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GOD OF DEVOTION

GOD OF DEVOTION

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WpMetadataReadOngoing1h 22m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Sep 29, 2024
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Fanfic
*This is a fanfic of characters from LOG series I don't claim to own them* "I BEGGED HIM TO STAY, BUT HE LEFT ANYWAY." Ariella Nash I loved him even before I knew what love was. I was like a moon revolving around his sun. But when he burned me, I saw the truth. I was nothing more than a fleeting moment in his life, a passing shadow. That day, my love for him turned to ashes. Now, I don't want him or his love. Remington Astor I didn't know what she meant to me until I lost her. I always pretended she was a nuisance, but deep down, I cherished the way she loved me. She looked at me as if I was her world, but now she avoids me like I'm a plague. I took her love for granted, and now she says she doesn't want it anymore. But I can't accept that. I'm willing to give her my everything, and I will beg for her forgiveness until she loves me back. "This might be a fanfic but you can read it as a new Wattpad book"
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#670
redemption
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A scent. A scar. A slow-burning fucking romance dressed as nostalgia. It started with a fruit. Not love, not sex - a goddamn strawberry. The kind that looks like it's been kissed by every shade of red your childhood never had. He didn't share it. Didn't speak of it. Just tasted it once, and carried the ache ever since. Years later, she walked in - smelling exactly like that forgotten sweetness. Not perfume. Not fantasy. Just... truth. Sharp, quiet, terrifying truth. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers remember me when you least want to. He lied to her face. About himself. About the million ways he'd already started unraveling. But she knew. Women like her always know. She stared at him like sin dressed in judgment - and touched his wrist like she already owned his pulse. And he? He was fucked. Because she wasn't just beautiful. She was red. That memory. That craving. And no matter how much he pretended to be in control - she was already in his bloodstream. This isn't a love story. It's a slow possession. By scent. By memory. By her. And it ends exactly how it starts - with him on his knees, and her smelling like fucking strawberries.

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