticing the pregnancy glow and felt cute enough to highlight your bump with your clothes.

-han is obsessed with it. each night when he goes to sleep he puts a hand on your bump and talks to the baby. whether you're asleep or not. he'll rub his hand on your stomach soothing any pain or nausea you might feel.

-han goes with you to each and every doctors appointment. he doesn't dare miss one. he loves when the doctor sets up the ultrasound and the baby starts shaping up and taking form as the weeks go by.

-han keeps a picture of an ultrasound in his car. along with one of you two. it's everything he loves all in one place.

-han is the first to feel the baby kick surprisingly. it's one of those nights he returned home from the races. he settled in bed and touched your growing belly. it's slick from all the oils and lotions you apply to try and prevent stretch marks. then he feels it a small 'thud' he thinks he imagines it, until it happens again.

"baby, wake up," he softly calls you, rousing you from sleep.

"what's wrong, hannie?" you mutter with your eyes still closed.

"the baby is kicking," he whispers, grabbing your hand and placing it where he felt the kick. his hand over yours.

"no, it's no- oh my god, it is," you shiver finding the sensation a bit strange at first. you spend the next hour just waiting to feel the baby kick again.

-when you tell your parents you're pregnant they become the most doting grandparents ever. they start buying everything and anything they can get their hands on. it's their first grandchild and most of their friends already have grandchildren. they want to be the best. plus, they feel like they owe it to you for what they did.

-although han's apartment is bigger than yours you don't believe it's big enough for a baby. you spend months apartment hunting until you find the perfect place. a three bedroom, two bathroom penthouse.

-you insisted it was too much space but han reassured you it's not. because he wants more children and he doesn't want to move again when you have another baby. your words were:

'give me a break hannie, i haven't even pushed the first out. let's see how it goes."

-with pregnancy a woman goes through many changes. besides your bump han's favorite is still your tits which have grown larger. he notices that change instantly, but with each gain there is a loss. the piercings had to go. you also tease han that now he'll have to share.

-not surprisingly pregnancy does a number on you and you get hornier than ever. it's like constantly ovulating and having to be pounded. which doesn't make sense cause you're already pregnant.

-it's not something han finds himself complaining about. it's fun to explore the changes your body is going through and how the sensations shift. like how your nipples get very sensitive in your pregnancy and how han takes advantage of that.

-you go on a journey of finding your self-love once more. the changes your body go through are out of your control, they are necessary to sustain the life inside of you and yet some made you insecure.

-the love you felt for your bump at first then made you insecure as it grew larger and stretch marks decorated it. you're not used to the sight. sure you've always had some faded ones on your thighs or your boobs but you've had them for so long you got used to them. these were long and red and they made you cry.

-for about a week you felt so insecure and looked for ways around being intimate with han because if you hate them surely he will too.

"lets get this off, baby," han says, pulling up your silky night dress up your thighs.

"no, no, let's keep it on," you laugh it off, holding hans hands with yours.

"alright, what's going on?" he asks, leaving his hands on your thighs and squeezing them lovingly.

"what do you mean?" you feign innocence.

"baby, don't think i haven't noticed you've been covering up and acting strange."

you avoid his gaze but he cups your cheek and returns it back to his. "i'm scared you won't like the way i look now," you mutter.

"are you joking? i've never liked the way you looked more than i do now," he speaks without any hesitation.

"really?" you peer up at him through your lashes.

"oh yeah. i think this is the sexiest you've ever looked. you're carrying my baby, how can i not like the body that's helping it grow and keeping it safe? And you know i love how much more responsive and sensitive you've gotten."

"oh god, you've made me even hornier," you say, pulling him down to kiss him.

"and you're glowing and look so cute waddling around the house," he teases, breaking the kiss.

"i do not waddle!" yes. you, in fact, do.

-han is always asking for the baby to kick, those lazy morning spent in bed, he'll have a hand on your belly talking to the it.

"come on kid, kick for daddy"

"let them be, it's not your bladder they're kicking"

he softly apologizes, knowing that as the day gets nearer the more trips to the bathroom you make.

-han dotes on you every second of every day, he barely leaves your side. you need something to drink or eat? he'll get it. your feet hurt? hell massage them. get cravings? he'll make a trip to the convenience store.

-as a couple you decided to keep the gender of the baby a surprise. which just led to the two of you to place bets on what's it gonna be. han swears you're hanging low (whatever that means) so you'll be having a boy and because of your morning sickness you think it's a girl.

-realistically both you and han are fine with either one. which is why you'll be trying for another one when the time comes. if it turns out the same gender you'll try for a third, but that's all! if all three turn out the same, tough luck!

-you go into a small crisis thinking you'll never be able to wear your short dresses and skirts. you're going to be a mom surely you'll have to dress like one? han assures you you can wear whatever you want because he knows you'll be a good mom, which is all that matters. plus, he likes seeing you wear that type of clothes.

-han invests in another car. one he never though of having. a toyota sienna le. it's a minivan. always one for cars, han details it, adds leather seat covers, a few cool features and an overly complicated car seat.

-as your due date nears you spend more and more time in bed with han, having sex obviously. you had read somewhere it was good for contractions and when you go into labor. plus, you just had these boosts of energy and it was the only way to get you to sleep.

-han eventually stops working for takashi. more people are at risk now if he continues. takashi lets him go without much trouble. han did help him expand his business a lot quicker had he done it by himself.

-when the time comes to give birth, han races to the hospital in his new minivan. finds it stressful cause the thing can't go as fast as his precious mazda. but he makes it to the hospital in record time.

-your doctor is waiting for you, they have a room prepared for you. han stays by your side through it all even as you curse him out through your pain. your labor is long and painful being a first time mom and all.

-at some point you start crying that you can't do it and han is there to wipe your tears away and tell you you can. it's holding his hand that you push and push. he doesn't whine or complain once, ignoring the insults you throw at him and the pain in his hand.

-then it happens, a cry resonates through the room and your hand stops squeezing his. the nurse places your baby on your chest. it has a full head of dark hair already.

"it's a girl," the nurse coo's.

-han didn't think he'd be able to love someone as much as he loves you. he's proven wrong as he softly touches his baby girls head. she's slimey and a little ugly (being a newborn and all) but this emotion swells his chest and tears well up in his eyes.

-you softly call out his name and he looks at you and just says, 'i love you.’

-to make up for your pain han gets you a push gift. it's a pretty golden necklace. it has a thin chain and a pendant with a little gem, behind the pendant the initial of your baby girls name is engraved. it has enough space to add when your family expands eventually.

-fatherhood suits him. he's patient and soft spoken and baby girl adores him. han is a night owl so he has no problem getting up at night to feed his baby girl or change her diaper.

-it takes time to adapt and start feeling like yourself again but han makes it easy for you. he loves you no matter what and does everything possible to make the transition a smoother one. you gave him everything he wanted and more.

-you left the restaurant in good hands while you rode out the last month of your pregnancy and the first two postpartum. returning to work felt good. you love baby girl but getting out the house without puke on your shoulder was necessary.

-han stays with her during the morning embracing being a stay at home dad. granted he slips out now and then to the races or to hang out at the garage. in fact, when baby girl is older he sets up an area just for her.

-sean and twinkie make fun of him and his minivan. to which han threatens to kick them out the garage they don't even have to pay for.

-when your baby girl is almost 1 year old, he pops the question. it was date night, your parents were taking care of the baby. he picked you up in his orange mazda that just so happened matched your nails. you were back to wearing your usual dresses and sparkly heels. although you were rebuilding the confidence you had two years ago.

he took you to dinner and then dessert and then you walked through a park. it's cherry blossom season you had to make the most of it. that's when he does it. under the rain of sakura flowers he asked his question.

"will you marry me, baby?" han asks, down in one knee.

"i thought you would never ask," you cry out, extending your hand so he can slip the ring on your finger.

"that's not an answer," he teases, before he slides the ring on your finger.

"yes! it's a yes!"

finally he puts the ring on your finger and it's just like you'd imagine it to be.

-you have your ceremony not even a year after. the toretto crew comes back to japan. even hans family (that you've only met like twice in four years) attends. your family and friends are invited as well. mindy is your maid of honor and your baby girl the ring bearer.

-it's on your honeymoon, that is really more like a family vacation because baby girl is with you, that you tell han a little secret.

'We're having another baby!'

a/n:

if you’d like to scream at me or cry with me about the headcanons feel free to send me a message through the asks! i didn't think before making this blog a sideblog so i can't answer comments from this account but from my main.

lol in case you didn't catch that i'd like to make a mini series of sorts of han with his baby girl. i've got ideas floating around so if it's something you'd be interested in let me know!

also been thinking of making a brian o'connor one shot or something cause those baby blues are irresistible.

bye!

#fanfiction #han lue #fast and furious fanfiction #han lue fanfiction #han lue imagines #han seoul oh #han lue x reader #han lue smut #han lue headcanons

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