#why on earth would they BE your favorite character. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 2 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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requiemforthepoets · 4 months ago

Text

they never took me quite where you do 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x heiress!reader

SUMMARY: all your life, you’ve been used to peace and quiet, not until you had to substitute for your father and brother in a business meeting and throwing you in the most busiest and crowded event.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this has been stuck in my drafts, i decided to post this one since i’m clearing my docs. this one’s bit lengthy, but i hope you’ll vibe with it. uni had already started for me, so i won’t be able to post much :’( anyways, i hope you’ll enjoy reading this one!

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 6.4k

WARNINGS: zak brown and mclaren

MIAMI

You never liked crowded events. It is not in your nature to seek out noise and chaos, you prefer the calm serenity of your family’s estate or the quiet corners of your favorite library. But alas, here you were, you found yourself being in attendance at the 2024 Miami Grand Prix. Your father and older brother were supposed to attend the business meeting, a formality given your family’s substantial sponsorship of McLaren, but with both of them indisposed, the duty had fell upon you.

As you stepped into the bustling paddock, you couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the energy and excitement that filled the air, you also saw a few celebrities but you couldn’t care less. To be honest, you never really liked Miami. You had a few share of travelling around the world, but you just don’t get other people when they say that Miami is a great place, you just couldn’t see it. However, people are entitled to their own opinion, and that is your own personal opinion. Looking around and comparing yourself from the race goers, you can clearly tell that you’re the odd one out, all dressed in neutral colors when you are being surrounded by lively colors.

“Miss Auerbach, welcome!” Zak Brown the CEO of McLaren had greeted you warmly. “I’m glad that you could make it.” You smiled and shook his hand.

Prior to arriving in the venue, you had managed to study the whole team behind McLaren as a preparation for the business meeting, and not make a fool of yourself. Last thing you would want to do is embarrass your father and brother.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Mr. Brown. It’s a pleasure to be here,” you replied politely, “I apologize that my father and Theo couldn’t make it. They had prior commitments that can’t be rescheduled.” You added.

“Please, just call me Zak, and it’s alright. It’s wonderful to see you getting involved into the family business.” Both of you laughed, but you held back a little bit. Zak had noticed your hesitation and smiled kindly, “I know this might not be your usual environment, but why don’t you stay and watch the race? I think you’ll find it quite exhilarating.” You just nodded.

Maybe this isn’t exactly your comfort zone, but sooner or later you’ll grow more accustomed to it. You need a bit of excitement in your life, and maybe this is finally it.

After the meeting with Zak, you decided to walk around the area, get some air and explore a little bit. The exclusive paddock area offered a slight reprieve from the crowd, and you navigated through the space, trying to maintain a semblance of composure, a familiar voice called out for you.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Turning around, you saw Charles and Carlos approaching, their face lit up with a surprise. They were unmistakable with their bright red Ferrari gears and ever-present charisma. “Hello to you too.” You greeted while giving each of them a hug and attempting to mask your discomfort from the buzzing crowd. “You wouldn’t normally find me in this place, but I’m officially on business duties.”

Charles is one of your brother’s best friend, how did they met? You never know, all you know is that your brother is a big fan of motorsport and one day, the two of them just became best friends. As for Carlos, the Sainz and Auerbach are a close family friend for almost a decade, your father and Carlos Sainz Sr. go way back. So you’re glad that you know at least two people in the event.

Carlos chuckled. “Never really thought that I’d see the day you’d attend a grand prix willingly.” You laughed, “well, let’s just say that it wasn’t voluntary.” You admitted, a hint of smile breaking through. Charles nodded understandingly, “come on, let’s find a quieter spot. You look like you could use a break.”

Grateful, you followed them to a more secluded area within the paddock. As you talked, the initial awkwardness melted away and had been replaced by the comfort of familiar company. You discussed various things about family, recent travels, and, inevitably, racing.

“You know, your father always speak so highly of you,” Charles said, with Carlos agreeing with him. “It’s finally nice to see you at one of these events.”

“I have to admit,” you said, glancing around, “this place has a certain charm. Maybe it’s not all bad.” Carlos just laughed. “That’s the spirit. But hey, the race is starting soon. You should stay and watch, you might actually enjoy it.”

“Are you flying back to Germany right after the race?” Charles had asked, as you pondered. Mentally checking your schedule and agendas while you’re here in Miami. “I think so? I’m not sure, it depends with McLaren.”

“Why don’t we all go to dinner later tonight? I’m sure Rebecca and Alex would love to see you again as well.” Carlos offered. “Sure, I would really love that! Just text me the time and place, I’ll be there.” You smiled.

After the meeting with Charles and Carlos, you head to the VIP area for McLaren and found a seat that offered a perfect vantage point to watch the race. The anticipation was palpable as the cars began to line up, engines revving, and you can see the fans in the grandstands all decked out in colorful team merchandise, waving flags and cheering passionately for the teams that they are rooting for. In no time, you found yourself leaning forward, eyes with excitement.

The moment that the lights went out, cars shot forward on the track, a blur of color and motion passed in front of you. You could feel the ground vibrate beneath your feet as they sped past, leaving you breathless. Amidst all of this, one car in particular had managed to caught your attention, the sleek orange McLaren with the number 4 on it.

You turned your attention on the screen, Lando Norris. Reading it softly, familiarizing the name as it rolled smoothly off your tongue. You had also heard his name countless of time, often through Theo who admired his driving style. But seeing Lando in action was different. His precision, determination—it was really mesmerizing.

Each lap brought new excitement, the cars jostling for position, and as the race progressed, you couldn’t help but be drawn into the excitement. Lando’s skill was undeniable, and you found yourself silently rooting for him. When he executed a particularly daring move, you involuntarily gasped, earning a few amused glances from nearby spectators.

When the checkered flag waved, Lando had crossed fhe finish line in first place, followed by Max Verstappen from Red Bull in second place, and then in third place was Charles. You suddenly felt a strange thrill as you watched the McLaren team celebrated Lando’s win. After the event was finished, you had decided to walk around the paddock once more, and drop by at the Ferrari garage to congratulate Charles and Carlos, not forgetting to drop by at McLaren as well to also extend your congratulations to Zak, as it was another win for the team.

As luck would have it, you crossed paths with Lando himself. He was talking to a group of mechanics, still buzzing with the adrenaline. Seeing your opportunity, you decide approached him.

“Congratulations on winning the Miami GP.” You said, trying to sound casual. Lando turned, his eyes brightening with a friendly smile. “Thanks! Glad you enjoyed the race.”

“I did. It’s my first time at a Grand Prix, actually. Quite an experience.” Lando smiled, “first time, huh? Well, I’m honored you got to see me in action. What brings you here?”

“Family business,” you replied. “Ah, that explains why I had seen you with Zak earlier. Well, I hope this won’t be your first and last race. It’s always nice to see new faces around here.”

You smiled, feeling unexpectedly at ease. “Maybe it won’t be. You might have just made a new fan today.” Lando laughed. “I’ll take that as another win. See you around?”

“Definitely,” you said, feeling a spark of excitement at the idea of seeing him again.

As you left the paddock, you realized that maybe, just maybe, crowded events weren’t so bad after all. Especially when they came with such unexpected, pleasant surprises. It’s too soon to say that you were charmed by Lando, but you can’t help but admit it that you are indeed had been charmed by him.

Later that evening, you found yourself at a cozy restaurant with Charles, Carlos, Alex, and Rebecca. Being close with Charles and Carlos, you had became close as well with their girlfriends. It was rare for you to have new friends due to your status, but meeting Alex and Rebecca was such a breath of fresh air.

“So, how does it feel to be a grand prix veteran now?” Rebecca teased as you sipped your wine. “Hardly a veteran,” you laughed, “but I have to admit, it was more enjoyable than I expected.”

“It’s about time we got you out of your shell,” Alex had said with a wink. “We’ve been waiting for an excuse to hangout more.” This has caused the whole table to laugh.

“And a little birdie told me as well,” Carlos chimed in, a bit of teasing in his voice, “you’ve been seen talking to Lando right after the race.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you, and the girls began teasing you.

“Come on now, it was a harmless conversation. I just congratulated him. My family sponsors the team, what am I to do? Ignore him?” You laughed, “not when you’re all smiley and looking all heart eyes at him.” Charles said and laughed.

“But hey, Lando’s a great guy. If ever you two end up dating, he’ll treat you right and not to mention you two looked really good together.” Carlos said as he smiled.

The conversation flowed easily, filled with a bit of teasing, stories, laughter, and plans for future gatherings. Charles and Carlos shared a few anecdotes from racing, while Alex and Rebecca had catched you up with their recent travel adventures. You found yourself thoroughly enjoying the night, feeling more connected with them after not seeing them for how many months.

As the night wound down, you gently grabbed your bag and pull out four elegant invitations. “Before I forget, I would like to give this to you.” You handed the invitations to each of them, with their names beautifully written on the envelope. “Mamá will be having the annual Auerbach charity event, and she tasked me to give the invitations out to you.”

The event will be held five months from now, but as always, your mother wanted to be very prepared and for the event to run smoothly with no distractions. They had thanked you for the invite, and once the dinner had concluded, each of them gave you a hug.

“Thank you so much for a wonderful evening, guys. I really appreciate it.” You said. “Of course! We should do this every once in a while.” Alex said as both her and Rebecca hugged you again.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? If you need anything, just call us.” Carlos smiled. “We’ll see you at the next race, okay? We’ll be expecting you there!” Charles added and you nod at him.

“Alright, alright. You’ll see me in the next race, maybe or maybe not!” You teased. “I’ll see you all in Germany for the event, okay?” They nodded.

The following day, you attended the post-race festivities, it was another obligation that you couldn’t avoid. But this time, the atmosphere was different, Lando’s words from yesterday had you in excitement, and maybe, you were excited to see Lando as well.

You had found yourself mingling with other sponsors and team members. Glancing across the venue, you caught sight of Lando, engaged in a conversation with Oscar, which you had met as well yesterday during the event. He looked up, meeting your gaze unexpectedly, and offered a smile, a genuine smile. This has caused your face to flush, hoping that he didn’t see the way how your face turned all red. After that little incident, you turned your attention back to the people you’re talking with.

As the event wore on, the sun was already setting, casting a golden glow over the venue, you were hoping that at least you would get to talk to Lando, and soon enough, you found yourself once again face to face with Lando.

“Hey, you’re back,” he greeted, his grin being infectious. “I am. I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about after the race.”

“Smart choice. This is where the real fun happens,” Lando said, nodding towards the lively crowd. You found yourself laughing, the sound even surprising yourself. “You were incredible out there. I can see why Theo admires you.”

“Theodore Auerbach?” Lando asked, his eyebrows raising. “Theo as in your brother?“

You nodded, “yes, that Theo. He’s a fan, always talks about your races, despite being best friends with Charles and Carlos.” This had cause Lando to laugh, “wow, that’s really great to hear. Tell him I said thanks.”

“I will.” You smiled.

You and Lando found yourselves in deep conversation. He shared a few stories about his racing career and telling you things about racing—he was slowly getting you accustomed. You then found yourself opening up about your family, your hesitations about joining the family business, and unexpected enjoyment of the grand prix.

“You know,” Lando said thoughtfully, “it’s refreshing talking to someone outside the usual racing circle. You have a unique perspective.”

“I’ve enjoyed it too,” you admitted. “This whole experience has been…enlightening.”

“Good. Then it’s a win-win,” Lando said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe we can convince you to come to more races. We could use another Auerbach fan.”

“I think you just might.” You smiled, feeling a warm spread through you, and your stomach feeling butterflies.

The celebration had ended after an hour, you and Lando had exchanged contacts, promising to keep in touch. He had also walked you back to your hotel, which was surprisingly just near the venue. You reflected on how much had changed in just a couple of days—stepping out of your comfortzone and embracing a new experience.

MONACO

It has been two months since the Miami Grand Prix, and exactly two months since you and Lando met. It was a whirlwind of change in what felt like the blink of an eye, what started as a chance meeting with Lando had evolved into something deeper, something neither of you had anticipated. Despite the distance and the demands of your respective worlds, you and Lando had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, finding solace and comfort in each other’s company.

It has been mutually agreed to keep your relationship under the wraps. For Lando, it was about preserving his focus and privacy in the high-pressure world of F1. While for you, it was about easing into this new reality without scrutiny that came with dating a well-known public figure. It’s not that you aren’t well known, it’s just that even if everyone basically knew your family and prestige, you still value that little ounce of privacy left in you. The clandestine nature of your relationship added an element of excitement, turning every stolen moment into something precious.

Today, you were in Monaco, it was your monthly overseas trip. It’s just a plan that you had made back then, where you would travel once a month and explore new places. This month, you had chosen Monaco, which is a unusual for your parents, but they just let you be, since they know that you travel outside of Germany once a month. You were staying with Lando at his apartment in Monaco, wanting to spend some time with him before the next race. His apartment has the stunning view of the Mediterranean, and was comfortably private, away from prying eyes.

Lando arrived in the late afternoon, after spending the whole morning attending different meetings. When he entered the apartment, his face lit up with a smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Hey you,” he said, pulling you into a warm embrace. “Hey yourself,” you replied, resting your head against his chest. “How was your meetings?” You added.

“Tiring, but good. I’m glad to be here now,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “I missed you. You are all I’m thinking about during the meeting.”

You laughed as you booped his nose gently, “I missed you too,” you said, tilting your face up to kiss him softly.

You spent the evening with just lounging on the couch, savoring the rare moments of normalcy. Since you were both lazy to cook dinner, you just decided to order food, watch a movie, and talked about everything and nothing. It was in these quiet moments that you felt most at ease, the outside world and its demands melting away.

As the night grew late, you found yourselves on the balcony, looking out at the glittering lights of Monaco. Lando was stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, as his chin is resting on your shoulder.

“It’s beautiful here,” you said softly. “It is, but not as beautiful as you.” You laughed, nudging him playfully.

“You’re such a charmer, aren’t you.”

“Only for you,” he said, turning you around to face him. “I mean it. These moments…they mean everything to me.”

“I know,” you said, cupping his face in your hands. “And I feel the same. But…are you sure we’re doing the right thing by keeping this a secret?”

Lando sighed, his eyes searching yours. “I think so. At least for now. The media, the fans…it can be overwhelming. I want us to have this time, just for us, without all the noise. I want to savor this privacy that we still have.”

“I understand,” you said, leaning into him. “I just hope it doesn’t always have to be this way.”

“It won’t,” he promised. “When the time is right, we’ll tell the world. But for now, let’s just enjoy what we have.”

The following morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing. It was a text from Charles.

charles [7:30 AM] : Heard you’re in Monaco. breakfast at the café near the harbor? Alex and I are back in town, would love to catch up.

You smiled, texting back a quick confirmation. Turning to Lando, who was still asleep beside, you gently nudge him awake.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you whispered, kissing him softly on the lips, “Charles and Alex are back in town and want to meet for breakfast. You up for it?”

Lando groaned softly, rubbing his eyes. “Do we have to?” He whined, pulling you and now you’re resting on top of him, “come on, it’ll be fun. I haven’t seen them in months, please.” You said, kissing his cheek.

He chuckled, “alright, but only because you asked nicely.” It took you both a couple of minutes before you got up and start preparing.

The café was bustling with activity, a favorite spot for locals and tourists alike. Lando had told you to go in first to avoid suspicions from other people that were in the café who knew the two of you. When you entered the café, you spotted Charles and Alex at the table, in a private area, away from people that would recognize the the four of you. She wave over with an enthusiastic smile.

“Good morning!” Alex greeted, hugging you warmly. “It’s so good to see you!”

“You too,” you said, taking a seat. “I must say, this place is very lovely.”

Charles nodded, grinning. “It’s one of our favorites. So, how’s everything going?”

“Good,” you replied, glancing at Lando, who was making his way to the table. “Really good, actually.”

As you all caught up, Charles and Alex shared their latest rendezvous in Italy, and you shared your time in Monaco in exchange. The conversation flowed easily, filled with nothing but laughter. It was comforting to have friends who understood the situation and could offer support and normalcy in your otherwise secretive life.

Alex leaned in, a knowing smile on her face. “So, any new developments?” You exchanged a glance with Lando, who smiled back at you. “We’re doing well. Just taking it one day at a time.”

“Glad to hear it,” Charles said. “You two deserve to be happy, and don’t worry—your secret is safe with us.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling a wave of relief. “It’s really means a lot.”

“We always got your back, don’t worry okay?” Alex assured you.

As the breakfast came to an end, you said your goodbyes to Charles and Alex, promising to catch up again soon. With a final hug, they left, leaving you and Lando alone once more.

As you both returned to his apartment, you turned to him with a smiled. “I’ve been thinking…” you plopped down on the couch, as he follows, pulling you towards him with your head resting on his chest, “oh, do tell.”

“How would you like to be my date in my family’s charity event next month?” Lando looked at you, his heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been doing this for a while now, and it feels like the right time to introduce you to my family, you know.” You said, eyes filled with determination. Lando smiled back at you, feeling a sense of excitement and hope. “Okay. I’m ready for that, as long as you’re by my side.”

“I love you.” You whispered as you looked up at him. “I love you more.” He leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips.

You spent the rest of the day cuddling and just talking about anything, as you look over the balcony, the sun was already setting over Monaco, casting a golden glow over the harbor, feeling a deep sense of contentment. You were really looking forward to next month, where you would finally introduce him to your family.

GERMANY

Your family was a portrait of old-world elegance and influence, steeped in the traditions and wealth of your Spanish-German heritage. The Auerbach were known for their vast estates, historical manors, and lineage that could be traced back to European nobility. Your family owned vineyards in Spain’s Rioja region and estates in the Black Forest of Germany, and wealth built on generations of careful investments and preservation of the family legacy.

Conrad Auerbach, your father, was a formidable presence, and he still is. A man who commanded respect with his mere presence. A former diplomat and now a prominent businessman, your father had instilled in you a sense of discipline and the importance of maintaining the family’s dignity. Despite his stern exterior, he has always harbored a deep pride in your achievements, even if he rarely showed it openly.

Isabella Alcaraz Auerbach, your mother, was the epitome of grace and sophistication. A former equestrian and painter of Spanish descent, she brought a touch of artistic flair to the otherwise rigid Auerbach household. She was known for her charitable work and passion for the arts, often hosting grand soirees that drew the elite from all over Europe. Your mother is your confidante, your best friend, and the one who understand your fierce independence and quietly supported you in your dreams.

While your oldest brother, Theodore, was destined to take over the family business. He thrived in the structured world of finance and estate management, embodying the family’s traditional values. He’s a carbon copy of your father, and sometimes act like your father, but you two grew up being really close to each other.

The Auerbach family was not without its quirk. Despite the formal exterior that your family possesses, dinner conversations are actually more lively, filled with fun debates over art, politics, sports, and the latest global affairs. Your sharp wit is always a match for your father’s intellect, and your mother’s charm made the Auerbach gatherings a blend of intellectual rigor and cultured sophistication.

The Auerbach charity event was a cornerstone of your family’s social calendar—a grand affair that combined philanthropy with high society’s glittering presence. This year, the event was particularly special; not only was it a chance to support a cause that is close to your heart, but it was also an opportunity to formally introduce Lando officially to your family and close friends. You had been planning everything for weeks, ensuring that everything goes smoothly.

This year’s charity event is being held in your family’s ancestral home in Bavaria. In a sprawling castle that had been in the family for centuries. It was a place of both grandeur and solitude, wherein during your childhood, you would always find peace despite the hectic flow of your life. The castle’s halls were adorned in portraits of ancestors, a reminder of the legacy you carry and expectations that is placed upon your shoulders, will full understanding of the pressures that comes with your family.

As the event approaches, you were a bundle of nerves and excitement. The polo match where you will be partaking in was set to be the highlight of the evening, a thrilling competition that showcased both skill and elegance. It has been a year since you last played polo, so you had been practicing really hard, determined to make good impression, but you know very well that tonight’s real challenge was introducing Lando to your whole family.

It was finally the evening of the event, you wore a stunning customized gown that was both elegant and understated, which has been tailored solely for you. It was paired with classic accessories that complimented the whole look. While Lando was dressed in a tailored suit that fit him perfectly and colors matching you. He looked every bit the part of a gentleman, his nerves evident despite his calm demeanor.

As you arrived, the sight of the lavish decorations and the elegantly dressed guests filled you with sense of pride and anticipation. The estate, with its sprawling lawns and opulent ballroom, was the perfect setting for the festivities. You and Lando were greeted by your family, who were all abuzz with excitement. Your father, a towering figure of influence and authority, extended a warm handshake to Lando.

“It’s pleasure to finally meet you, Lando. I’ve heard a lot about you.” You can see that your father is completely sizing him up. You know very well that your father knows him, but everything had to be done in formalities.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Auerbach,” Lando said, offering a respectful nod. “Thank you for having me.”

Your mother, ever elegant as always, gave you a knwoing smile before turning her attention to Lando.

“We’re delighted to have you here. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy the event.”

The guests mingled and enjoyed cocktails over by the terrace. Charles, Alex, Carlos, and Rebecca had finally arrived, looking impeccable and ready to enjoy the festivities. They greeted both you and Lando warmly, clearly excited about the event.

“Hey you two!” Rebecca said, giving you a hug. “You both are looking fantastic!”

“Thank you so much, Rebecca,” you said smiling, “I’m glad that you could all make it.”

Carlos gave Lando a friendly pat on the back. “Looking sharp, cabron! Ready for the polo match? It’s always the highlight of the infamous Auerbach charity events.” Lando grinned, “definitely. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Charles and Alex joined in on the conversation, and soon the group was chatting easily, making Lando feel more at ease. Everyone has been assuring him, helping Lando settle his nerves, reminding himself that the genuine warmth from your family was reassuring.

You had been called by your mother’s assistant and excused yourself from the group, as the time for the polo match drew near, still need a couple of minutes to change to your polo gear. All of them had wished you good luck, with Lando softly pecking your lips as an added good luck.

Everyone was gathered near the field, seated on their assigned table with the best view of the polo game. Lando watched from the sidelines with the rest of your friends, his support evident as he cheered on you whenever you score a point. The match was thrilling to say the least, which every swing of your mallet and every goals that you had managed to score elicited cheers from the spectators. The crowd’s energy was infectious, and you felt a rush of adrenaline as you played.

Throughout the polo match, you caught glimpses of Lando, who was clearly enjoying himself and cheering loudly with the rest of your friends. His sole presence had given you an extra boost, and able to let you play with a newfound confidence. The game was a close one, but you had managed to clutch it and lead your team to victory the last minute before the final whistle blowing to cheers and applause.

After the match, you quickly cleaned up and changed back into your gown and joined Lando with the rest at the post-game reception, where the celebrations were in full swing. The evening continued with dinner, speeches, and silent auction, all aimed at raising funds for charity. During the dinner, you were tasked to make a speech as it was expected of you and thank all of the guests for coming to the event, you also took this opportunity to make a heartfelt announcement.

You stood up from the table where you were seated and made your way to the stage, happily accompanied by Lando. As your mother, father, and older brother are already waiting for you by the side of the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of my family, I would like to extend our heartfelt gratitude to each and everyone of you for being here tonight. Your presence means the world to us and to the countless individuals who will benefit from your generosity.” Everyone was clapping, causing you to pause midway and continuing. “I also want to introduce someone very someone very special to me—Lando Norris. We’ve been together for a while now, and I’m proud to have him here with us tonight.”

The room buzzed with surprise and curiosity, but the warmth and acceptance from your family and friends were immediate. It was also a full declaration to let everyone know, specially those who were vying for your attention or hand in marriage as you mother would put it and wanted to be with you for the sake of the connections you have in business that you, the youngest Auerbach, is very much in love and happily taken.

Lando was standing with your family, smiling proudly and touched by the gesture. Despite coming from a very traditional family, your father and mother does not pressure you into marrying a person that you don’t like, like some other families would push their children to do. They are very supportive in finding a suitable partner of your own choice.

“Thank you,” Lando said the moment you went back to him right after you ended the speech. “It means a lot to me to be here tonight and to be welcomed so warmly.”

The reaction from your family was genuine acceptance and warmth. Your father offered a heartfelt smile and a congratulatory handshake to Lando.

“I can see why you’ve been so happy. You’ve got a good one here.” He said to you and pulling Lando into a brief hug, “don’t even think of breaking my daughter’s heart.” Your father joked, causing all of you to laugh but you know that there’s a little sense of threat in his voice.

Your mother’s eyes was glistening with pride, and reached out to Lando. “Welcome to the family, Lando. We’re so pleased to have you with us.” Engulfing him in a hug, “now I’ll be expecting you to be attending every family gatherings from now on!” You smiled.

“Who would’ve thought that our youngest Auerbach will be able to bag one of the famous and talented racing driver in formula 1!” Theo exclaimed happily, “it’s great to finally meet you outside of the racing circle, Lando.” Clapping Lando on the back. “You’re officially part of the family now, hope you can keep up with all of us!” He added.

Going back to the table, Charles, Carlos, Alex, and Rebecca were clearly delighted by the announcement, offering their congratulations, even if they had already known about your relationship with Lando, but it still felt good being congratulated by them. Also there had been a few friendly threats that had been made by Charles and Carlos, a threat which both of them would be capable of doing so without any care for the FIA.

As the evening continued, Lando fit seamlessly into the crowd, engaging in different conversations and sharing laughs with everyone. The event was a big success, funds that had been raised exceeded expectations, and your family’s acceptance to your newfound relationship with Lando had made the evening even more special for you.

You found yourself hanging out by the terrace by yourself, watching the party from afar and enjoying the quiet end to a memorable evening. Turning your attention towards the vast fields, where the moon was shining beautifully together with the stars, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you, engulfing you in a hug, immediately knowing who those arms belonged to.

“That went better than I could have hoped for,” you said, leaning into Lando. “Thank you for being so incredible tonight, and being here with me.”

Lando kissed your forehead gently. “It was an amazing night, to be honest. I’m really glad that your family welcomed me with open arms.” You turned to face him, hands on his nape and caressing his lovely curls. “It mean everything to me. Tonight was more than just a charity event—it was the beginning of something new for us, and it was perfect.”

He gently leaned towards you, connecting your foreheads together, soon enough you both found yourselves softly kissing each other. You broke the kiss and looked at him softly, he leaned down again stealing a few kisses, and peppering you with kisses all over your face, causing both of you to giggle.

“Do you want to go walk around the estate? I have yet to give you a tour, but we can do that tomorrow.” You said as he nodded.

When you left the ballroom, the event was already winding down. You decided to take off your heels as Lando grabbed it, clutching it on his other hand and the other was intertwined with your hand, walking comfortably barefoot on the grass. Soon enough, you were walking hand in hand through the estate, savoring the peaceful end to a significant evening.

The introduction to your family and friends had been a milestone, making a new chapter in your relationship where your love was celebrated and cherished. The future was bright, and together, you were ready to embrace whatever comes next.

MALLORCA

The Mediterranean sun cast a warm glow over the stunning island of Mallorca, where you and Lando decided to take a much needed break after the stressful Belgian Grand Prix, and you had made a few rules during the vacation, where it is strictly no talking about the race or any race in prticular, since you are here to unwind and have fun. You’ve got three weeks with him as you are hell bent on spending every second of it with Lando.

The trip was more than just a getaway, it was an another big step for both of you. It had been decided that you both are ready to take the next step—you were ready to make your relationship public, a decision that you both had mulled over carefully. With the support of your families, who were joining you on the island for a joint vacation, you felt that it was the right moment to share your happiness with the world.

Mallorca’s breathtaking landscapes provided the perfect backdrop and the crystal-clear water are looking so majestic across the horizon. The charming villas that your family owns has set the stage for a trip that was both picturesque and intimate. This joint family vacations had been considered as a tradition for both of your families, so all of you were pretty much excited about the vacation and the idea of relaxation and joy.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the island, so you and Lando decided to stroll along the beach. Hand in hand, you walked slowly, savoring the moment and the beauty of the surroundings. The beach was relatively quiet, with only a few other tourists scattered around, which gave you both the privacy you needed before breaking the internet with your posts.

With the backdrop of the sun dipping below the horizon, you and Lando decided to pose for a series of photos. In each shot, you were close, sharing smiles and laughter that spoke volumes, the affection that you both have for each other is genuine. You both decided to post it together, and once the post was already up, you immediately closed the instagram app and turned off your phone. The post was already enough, and now it’s time to enjoy the remaining days of the Mallorca trip, and maybe hop onto another trip with, just the two of you.

The trip continued with a sense of lightness and freedom. With the world now aware of your relationship, you and lando were able to enjoy each other’s company without the weight of secrecy, not to mention the excitement that you felt when you realize that you’ll be able to freely spend time with each other in public without any restraints. The vacatiom continued on, filled with never ending laughter, shared experiences, and deep connections with both your families.

On the final day of your trip, you and Lando were sat down on a yacht. You were leaning on him and watching the sun set in the Mallorcan sky, feeling both a sense of contentment and excitement for the future.

“It feels so good to finally share this with everyone,” Lando said, his hand resting gently on your waist and caressing it gently.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you replied, looking up to him, to find out that he was already looking at you. “It’s a new beginning for us, and I’m beyond happy to have you by my side.” He smiled at you, gently leaning and kissing you softly.

You stood up from the seat and removed your see through robe that was covering your bikini, “tag, you’re it. Catch me when you can!” Tagging him right on the chest and jumping off the yacht.

“Oh it’s on, sweetheart!” He laughed, following quickly right after you and jumping off the water.

It was a perfect ending to a perfect week, with your families around you, sharing in the joy of your relationship and the beauty of the island, it was clear that this trip had been more than just a vacation—it was a celebration of love, new beginnings, and the support of those who mattered most.

landonorris

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landonorris i once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden ❤️

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ynauerbach i love you so much 🥺❤️ now pls come back and cuddle me, i miss you ♡ liked by landonorris

landonorris i love you more and i’m on my way as we speak!! 🏃🏻💨 ♡ liked by ynauerbach

carlossainz55 finally. congratulations to you two! you know very well what will happen if you break her heart, cabron. so don’t even think about it 😁 ♡ liked by landonorris

landonorris HEY…i know 😞

charles_leclerc FIA be damned, but congrats you two love birds 😍😍😍😍😍 ♡ liked by landonorris

username1 hoLD AWN 🤚🏻

username2 god, i’ve seen what you’ve done to others. when will it me my turn 💔

mclaren our papaya queen! 🧡 ♡ liked by landonorris

oscarpiastri how little lando norris bagged THE youngest auerbach, we will never know. but hey, congrats! ♡ liked by landonorris

landonorris what can i say, i have god tier charms. a definite rizz god if i say so myself 😎

oscarpiastri highly debatable, but ok. you do you mate

oscarpiastri also lily wants to do a double date, she told me to tell you

username3 wait…auerbach??? THE auerbachs??? THE Y/N AUERBACH????

username4 lando is dating the youngest and only daughter of the auerbachs 🥹

username5 OUH THE POWER THAT THIS COUPLE HOLDS IS INSANE

username6 HES ON HIS LOVER ERA AND IM HERE FOR IT

alex_albon congrats mate! ♡ liked by landonorris

landonorris thanks mate!

maxfewtrell finally. you can’t stop yapping about her 24/7 ever since you two talked for the first time back in miami ♡ liked by landonorris

landonorris stop exposing me here SHHH

ynauerbach oh???? don’t worry, it’s kinda cute hehe

landonorris 🥰🥰🥰🥰

maxfewtrell simp

username7 MIAMI?! THAT WAS LIKE MONTHS AGO OMG SO UR TELLING ME THAT THEY HAD ALREADY BEEN DATING SINCE MIAMI GP?! 🥹

username8 i’m impressed they were able to keep everything private

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ynauerbach

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tagged: landonorris

ynauerbach and all at once, you are the one i have been waiting for. king of my heart, body and soul 💘

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landonorris and all at once, you’re all i want, i’ll never let you go, queen of my heart ❤️ ♡ liked by ynauerbach

ynauerbach hnwshsh I LOVE YOU 😩🥺❤️ ♡ liked by landonorris

charles_leclerc 😍😍😍😍 ♡ liked by ynauerbach

alexandrasaintmleux FINALLY! the ship has sailed (it’s been sailing for a long time but whatever!) ♡ liked by ynauerbach

username9 BABE WAKE UP!! NEW LANDO SUMMER PIC JUST DROPPED

username10 EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU Y/N FOR THE NEW LANDO SUMMER PIC

iamrebeccad triple date soon!! ♡ liked by ynauerbach

theo.auerbach Don’t forget about the family dinner tomorrow. Be there or be square. ♡ liked by ynauerbach

ynauerbach I KNOOW. ‘Be there of be square’…what are you? A ten year old? 😭😭😭

username11 the lyrics change in lando’s comment to match y/n’s caption 🥹❤️

username12 and they say chivalry is dead…

username13 hold on tight girlies, we’re gonna be FED with lando and y/n content this summer break 🤩

isabellaalcarazauerbach My babies! You two are very very cute, mi vida. I cannot wait to see you both again soon! ♡ liked by ynauerbach

ynauerbach thanks, mom!! i love you and i’ll see you very soon 💘 ♡ liked by isabellaalcarazauercbach

ynauerbach ouh, we’ll see you tomorrow for the family dinner 🤩 ♡ liked by isabellaalcarazauerbach

username14 MY PARENTS

username15 YNLANDO STANS AND SHOOTERS ALL RISE!!

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sugarverse · 4 months ago

Text

when they have crushes on you they..

[ bnha headcanons ]

izuku, bkg, iida, todoroki & kiri

✩ I. midoryia

always makes the conversation about you. he just knew you’d enjoy it! Or you’d have something to say about how something went down.

He was always fixing his clothes around you, trying to make sure both of his shoes were tied, etceteria. He couldn't do much with his hair but he tried his hardest to be presentable.

stutters so bad trying to talk to you. “c-c-can.. jeez. um. can I um.. can I borrow that marker? when you're um.. when you're done, y/n?”

obviously it gets better but it gets much much worse first.

often invites you to play imessage games when he wants to talk but is too nervous whatever he has to say isn't interesting enough

tries to get your favorite kind of coffee when you're having a bad day, wanting to be the person you leaned on. he knew how hard school could be and how hard being a heroine would be. it's the least he can do.

asks if you want to go on his morning runs with him, it gave you two time to talk about things he couldnt spit out over text :)

★ t. iida

offers the last bite of his food, always saving some to the side for you to try. you had always been pretty indecisive on what you wanted to eat and he picked up on it. so he made sure he'd save a bite or two for you of whatever he had. this started more as a habit of ‘wanting you to eat’ he couldn't understand why it could be related to his oh so private feelings

often rests a hand on your back whether rubbing it or guiding you through the hallway.

always trying to help, hovering over you as you cooked for yourself, weasling his way to helping you cut vegetables. Or carries your laundry, thinking how beneficial it would be to just do both loads at the same time.

covers the corner of tables as you storm by, ranting about something that really pissed you off. he'd always be there to listen and agree with you.

will wait those few last seconds so you aren't late, alone. he'd never risk his punctuality for anyone.. but he couldn't help but wait for you. Its like you made him stuck.

realizes he has a crush by getting something he'd thought you'd like at the mall, some charm bracelet you might not wear but your favorite characters had been on it. He gave it to you as a “good job on sportsmanship”? Thats what he tells you anyhow.

✮ s. todoroki

stares at you from across the room, not being able to hide it for the most part but you're oblivious to it.

always turns when your name is said to hear what anyone has to say about you

arm gets a little too hot when you brush against him and he often has burn marks in his shirt.

follows you around, not speaking much but liking when you two would sit next to each other and you'd show him the games you had on your switch. he was very invested in Animal crossing

buys you lunch most of the time, swiping his card whenever you got what you wanted and stepping ahead to pay. you only fussed about it one time, knowing he was just being gentlemanly. andhisglarewaskindascary

the quietness of his crush doesn't last long, he flat out tells you “Y/n, I think I have feelings for you.”

⋆｡° e. kirishima

started buying your favorite kind of snacks when he went to get his own , absentmindedly thinking about you more often than he should.

always opens the door for you, did it before he Realized he had a crush. but now? he does everything. he'll slide your chair back, shut the door for you, let you use his umbrella when needed

lowkey stalks your reposts on TikTok to see what things your into

always asks if youll be his player two on a game because it's easier to beat that way (games like minecraft)

always wants to work out with you, figures out when the best times were to ask and makes you routinely go together or he's blowing your phone up

ALWAYS always ALWAYS laughs at your jokes. he thinks you're the funnest mf walking earth besides himself and denki duo.

⛦ k. bakugo

sidewalk rule, pulling you to other side of him kinda roughly before putting his hands back into his pockets. “You don't walk in a straight line, stay over there.”

always has an extra jacket for you, you forget too much, dumbass.

when he does, always makes too much. So he makes you take whatever leftovers he's made and pretty soon he accounts for what you like and don't like.

reads romance manga that reminds him of you and him lol

changes music he listens to to someone you listen to, actually enjoys it and adds albums of music you'd never know he listens to until he's humming along to B.A.S by Megan in the gym??

weird compliments. like when you got your hair done? “your hair doesnt look shitty today” and when it does look bad? instead of being a bigger dick, he often mumbles a “did you get any sleep?" instead of the normal "your hair looks like burning trash."

@fizzintine negrofied everyone but bkg lol thanks bae for the coloring!

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cherubfae · 9 months ago

Note

Omg hi! I'm a new follower and I just read your piece of the hazbin cast w/ reader having a panic attack and it was so sweet 🥺If possible could you maybe do the same cast of characters but with what they would do if the reader was on their period/period comfort?

𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢 || {𝔥𝔞𝔷𝔟𝔦𝔫 𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔩}

tags: fluff, comfort, afab gn!reader, I decided to go with ftm for angel in this to try it out (lmk what you think!!) :3, periods in Hell are worse than on Earth I feel like that fits, suggestiveness in luci's

Alastor

"Oh, dear, why are you curled up on the floor in the fetal position? Are you hurt? I smell blood." Alastor coos in crackling static. He nods his head, listening to you explain despite you being facedown in said carpet. He'll procure a hot water bottle for your tummy, some aspirin, and some bitter, dark chocolate. He'll even go get one of those sugary iced coffees you love so much. Given the circumstances, Alastor may even allow you to touch his ears, but his mindful of his antlers if you know what's good for you.

Lucifer

Oh no, his poor sweetheart! The King of Hell goes full Mama Goose mode (you can see where Charlie gets it from) and hunts down whatever he thinks you may need. He'll create a little nest fort for you, spooning you from behind and nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He's also not opposed of other ways of relief. In Lucifer's own wise words, "Bow-chick-a-wow-wow." (As long as you're up for it, he's not opposed to giving Charlie a sibling.)

Charlie

She's on it instantaneously! Running around scavaging all sorts of items from tampons to pads to candies-- she's not sure of your preferences, so she gets all of them! Only the best for her sweetie pie!! Huddles extraaaa close to you in your shared blanket cocoon, feeding you chocolates and giving you sweet nuzzles.

Vaggie

Immediately sends you off for a hot bath while she changes and washes the sheets so that they're nice, warm, and fresh. She also will prepare your favorite pajamas and snacks, digging through some films for one to watch. Vaggie will do what she can to make sure you're well-rested, hydrated, and most importantly; comfortable.

Husk

Immediately goes to the women of the hotel and asks about what sort of toiletries the hotel has to offer. He's discreet about your situation and grateful for their help. He wants you to feel better as soon as possible even if that means your symptoms haven't fully gone away yet! The scent of blood is strong on you and if he can notice you from a mile away, he's certain others have too. So, he creates a little nest for you two, the bar is closed down for the day, and cuddles you close to his chest.

Angel Dust

He'll spoon you from behind, resting his warm hand on your tummy. From what Cherri has told him, this shit's worse than when you guys were alive. Hell really does have a hard-on for torturing people. Angel will be as vigilant as he can, getting you whatever you may need, reassuring you gently that just because you have your period doesn't change who you are as a person nor how you idenitify. You're you, no matter what your body does or doesn't do.

Vox

What's that? Oh, shit, that's when you-- yeah? Oh, okay got it. That sounds like that sucks. Yeah, he doesn't mind grabbing some things for you but he's a bit stiff when it comes to comfort. He knows what it is for sure and he'll do his best. Velvette might tear him a new asshole. He does genuinely want you to feel better, he doesn't like seeing you in pain. He's just a little lost.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

#hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin imagines #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #charlie morningstar x reader #vaggie x reader #husk x reader #angel dust x reader #vox x reader #cherubfae 2024

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2corvusossifragus · 2 years ago

Text

i wanted to make an oc ask game 😋 things i like to ask people abt their characters:

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

how crafty/resourceful are they?

how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

favorite animal? why?

do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

what languages do they speak? how fluently?

are they any good with numbers?

how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

their favorite place to be?

do they sleep well at night?

how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

do they smell like anything notable?

do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

do they ever return home?

#static #long post

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meaningofaeons · 2 years ago

Text

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ emotionally unavailable

⊹ character(s) - gepard landau, jing yuan, sampo koski ⊹ word count - 3.3k ⊹ notes - gn!reader (sampo, gepard), fem!reader (jing yuan, you're referred to as 'lady'), reader is emotionally constipated or just kinda stoic as the title suggests, I guess you could say tsundere?? mostly fluff -w- ⊹ part 2 here!

sorry for the delay on new writing!! honestly I've had a bit to do around the house and the inspiration hasn't been inspiring Σ(;Φ ω Φ) if you want to send in a request, feel free! I could use some new ideas ♡(ﾐ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﻌ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﾐ)ﾉ thanks for the support!

⊹ Gepard Landau

You honestly didn't have much to think about the Captain of the Silvermane Guards.

Aside from the due respect and mild admiration that just about everyone in Belobog held for him and his military group, you didn't have much else to say. The two of you had never even spoken.

The only connection you could possibly have to him was via his sister, Serval Landau. She was your friend (a tentative word for your situation, you surmise) and would often have him over at her store.

You also tended to lounge about the Neverwinter Workshop ("hanging out", Serval would call it, but you begged to differ), but you had never really paid him much mind, and you assumed he had paid you the same.

Serval's favorite nickname for you is "lounging stray" due to the way you came in and out as you pleased, staying only for food and rest when it was available.

The most you recall interacting with the imposing man was a hesitant wave when he had entered the shop while Serval was out.

After all, it would have been quite rude to completely ignore him—though, honestly, you never cared much for politeness, so you had always mulled that incident over in your head. Why had you greeted him?

About a week later, you were mildly surprised to see a bouquet of flowers in Serval's hands from Eversummer Florist.

It wasn't exactly an unusual assumption to make that the down-to-earth rock-and-roll enthusiast would have her share of admirers, but they were typically more forthcoming with their affections from what you'd observed.

But then, upon spotting you, she promptly shoved them into your arms, announcing that they had been addressed to you, not her.

You hadn't felt your face shift that much in years, nor had you ever experienced that level of shock before.

"Looks like someone has a secret admirer," Serval touted, tuning her guitar on the side with a smirk playing on her lips. Her tone was drawn out, knowing, as if this were some elaborate prank she was in on.

"Wow, Ball Peonies, even? What an expensive spread! Lucky Y/N!"

You didn't even spare her a glance as you took your usual seat in her workshop, thumbing one of the petals with mildly intrigued contemplation.

In your rush to lounge about the workshop and ignore your friend's loud teasing, you failed to notice Gepard at his sister's side, nor the way his ears turned red and he hurried to hush Serval.

"I don't get it," you murmured at last, both siblings' heads whipping over to you. "I don't talk to anyone. Except you, that is."

"Well, I didn't send them. Sorry, my little stray, but as much as I adore you, it's not in that way!"

You gave Serval an unamused raise of your brow, then huffed, mumbling a 'whatever' as you lay on the windowsill in the corner of the shop.

However, that pair of blue eyes sneakily noted that your attention was still taken with the flowers, far from your usual routine of pulling out your phone to scroll.

Eventually, you held them on your chest, deigning to stare out the window as you began drifting off into a half-conscious nap. Your rest, however, was awoken by the sound of loud whispering. Serval noticed the unimpressed look on your face and laughed, clapping her hands together before patting Gepard on the back, who looked thoroughly embarrassed. His face was bright red.

"Well, I gotta head out and run some errands! Keep Y/N company for me, huh, Geppie? They can get lonely."

You chose to ignore that last bit, raising your hand and waving at your friend who practically flew out the door.

An awkward silence settled over the room, which miffed you a bit. What did you have to feel awkward about? This had happened before with other people.

Even then, you weren't keen on breaking it. It seemed the Captain had other plans, though.

"Um..." Gepard spoke up from across the workshop, standing just a bit uncomfortably as he shifted from foot to foot. You glanced over your shoulder at him from where you lay, waiting for him to speak. "Sorry about Serval. She can be a bit much."

"I know," you replied simply, unable to meet his eye for some reason. "I'm in here a lot."

"I know," Gepard echoed. Then, his face went back to tomato-red. "Um, I mean, I see you around a lot in here whenever I visit. Not that I'm intentionally staring at you, or anything of that sort! I just notice—"

"It's okay, I got what you meant."

"Right! Right." The Captain shut himself up, thorough mortification making its way back to his face as he scratched the back of his neck. "S-Sorry, uh, for rambling."

"It's fine."

Well, this was getting painful.

You stunned yourself momentarily when you opened your mouth to speak back first.

"So, uh... How's being Captain and everything?" you murmured, almost too quiet for Gepard to hear. When he realized you had spoken first, his face brightened just a bit, though he still appeared to be fighting the humiliation off his face from his earlier verbal blunder.

"Well, how much would you like to hear about?"

You shrugged. "Anything, I guess. Got any cool stories from the front lines?"

The blonde man smiled, taking the chance to tentatively move closer, pulling over Serval's stool and taking a seat.

"Well..."

About ten minutes later, Serval had decided to spare her poor brother from any more awkwardness, completely sure that the workshop would be thick with silence due to his bashfulness and your nonchalance.

To her surprise, though, she heard muffled voices from within. Serval opened the door as carefully and quietly as she could, peeking her head in just enough to see a sight she never thought she'd see.

You were smiling, even laughing a bit, engaging in conversation about Gepard's duties and your own daily activities (even if there were little of those) from your place on the sill. Her brother seemed to be enjoying himself too, gesturing with his hands as he talked up his own underlings' achievements in battle.

The eldest Landau watched for only a moment longer before shutting the door softly.

"I should go get something to eat... give them a little space."

⊹ Jing Yuan

You liked to call your relationship to the General of the Luofu strictly professional at most.

To call it anything more, in your mind, would be disrespect of the highest order to the man who has defended the fleet for centuries.

Besides, you didn't know if you were exactly capable of anything beyond that. Even your limited friends agreed that you were just about as stoic as one could get.

You frequently heard of their debates with other workers within the Seat of Divine Foresight even as you worked—who was more difficult to approach, you or the General himself?

You scoffed to yourself whenever your so-called "friends" argued that you were, in fact, harder to speak to.

What's so wrong with being professional? If anything, you should be telling them off for gossiping in the workplace.

Still, you couldn't exactly argue with them.

Being the right-hand of the General was enough for you to learn his mannerisms even over a short time, though now, after serving at his side for several decades, you could confidently say he was far less intimidating than everyone made him out to be.

Not that you cared, of course. Strictly professional, you told yourself. His mannerisms had nothing to do with you unless they affected work.

Even with your indifference, though, the General was being... odd lately.

Jing Yuan let out an unabashed yawn as he slumped into his chair, tugging at his hair as he polished off the last of his paperwork.

For once, you thought to yourself with a huff of amusement, going through your own papers at an impressive speed. Read, approve or deny, sign, move on.

Considering he hadn't skimped on his own work, there was no real reason for you to be giving yourself early onset carpal tunnel as you typically did, but you figured it would be best to finish the work as soon as possible anyhow.

It meant less work tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that, for not only you but the other Luofu staff as well.

"...ey."

Your brain tuned out all other noise as you moved past yet another proposal, flicking to the next page of your increasingly shrinking stack.

"Lady Y/N. Hello?"

You ignored the growling within your stomach. After this is done, you thought to yourself, I'll treat myself to a meal at home.

"Lady Y/N."

You jumped nearly ten feet out of your seat at the low voice whispering in your ear, clapping a hand over the side of your head as red-hot mortification set in. You glanced to your side to spot the culprit—none other than your General, Jing Yuan.

Had he just whispered into your ear?! The feeling of his warm breath still lingered.

"General!" you shouted, taking a deep breath as you tried to reel back your attitude and present yourself with decorum, as always. "I am working on these proposals, so if you could please refrain from pulling pranks, it would be much appreciated."

Jing Yuan gave you a wry smile, raising his hands innocently.

"Is part of your job description not answering to me?" he asked unfeignedly, golden eyes twinkling. "I called your name about ten times."

"Well, yes, but..." You raised a brow a moment later. "Surely not ten. I heard my name a total of twice."

"So you were listening." You heaved a sigh. Ever stubborn, he was. "Does that mean you were consciously ignoring me? My, the gall, Lady Y/N."

"Not at all, General," you assured. "Only absorbed in my duties. Now, do you need something of me?"

Jing Yuan tapped his chin, settling into the seat next to you and stretching out. He didn't get too comfortable, though, you discerned. Was he planning to head out for the night?

"Well, yes, I suppose I do. I'm sure you'll only listen if it's a direct order from me, after all."

"Of course, General. I am at your beck and call." He chose to ignore the edge of sarcasm in your voice as you resumed your proposals, trying to finish as many as you could before he announced his task.

"Lady Y/N, I'd be delighted if you would join me for a meal. Anywhere of your choosing, and it will be my treat."

"Right, of course. It will be done, General," you mused half-heartedly, before your froze in your tracks, hand stilling midway through a signature. "...Wh—"

"Fantastic. Then I will await you at the door," Jing Yuan smiled again, and you felt yourself welling up with exasperation at the cockiness displayed in it. "Please don't keep me waiting too long, Lady Y/N. Those proposals can always wait one more day, but I am short on time myself."

You were about ready to protest, dropping your pen as you nearly rose to your feet. Your face was hot.

"General, I—!"

"You wouldn't think of backing out after agreeing so openly, would you?" the white-haired man teased, and then, after contemplating for a moment, he held out a hand. "In fact, why don't we depart right now? Just so I can be sure you won't get absorbed in doing more advance work."

He had completely trapped you. You furrowed your brow in disbelief, and then heaved a deep, long sigh. Finally, after leaving him to stand and await your decision for just a few moments longer, you took his hand.

"Very well. But General, if I may..."

"Of course, my dear."

You flushed again, but remained steadfast in your words.

"To make up for this trickery, please do not skip out on your paperwork again."

Jing Yuan's low, rumbly laughter caused you to look away, lest your feelings show on your face. He still did not let go of your hand.

"I suppose that is only fair. You have a deal, Lady Y/N."

⊹ Sampo Koski

You would be completely remiss to allow anyone to refer to you and Sampo as acquaintances, much less friends.

Although the two of you had grown up fairly close, he allowed you no clemency from his constant scams.

It turned into more of a game for him as time passed, though—your natural stoicism and good head on your shoulders didn't allow any of his jabs or tricks to pull through.

That was perhaps what kept him stuck like glue to your side all these years, though... The fact that you were the one person he couldn't quite swindle.

Not that he actually wanted to, anyhow.

As much as Sampo was a slimy businessman in the eyes of pretty much everyone, he didn't seek a profit from someone as close as you. Well, not unless he did you a favor first, of course, but that's basic reciprocation.

You, on the other hand, found yourself perplexed as of late.

Sure, you had known Sampo for practically your whole life, but getting close to someone or being close by birth didn't make you any less inclined to cut them off if they interfered with your life to a degree that you found to be annoying.

You enjoyed the predictable, the mundanity of your daily life working as a trainee doctor under Natasha. You didn't need anyone in your life who might throw a wrench into the ordinary you currently enjoyed.

So why was Sampo the exception?

It was a fairly typical, ordinary, boring evening when you walked into the clinic—12am sharp, just as Natasha had requested of you. You were frankly quite lucky that she didn't ask more of you, but you supposed she was already pushing her own ability to ask favors of you by requesting you watch the overnight patients while she rested.

You didn't mind, of course. You'd always been a bit of a night owl, especially with the somewhat perpetual darkness of the Underworld thanks to Belobog looming over top of you.

Not to mention, you and Sampo had always spent most of your time together in the evenings anyways, the nighttime routine well suited to both of your sleeping schedules.

You felt a twinge of annoyance shoot through you at the thought of the blue haired man, and quickly placed a hand to your forehead between bandage changings for the patient on the table.

There he was again. Sampo, Sampo, Sampo!

Though you could usually push him out of your mind without a second thought, it was beyond you why he was suddenly popping into your brain more nowadays.

Sometimes it was a mere, 'I wonder what Sampo is up to right now. Not more trouble, I hope.'

Sometimes it was something more bordering worry, and those passing thoughts irritated you the most. What did you care? If he got hurt, it would likely be justified in the wake of one of his scams.

You could rationalize those ideas with the notion of not wanting more work at the clinic should he get injured, but even that was weak. Sampo deigned to avoid Natasha for his own wounds, not wanting to burden the leader of Wildfire, likely more out of fear than actual selflessness.

Still, though—

"Heeeey, Y/N! Miss me?"

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

"What do you want, Koski?" Your tone was flat, not even sparing him a glance as you moved to your next patient. Changing bandages again, a simple routine that could hopefully keep your mind occupied this time.

"So cold..." You could hear the beginnings of a pout on his lips, finding yourself sighing irritably. "I came to see you, after all!"

Your hands paused for a moment, stilling. A minute tremble in his voice. You whipped your head around to focus your sharp eyes on him, and he winced back, his typical happy-go-lucky smile faltering.

"H-Hey, what's the matter? Helping Miss Nat out with some late night patients aga—"

"Show me," you ordered, finishing the bandage you were currently on and standing up, moving towards Sampo with your arms crossed. He backed up, hands raised in surrender.

"Whaddya mean, I'm— Ouch!"

The conman couldn't help the yelp he let out when his back made contact with the wall, wincing painfully as his wound hit the hard surface. You raised a brow, unimpressed.

"Shirt off, Sampo Koski. Now."

"Woah, woah, at least take me to dinner first!"

Your glare worsened into something stormy as you pointed at the chair nearby.

"Sit down, shirt off, now. Don't make me repeat myself again."

With the face of a wounded puppy, Sampo slunk over to the chair, doing as you asked. He hissed through his teeth as the cloth of his outerwear dragged against the wound, the layers giving way to a deep trio of gashes on the skin of his back. Even with all your medical training, you found yourself cringing at the sight.

"So, Doc, what's the prognosis?" the man laughed weakly, still trying with his jokes even through his pain.

When you remained quiet, his smile fell, and he turned to look at you. If it were anyone else, you might've mistaken that frown for concern.

"Y/N? You... okay?"

"Be quiet," you huffed out at last, grabbing your rolling table of medical supplies and bringing it around, pulling out a chair as you began to inspect the wounds. "What was it this time?"

"Ah, you know, same old, same old! Just some disgruntled robots, not too keen on letting me make a profit with their buddy's parts!"

"You're an idiot."

The usual Sampo would've shot back with some witty or flirty one-liner that was sure to earn him a smack over the head, but when he heard the slight tremble to your voice, he decided it'd be best to keep his mouth shut for now.

"This'll sting. Don't shout, or you'll wake the other patients."

He bit his lip, expecting a harsh serving of antiseptic, but your hands were... gentler this time. You tenderly cleaned the wound with a water-soaked cloth, and though it did sting a bit, it was far nicer than your usual tough treatments from the ire he earned getting injured all the time.

Soon after, he felt you gently patting the wound down with a soft towel, bandages following soon after that you reached around his torso to wrap around him.

Then, you reached for the pack of painkillers.

Sampo was quick to laugh nervously, pushing the pack away when you held it out to him along with a glass of water.

"Hey, hey! Thanks, Y/N, but I really shouldn't be using Miss Natasha's painkillers. Besides, with how sweetly and tenderly you just patched me up, I'm feeling better already!" he fake-swooned, clasping his hands together like a maiden in love to ham up his act.

You were far from impressed.

"You're a bad liar, Sampo Koski," you scoffed, shoving the water and pills past his defensive hands. "Take it. I can't convince you to stay here and actually rest for a change, so it's the least you can do."

When he still looked apprehensive, you swallowed your pride, lowering your gaze and averting your eyes as your face went just the tiniest bit pink.

"...For me."

Sampo honestly thought he misheard you for a moment, but he finally, hesitantly, took the medicine you offered. You led him over to the door, and he laughed breathlessly, finally giving you another smile as he shrugged his shirt and coat back on.

"All right, all right. I'll get out of your hair, and take these. Just for you."

The conman cackled and ran all the way down the alleyways as you shouted after him, fist raised. Once he had disappeared, though, you let it fall to your side, sighing again.

This time, there was a hint of fondness... but that was something else you would be remiss to admit to.

#honkai #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sampo koski #jing yuan #jingyuan #sampo #gepard #gepard landau #gepard x reader #sampo x reader #jing yuan x reader #jingyuan x reader

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lustlovehart · 2 months ago

Note

uhm uhm uhm maybe,, SOMETHINF angsty Y/n x Twst Character because I’m craving angst :33

prompt; Y/n adores [TWST Character], and [TC] ignores it. Ignores all of Y/n’a affections. As time passes Y/n slowly loses all of those feelings and then [TC] starts gaining feelings for Y/n. They know, they know it’s too late. But they need You, they can’t let go of you.

Characters?? ;; Riddle, Azul, Kalim OR one of them! I know ur suuper busy so I don’t wanna pressure you that much. It’s okay if you make the story short, I don’t care! I’m just happy you took the time to read this! Take caaareee 🫶🫶

—🐍anon (the first one to comment on ur recent post wink wink)

Jellyfish Flow to Tide, Never to Heart

A/n: I won’t lie, One of my favorite angst prompts has always been the “Noticed too late” plot device, the idea of what could’ve been had you seen it earlier is so heart-wrenching to me (ಡ‸ಡ) Also, thank you for the take care comments!! You guys are so sweet <3

Pairing: Azul Ashengrotto x Reader, Ft. Jade Leech

Warnings: Angst,You fall in love with someone else when he realizes his feelings, Jade’s a cuck, Jealousy, Attempted Kissing, Azuls very pathetic in this one, Spelling errors

You’re sat in front of Azul as he diligently counts this months expenses and gains. It looks mostly like complicated math, but… you’ve been looking into accounting in hopes of Azul looking at you the same way you do to him.

You were the first one to check up on Azul after his overblot, the twins a close second. Nonetheless, you were still first. You’re the one who attempts to genuinely talk to the real Azul, not the suave “benevolent” businessman he presents himself as.

Yet you’re attempts to pursue fall flat each time.

“Would you like to schedule a meeting? Is that why you’re here?” his cerulean eyes gaze over his glasses to take a glance at you, his eyes searching for a reason to your presence, thought he doesn’t find one, as you don’t have one.

Except to see him.

“I… I want…!”

“Pease make it quick Jellyfish, I have other attendants to meet.” Jellyfish, a name he assigned to you at the detail of your deamenour. Venomous, yet pretty to look at.

It makes you heart float like one.

But there’s not time for that. In your desperation, you make a choice you should never resort to, but in your defense, it’s what came to mind first.

“I…! I wanna make a contract with you…!”

The business man in him perks up at the suggestion, but falls back down to earth when he remembers you don’t have much to offer. But, there is one thing.

“My benevolence has left me besseeched, tell me what you want, and i’ll tell you my exchange.”

“Go on a da… hangout.” you quickly save yourself from a straightforward confession, only narrowly doging through the little piece of anxiety with fear.

“… That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

His cautious reply reminds you of when you first visited him in the infirmary. You were rooted to the side next to his bed, insistent on seeing him to the end of his treatment.

It was admittedly a pain to him, having you spout endless positivity his way, placing your hands on his skin to help ease any injuries he catered from his overblot. You touch was soft, gentle, a stark contrast to the dark ink that cradled him deep within. It’s unsettling how very out of touch you are to the group of students at Night Raven College.

When he awoke from his long sleep, the feeling of a warm palm enveloping his own made him quirk an eyebrow, his vision squinting to look down at your face nuzzled into his skin, only being strirred by the touch of a single finger flicking you awake.

“You’ll have to pay me a good fortune in order to use me as your pillow.”

“Too bad i’m broke.” you already know he’s gonna offer you to grace him with a different reward, but your expectations are proven false when he only sighs, sinking into the plush pillow under him.

He hasn’t let you go yet. His warm limb, typically adorned with a leather glove, is bare, naked possibly. Holding hands with him could even be scandalous. This sense of vulnerability made you wonder, just what is the true Azul like? You’ve seen a glimpse behind that counterfeit display of his, but not enough to truly gauge him.

“Azul, we should go out.”

“… How direct.” He thinks you’re joking. “We can do that when you wish to form another contract with me.” But you’re not.

“Aww, and I thought you’d change…” You weren’t kidding, but you play off of him as if you were. “Are you sure you’re as benevolent as you say?” The door behind you quietly creaks open, neither you nor the aquatic patient notice the sound.

“My, it’s rude to be mean to a recovering patient you know.”

“This recovering patient seems well enough to start scamming though huh?”

“Not scamming, just business.” Those four words, were the second moment that stirred your interest in Azul. It was then, you vowed to become closer to the man you hold hands with in that room.

You’re ready for whatever piece of skepticism he’ll trade you. He only pays you a sigh before snapping his fingers, the familar golden scroll coming into view.

“For 3 months, i’ll accompany you in these outings, providing for the funds necesary, though, with my benevloence, this deal can only be broken when you’re satisfied with my service. In return, I want the plant Crowley has been secretly cultivating within your dorm.”

“… Those…? Aren’t those used in love potions…? What do you need that for?”

“Someone’s been paying attention in class— kind of. It’s more so enamor rather than love.” His gloved hand airs the scroll forwards, the thin slip falling into place, your eyes scanning for any sign of vague wording. You may have a deeply festered infatuation for him, but that doesn’t mean you’re foolish enough to dive in without warning.

“Same thing. Still doesn’t answer why you need it.”

“We’ll save it, for a rainy day of course!”

You’re not sure if he means for himself, or for a client. Either way, you got what you wanted.

“Y’know… I know I asked to hangout, but I wasn’t expecting you to go all out…” your bottom awkwardly shifts on the cushioned chair beneath you, the leather squeaking at your movement.

“Nonsense, I only provide the best.” Yes, because the best, is the Mostro Lounge all empty.

It’s deserted, but you can see the effort he went through for it. The lights are dimmed, and the table you’re both sat at is covered with a pretty tablecloth, readily made food adorning the surface. Even the man on the other side of the table is dressed in a fancy suit, different from his typical cafe uniform.

You thought it was just gonna be talking about regular mundane things, not an expensive dinner for heavens sake. You feel so out of place inside, still adorning your loose fitting pajamas.

“The best…? I’m not sure, would’ve been the best if I dressed for the occasion…”

“Why? I want you to be comfortable, besides, you look quite nice all the time.” You don’t want his words to fluster you, yet you can’t stop the creeping warmth that invades your face at his statement.

“Then, I think you should change out of that suit and join me.” It’s his turn to track back, his eyes slightly widening before flaling back into their usual shape.

“That would be improper.” His hands stiffen when you reach out towards him, your warm palm now rubbing circles into his skin, slowly bringing the limb to your face.

“Than lets be improper together.”

In this moment, Azuls not sure feeling what rushes through his hearts. All he knows, is that it tightens in his chest so hard he might as well stop breathing. The logical part of him though shoves such a heart wrenching pain away, locking it deep down so its ugly head isn’t allowed to rear back at him.

It’s vulnerable, too close. He won’t fall for such a foolish trap. He won’t stuff himself into that octopot anymore.

“I don’t think we should.” Your soft hands are quick to let go of him, your body sinking into your chair at his words. He’s about to chase after the heat from your palms before remembering it was him who chased you away.

“You’re right, sorry…” He wishes he had worn his glasses, maybe then he wouldn’t see the way you look so hurt right across from him. It’s quick, but you seem to recover fast from his rejection, smiling as you clap your hands together. “I should get to know the real Azul before he allows himself to be so informal around me!”

“You jump back quickly don’t you…”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have stayed with you the entire time you were in the infirmary would I?” You’re right. He wasn’t exactly the most welcoming when receiving your attention, yet you stayed until he began softening up and finally letting you help tend to him. It reminds him of right now, even though he just bluntly shot your attempt of befriending him down, you’re still being so happy. Your smile falters for a moment, eyes looking down at him before speaking. “I wasn’t lying. I want to know the real Azul.”

He’s silent. Why would you want to know the him that’s… Just utterly pathetic….?

“I wish you good luck on your endeavors—”

“But, you don’t believe in luck.”

“Ah, so you remembered that?” He’s taken a back for a second time of the night.

“I told you I wanted to know you, it makes sense I would, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it does.”

“It does.” You parrot his words, as if they’re your favorite flavor and you’re attempting to savor the taste. Azul secretly wishes you would stop smiling already. It’s making his hearts hurt.

“You’ve made me curious Jellyfish, why do you want to know me so bad?” He watches as your expression contorts, first in shock, next in confusion, and finally in defeat.

“I… I’m not sure… Well maybe because…?” I liked you before you even overblotted? No way, too direct. “Ah! Because I just wanna!”

“… You’re much too broad in your answers,” he pours you a glass of sparkling water into your glass cup. “If you wish to know a method of elongating the truth, I happen to know quite a few.” Of course he does…

“Let me hear them then, Cephalo.”

“Ah, well if you ask so kindly I’m inclined to agree. “ he scoots his chair in as he instructs you through his ways of scam.

A few minutes pass before you take a chance at his lesson of spinning the truth, inhaling before speaking.

“I think this opportunity would be great so I can confess to the guy I like.”

“My and who could the mystery man be?”

… You didn’t think this far ahead.

But maybe, this could work in your favor.

“I like y—“

A loud clang is sounded on the table as a covered tray is practically slammed onto the wooden surface.

“Jade…! You…! If this table has a scratch on it I hope you realize that’s coming out of your next check…!”

“Ah, forgive me Azul, I seemed to have tripped” Did he really? That seemed way too hard to have been on accident… Jade resumes to his full height, his smile lacking the usually conniving it usually does when he looks at you before turning back to Azul. “You told me to intervene when the clock strikes midnight.”

You’re ready to reach for your phone to check the time, slyly being stopped by Jades gloved hand gripping you wrist, his free finger pointing towards the clock on the wall.

Has it really been that long already…?

“So it seems… Unfortunately, we’ll have to call this hangout off. I wish you a safe travel back—“

“There’s no need, I shall accompany them back home.”

…

You and Azul are both silent at the proposition.

“Uhm, I’m okay Jade. It’s late; you should probably go to sleep—“

“I insist.” It’s not like you wouldn’t enjoy company… You’re just, a bit afraid of Jade… You look back at Azul, his countenance not giving you any sort of hint on whether or not you should take his offer. Without realizing, your hand is slowly lifted up towards Jades face, his form slightly bowing as a promise is spoken on his lips. “Do not worry, I just wish to stand by your side.”

You have a gnawing suspicion those spoken words mean much more than he lets on.

It isn’t until you’re in the comfort of your bed you check your phone.

It’s 11:27 pm.

Why was the clock ahead of time?

The lights of your dorm shine bright on your skin, further displaying your beauty to Azuls eyes. Your soft breaths carefully enevlop the room, each one sounding like a music note.

His elbow props his head up from the pillow, your body never leaving his visage. He carefully allows his fingers to ghost of the skin of your arm, smiling when your eyes begin to flutter open.

“... You... Let me sleep...“ quiet laughs escape him when you turn over and lift the sheets to shield yourself from the man next to you.

“Only 5 minutes, we did plan this entire day, can’t let it go to waste right?” Your hand emerges from beneath the blanket, waving him off before retreating back into your cocoon. Azul sighs before letting his arms wrap around you, enveloping your body as he rests his head on yours. His voice is soft, sweet, like he’s attempting to coo you out of your protective layer and back into reality. “Would you prefer spending our entire day in bed? I don’t mind but that would mean we don’t get to go out to eat like we penned.”

He watches as you flip over the covers and practically fall off the mattress, his arms reflexively reaching out to catch you.

“Well come on! You’re a busy businessman it doesn’t do you any good to stay in bed!” His smile reaches his lips for once, not the typical cunning smile he trades when making deals, a true genuine smile of joy.

Wait, when did he become so enamored with you?

He’s frozen in place, only watching you get ready in a hurry, clothes flying in the air as they stray across your shared bedroom floor.

Shared?

“… Why are you gawking at me like that? Surely my husband has seen me get ready enough times to not be so entranced.” Your clothes are loosely fit to your body, not yet fully on your skin.

Husband?

“I don’t think so, it’ll have to be at least your last day on twisted wonderland before that happens. By then, I’ll be too focused on all of you.” You’re sat on the floor, watching him slowly walk over to you, his hand caging your cheek as he leans down into you.

Your lips are mere centimeters apart, your mouth slightly parted when soft lips ghost over your own.

“… Am I really that interesting to you?” Your words are hushed. If you weren’t in the comfort of your room, he would’ve never heard those syllables. Yet, that’s not the case, because it’s you two, only you two.

“You always have been.” He closes the distance, his eyes fluttering shut when he leans into the warmth of your lips, only stopping when a quick jolt of energy shoots up his spine.

He never got the chance to feel you.

…

Azul wakes up to the sight of his empty desk.

“Oh my, I was just about to wake you up from such a sweet dream.” Jade is stood in front of the table, his gloved hand placed over his heart. “You seemed to be calling so sweetly for [Name].” That smile of his makes Azuls eye twitch.

“Ignoring your brazen care for privacy, what do you need Jade?” His once unkempt appearance is back to its natural state, his glasses corrected and his hair no longer disheveled.

“Coincidentally, it’s about your dear dream lover.”

…

“What about them?”

“Has [Name] ever mentioned an Ideal Date?” This endearment makes Azul finally take notice of the bouquet of flowers Jade has hidden in his concealed hand. Coincidentally, both your favorite kind, and your favorite color. Since when did he have the knowledge to such info.

“… If they did, I wouldn’t tell you.” His reply doesn’t stir anything in Jade, and if it did, it certainly is concealed well enough to not peak through any part of him. That slick smile doesn’t leave the eels mouth, his head only tilting to signal any sign of disappointment.

“How unfortunate.” He takes a bow before turning heel, the bouquet now on full display to Azul. There’s a letter neatly wrapped to the floral, addressed to you.

My dear, Jellyfish.

…

Azul thinks it’s foolish. That name was made by him, so why is it coming from Jade too?

Eventually, your summons begin to happen less and less, no more outings for the two of you left to seize. Azul sits in his office, his chin places on his clasped hands as he stares at the door. Papers are no longer neatly piled like they used to be, only scattered around the desk with messed scribbles of what used to be Azul's neat handwriting.

He’s waiting. He’s been doing such a thing for a week, simply because, you’ve yet to summon him to your side.

You’ve yet to want him, like you did before.

He’s not sure why he’s so fixated on your attention. Before it was just for the business he required from you, each weekly date— no, you never did call it a date, neither did he… when exactly did he start calling it such an intimate occurrence?

Either way, this arrangement started as a way for you to build up courage for the one you wished to confess to, he started suave, distant, trying his best to embody the mystery man you wished to romance.

Then, at some point, he started filling in the empty placement he left for your suitor, with himself. Instead of trying to be anyone else, he gave you answers to your questions filled with his own character, his favorite foods, his favorite hobbies, his feelings, him, all him.

He gave you all of him, every fragment, every single piece of him he wouldn’t even trust himself with, just for a temporary arrangement. He was a fool, a stupid pathetic cepahlo, how could he just sell out all his cards for this…! It reminds him of his pathetic octo pot, the one he would crawl into in piques of shame.

He’s sure, he’d crawl into it right now had it followed him on land.

You… When he looks at the selfie you took on his phone, a pang sores through the blue blood in his veins. Not his hearts, never those, because you took all three of them when you left him.

He was a fool to not have noticed your affections earlier, had he done so, maybe he wouldn’t need to be locked up in his office, burying his head in his hands at the mere thought of you—

“I insist, it would be improper to let you freeze as I walk perfectly warm next to you.”

“I’m gonna regret this later aren’t I…”

Azuls quick to push himself off his desk, peeking through the crack of the door, his blue eyes spying an all to familar eel peer back at him, with one of the most fiendish smiles he’s ever seen on him.

Truthfully, there isn’t malice behind his smile, if anything, the smile on his lips is the courteous respectful one he always trades people. At the moment though, Azul’s current visage skews his expression, turning a respectful act into that of spite.

He’s ready to storm out and dump as much work as possible onto him, he’s preparing to do it before halting when he sees you again. You’re still just as beautiful as you were last week, and the week before. No, you must’ve started glowing more.

Just like a jellyfish.

“Jade are we gonna go? If you don’t want to anymore I can just walk alone.” your hands wraps around his arm, gently pulling him your direction. Enough for him to move, but not enough to force him your way.

“Yes, do not worry i’m coming—”

“Jade, there you are. I’ve been looking for you, our expenses for supplies have remained unaccounted for, that has always been your job has it not?” The frames of his glasses suffer from the glare of lunge lights, it works in his favor though, without it you would’ve noticed the sense of hurt in his eyes when he stares at you.

“Ah, that is unfortunate timing, I was meant to walk [Name] home—“

“Than it seems I should accompany them in your place, as you will be busy, very busy, correct?” Jades thin-lined smile doesn’t give much away for his current countenance, before he takes his leave, he turns towards you and bows, a gently farewell leaving his lips.

“Wait…! I should give you back your jacket shouldn’t I?”

He didn’t even notice you were garnering the eels wear. In fact, when did you start smelling like Jade? The soft smell of herbal tea Azul had rubbed off on you has basically dissipated off your body. It’s like, all traces of him have disappeared from you.

“It’s okay, keep it.”

Azul watches the way you open your mouth to retort Jade, knowing you, he’s sure you would’ve told him “and risk being in debt to you?” But then your lips close in on themselves and you tug the blazer ever so close to your warmth.

When did Jade become the center of your attention?

Azul beckons you out the door, his hand ready to lay itself on your waist like it once did in the past, but the limb restrains itself without him even commanding to do so.

The walk is silent, save for the footsteps of your shoes clanking against the flooring of their dorm. But, Azuls fine with it, as long as you don’t request for him to do the thing he’s been dreading for the past few weeks. He hopes, he prays you won’t do it. If you don’t, he’ll consider such a thing his lucky day.

But then again, when has Azul ever believed in something like luck?

“I’m satisfied with the deal we made. I’ll give you those flowers and… we can end this contract—”

“You’re ready to confess to your mystery love than? Forgive me, but I took to inspecting flowers. Has Crowley forgotten them? It seems they’re wilted… What poor unfortunate plants.”

“Wha…? When were you in my dorm Azul?”

“Floyd enjoys wandering into places that aren't his to be in.” Azuls fits his glove to his hand, the material stretching over his skin. It seems to you like an act of prim elegance, to him, it’s a subtle way of calming his aching, trembling nerves. “You should know by now the great deal of effort it takes to get him to listen...“

“Well even then, last time I checked they looked completely healthy!”

“And when was that?”

“… 4 days ago… In my defense they’re Crowleys responsibility not mine!”

“Yet there’s still some fault to be found in you…” He’s not wrong, unfortunately… You put them in as collateral for the contract yet you never took any effort to keep them in prim shape. You stop in your tracks, almost tripping over yourself. Your eyes watch Azul pull a box of tea bags out from his pocket, gently shaking the cube as the bags inside hit the interior. “When we get back, do we mind having the discussion over tea?”

You should be suspicious, but, after all the time spent with him, even if you no longer harbor the feeling you once did for him, you trust him.

“Fine, but this better not be some elaborate trick of yours!” He laughs to it, but provides no further comments.

“So, about the contract—“ you’re ready to lift the tea cups rim to your lips, the golden liquid shining with the light.

“Are you in love with Jade?” You sputter out the liquid that hadn’t even made its way into your mouth.

“Wha—? Nahh… Well…! Uhmm….” Your reaction is way too obvious. If you had a cliff anywhere near you, there’s no doubt you would’ve jumped off in pure embarrassment. “Love is… surely a strong word, let’s describe it as more like… A growing infatuation!” You bury your head in your hands after ruminating on that rewording. If anything, it’s sounds more intimate than love….

“I see. So then, were you imagining me as him?” You’re struck out of your embarrassment, looking back up at the dull blue of his irises.

“No. I never did.” You don’t see nor hear it, but the leather of his clothes crunches loudly with the increasing pressure of his fist, slowly tightening.

“Are you sure? This contract is coming to an end, you do not need to hide such details anymore—“

“On those dates,” the word date was already enough to make his posture straighten, the words you later speak only furthering this case.”I imagined you to be you.”

“… What do you mean?”

“I liked you back then, Azul.”

Azul is practically biting his cheek at this revelation, the inside of his mouth salivating with blue blood. You… You must be joking, it can’t no…

“Wh… When did you… you stop…?” He thinks he sounds pathetic. No… he must sound pathetic. His perfectly curated voice is beginning to crack as small slips of voice squeaks escape into his speech.

“When it seemed like you didn’t want anyone to see the real you.” That…! that was just because he didn’t want you finding the sad pitiful octomer behind this suave persona…! He wanted you to fall in love with the version he wanted to be! Not the forlorn octopus he truthfully is and always has been…! “I tried, I really did, to finally have you set free of that wall. I wanted… I wanted to fall in love with the man behind the business. But at some point, it’s like, there was no man, only business.” Your hands scoot over the table, one last time, the lovely feeling of your palms encaging his is felt.

For the last time…

Before you can speak your next sentence, Azul lets words that are far to late to tell you escape him.

“I love you.”

…

There’s silence only. You don’t reciprocate the words you longed to hear him say so far ago in the past.

“And I loved you, Azul.” The emphasize on the past tense practically threatens him to spill over on the table and eat himself limb from limb. The sorrowful yet happy smile from you is enough to stop him, but not enough to cease the thought.

He takes a deep breath in before smiling, his once stiff posture melting into the chair.

“Well then, we should finish this tea, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Oh…! You’re right.” The upward turn on your lips as you lift the cup reminds him of your dates. His head turns to the side to finally make a comment on the poor fully curated flowers on the windowsill, the ones that were offered up on your contract.

“They’re wilted, yet they still look pretty. Much more, they’re shaped like jellyfish, aren’t they, Jellyfish?” You wait for the pink liquid to travel down your throat before replying.

“They are. That reminds me, why wouldn’t you want them if they’re wilted?”

“In their natural state they provide the effect of admiration and gentle love with the first party they see,” you quaff the rest of the pink liquid into your stomach, the fruity aftertaste stuck in your mouth. “When wilted, the effect is… differnt”

“Huh, interesting.” You tug Jades overcoat closer into your body, his cologne invading your nose. You glance to the window just as Azul is, your eyes tracing over each plant. “Huh… There’s 9. There used to be 10…”

“How peculiar… Perhaps a ghost took it for a rainy day.” He’s not wrong, they have a tendency to steal snacks, so it’s entirely plausible.

“Yeah maybe.” Your phone rings, your fingers slipping the device out of your pocket as you glance at the notification. “Jade’s asking me if I want to go on his next mountain hike… Like, right now…”

“You should probably go then.” You didn’t realize it, but since when has your hand been intertwined with Azuls? But even then, why is this blazer the sweetest-smelling thing you’ve ever worn? “You have a growing infatuation.”

“You’re right… I should…”

You don’t know what it is, but your body feels light, hollow even. When you drag yourself up out the door, it’s as if your body is simply flowing through a tide.

“There you are [Name].” you look up the spot on the floor you were staring at, being met with the pretty sight of Jade in front of you. Yet despite it, you look back at Azul, waving a kind goodbye before setting foot.

You miss the look of fondness he trades you, and in turn, you miss the pure sorrow that tears into his eyes.

When the door shuts, Azuls left at the table, his head turning down into the wood as the smile he dealt you is no longer to be seen, the darkness seemingly surrounding him. Just like it did when he overblotted, except…

You won’t be there to comfort him, when he’s left in that wretched white bed,

All alone.

A/n: To be honest, I was so conflcited on who should be Azuls love rival in this fic. If I chose Riddle, It would make the fic have two of your requested characters, also Azuls one sides rivarly would’ve been delicious to write. On the other hand, Jamil who he consistently praises, stealing the one thing he genuinely wanted would’ve been good. Then I realized, Jade is right there. Azul doesn’t consider Jade above him, if anything they’re on equal footing, he just tends to take charge more. Which is exactly what confuddles him more, are Jade and him… basicallly not the same person? (they’re not similar, but Azuls just blinded with grief).

Also, This ended up being way longer than expected (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

#askves #🐍 anon #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst angst #twisted wonderland angst #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto angst #azul angst #azul ashengrotto x yuu #azul x yuu

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