#(and sorry for not tagging people who want to be tagged)
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One thing I want to add for the writers out there is that, because I'm blind on the same side as my dominant hand, it changes the way that I shoot a gun/bow and arrow. Even though I'm right handed, if I shoot something like a shotgun or bow, then I need to use a left handed grip/position in order to aim, which made things a bit awkward and unnatural for me to learn. Even though I have never shot right handed with these types of weapons, I will still sometimes automatically pick it up in a right handed grip and have to realize my mistake when I go to aim.
I do, however, shoot right handed with handguns specifically, because I have the freedom to align it with my left eye!
Also, in case you were thinking it: no, I've been blind since birth, I did not shoot my eye out lol. And I'm also a great shot in spite of my depth perception. I'm always closing one eye!
writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.
#im gonna add extra stuff in the tags bcus i dont want to make this post 12 miles long#this post is a fascinating read because i was born blind in one eye#so its interesting to see what someone who wasnt blind before notices as being different#or what they strugle with#because i completely forgot that when i was a kid#going down stairs was a big deal to me#but like i knew it was not a big deal for others so like i quietly would resolve myself and just go#and since ive been blind since birth#i wonder if ive just bypassed the neck pain because my body developed alongside the way that i hold my head#but i never considered that would be a problem for others#sorry op but this particular human's neck actually is built for this lol#although something i am conscious of is that i hate walking next to people on my blind side#because i have to use so much brain power keeping track of where they are not just from glancing over at them but like#im listening to hear if they are farther or closer#bcus i dont want to keep looking over at them all the time#also i love when my friends make jokes about my eye/being blind ive never heard someone make a joke that actually felt hurtful/insulting#(im sure not everyone would feel that way especially if they werent blind since birth but like. its funnyyyyy.... make a jooooke....)
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Cardinal
Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).
Word count: 16.6k
Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.
Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!
Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.
If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.
THE LOOKOUT
With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. Itâs strangely soothing that maybe youâre not the first to stand here to do this.Â
Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight itâs violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible â it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadnât been as bright as it is.
Itâs like youâre looking at the edge of the world.
During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliffâs edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Something had crept in while you werenât looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that⌠something.
Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately itâs been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. Youâre exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.
Today you want it to be your last time here.Â
Youâve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined â all but romanticised â how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that itâs apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. Youâll be gone, but the thing will be too.
The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like itâs right, how itâs supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, andâ
âHey, stop!â
A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.
âFuck off!â you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how itâs amplified by the wind.Â
After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you canât even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your bodyâs baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where youâre standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor.Â
You almost miss the much softer, âHey,â as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you donât hear him, or see him â you simply pretend he isnât there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset.Â
But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.
âDonât fucking touch me,â you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling â weak.
âEasy.â He holds his hands up in surrender. âWasnât planning on it.â
You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you donât move, donât blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket heâs wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.
âYou knowââ he begins.
âIâm not really looking for a conversation.â
âMe neither,â he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, âso Iâll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the waterâs gonna be nice to you, youâve got that wrong. Youâll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isnât gonna do shit.â
Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth youâve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatterĂng your expectations with them sting, but you donât even know this guyâ
âAnd thereâs nothing fuckinâ peaceful about it, itâs just panic. Right before you go too farâŚâ He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, â...thereâs this burning right here thatâs hell.â
âAnd what makes you such an expert?â you finally spit out.
âDied like that a couple times,â he says without waiting a beat.
The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. ââA couple timesâ?â
âI, uhâŚâ You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, âLetâs just say I canât die.â
Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. âThat must fucking suck.â
He barks out a laugh, âGot that right.â It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. âBut trust me, being down there isnât much better.â
Thereâs something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You canât really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe itâs because youâre freezing and itâs your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe itâs simply because heâs a stranger and itâs so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.
âThings just feel soâŚ,â you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on whatâs closest to how you feel, âendless.â
To your relief, he doesnât say anything. Doesnât tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit youâve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you havenât encountered before.
Understanding.
It might be worse. If anything, itâs overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff.Â
The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. Itâs a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.
You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadnât taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.
âShit. Hey, you still with me?â The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. âJesus, youâre fucking freezing.â
âNo s-sh-hit,â you retort.
He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. âCâmon, let's get you warmed up.â
â â â â â
Logan.
Thatâs his name.Â
Itâs how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didnât want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here â here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Loganâs tail lights served as a lighthouse.
Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphletsâor pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.
Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadnât learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same.Â
Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like sheâs asked Logan twice now. Youâre handing her the glass when Logan says, âSheâs had enough.â
Your head whips from her to him. âExcuse me?â
He doesnât say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Loganâs is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like heâ Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You donât need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,
âQuit pitying me, Logan.â
âIâm not,â he says before taking another sip. âYou still have to drive.â
You quirk an eyebrow at him. âAnd you donât?â
Logan shrugs. âItâs different for me.â
Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, âWell, let me guess, itâs another case of âI died like that a couple timesâ?âÂ
He hums.
âAnd how does that work?â
âRegenerative ability,â he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, âX-Gene.âÂ
The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things â heâs a mutant. Youâre not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isnât like you couldnât have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what itâs like to... Thatâs why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different lightâ
âNow whoâs pitying who, hmm?â Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.
âIâm not, Iâm just⌠processing. So this...â you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, â...doesnât even affect you?â
âIt does. For a few seconds.â He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two⌠before going back to normal. âBut if I chugged the bottle, Iâd pass out.â
âWell, so would I,â you say with a chuckle. âSo maybe weâre not that different after all.â
Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because⌠it isnât true; youâre very different. Youâre pretty sure you donât have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like youâve overstayed your welcomeâburdened him.
âI should head home,â you say, standing again.
Lightning fast, Loganâs hand shoots out to close around your wrist. âThat really where youâre going?â
âYes,â you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesnât let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, âLet me go.â
âJust promise me something,â he says, eyes as dark as theyâd been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. âDonât go back there again.â
âNot making promises I canât keep,â you say, giving him a wry smile. âTo strangers, but least of all to myself.â
He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.
THE CRAVING
New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.
You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Loganâs words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. Itâs not a good way to deal with things, but it works.
Thereâs a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that⌠something inside you is busy trying to squash it.Â
Itâs getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much youâve already had to drink, but youâre buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, youâre tired⌠The truth is that youâre too old for this, but itâs easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.
The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend whatâs being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.
After some time â could be an hour, could be 10 minutes â you make your way to the bathroom. Itâs quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy.Â
When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.
Itâs a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you canât help but think heâs looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, âNeed something to take the edge off?âÂ
Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand.Â
âFirst timeâs on the house.â
You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.
A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.
âShe isnât interested, pal.âÂ
Itâs another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, thereâs a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the manâs shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you donât understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, andâ
âLogan?â you slur in disbelief.Â
Logan doesnât reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. Youâre stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. Itâs a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Loganâs grip loosens â another and he lets you go.
âHow did you even findââ You cut yourself off, eyes widening, âOh, my god, are you following me?â
Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. âOh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?â
âYouâre here, arenât you? You and your fuckingâŚ,â you gesture wildly into the air at him, âsavior complex.â
âI work here,â he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, âItâs temporary. âSides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isnât selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!â His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.
âMaybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,â you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.
Logan sighs. âWhere are you going?â
âIâm leaving.â
âAnd then what, huh?â
âI donât fucking know, Logan,â you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. âFigure out a new way out of this.â
âYeah? Third timeâs the charm?â
âWhy do you even care, huh? You donât even know me,â you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. âBut I guess that makes two of us.â
Itâs not like you expected him to, but he doesnât answer.
âYou know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes⌠everything.â You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. âIt takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until Iâm something Iâm not and until Iâm so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fuckingââ you pause with a wet gasp for air.
âDestroy yourself,â Logan finishes for you.
Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. âExactly.â
He takes a step closer to you. âLet me take you home,â he says, voice gentle.Â
You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you donât. In your drunk state of mind, itâs easier to admit itâs nice that someone understands, that someoneâs there to stop you from going too farâŚÂ
Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, youâll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldnât be standing here with him. If youâre lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that youâll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishmentâ
âWhat about your job?â you ask with a sniff.
Loganâs palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. âTheyâll manage without me.â
â â â â â
When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. Theyâre not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillowâs too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize youâre on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from youâ
âMorninâ, sunshine.â
The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air.Â
âWish I could say itâs a pleasure, but it hasnât been very pleasurable. Youâve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,â he adds with a whisper. âBut donât worry, she left about an hour ago.â
âWho are you?â you slur, blinking against the light.
âLogan.â He sighs when you frown. âI know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,â he gestures at his face thatâs covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situationââ
âCut it out, Wade,â comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.
âIâll let you two talk.â Wade winks.
Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.
âHow are you feeling?â Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.
You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. âLike shit.â
âYeah,â is all he says as he sits back down.
âWhatââ
âYou fell asleep in the car. Didnât know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.â
âOhâŚ,â you say, voice small.Â
You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Loganâs car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Loganâs fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.
âI have the weirdest memory of you having⌠a sword?â
You watch as Loganâs lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, âYou probably saw these.â He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!
âJesus fucking Christ,â you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didnât sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk.Â
Thereâs so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.
âItâs a story for another time,â Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until theyâre gone. âI gotta go check if I still have a job.â
The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.
ââS not your fault,â Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. âYou donât have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.â
âYeah, okay,â you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door.Â
He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.
THE PUZZLE
It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You donât have a name for it yet, or maybe youâre afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasnât all there was. That there is something beyond this.Â
Perhaps foreign wasnât the right way to describe it, because it is something youâve felt before â itâs just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldnât fall for it again, but you canât help it. The feelingâs too sweet, and the idea that thereâs still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you.Â
So yeah, maybe youâre just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps â quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured nowâs your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.
Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isnât anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you donât know if this is much better.Â
Just when youâre about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other thatâs caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. âShit, sorry.â He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.
âHi,â you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.
He nods in greeting. âBrings you here?â
It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; itâs not that heâs ever been any different in his interactions with you.
âI came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you knowâŚ,â you trail off, gesturing at the door.
âBarfing up the place!â comes a shout from inside the apartment.Â
Loganâs eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang.Â
âThat,â you finish sheepishly. âIâm really sorry.â
He nods in acknowledgement.
âI also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.â
Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.
âI want to quit drinking,â you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. âIt doesnât make me better, and when I donât do it I finally feel a little⌠normal. Maybe coffeeâs technically just as bad, but itâs the only thing thatâs currently acting like⌠like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like youâre the only person I know that might get that feeling ofââ
âI do,â Logan cuts in, voice softer than before â assuring. His arms drop from where theyâre crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. âLetâs go.â
â â â â â
You donât know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar â and you like the tall windows. The coffeeâs pretty decent.
âDid they fire you?â you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.
âBoss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,â Logan replies. âGot off with a warning.â
âIâm sorry.â
âSaid that already, and I accepted,â he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. âNo need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.â
You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.
âBut, um, Wade hasnât shut up about⌠the incident.â Thereâs a different tone to his voice, like heâs trying to lighten the mood. âHis words.â
âYou know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesnât shut up about a lot of things.â It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little.Â
âYouâre a quick study.â
Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. âI also stopped by because I wanted to, uh⌠because I realized I never really⌠I never⌠I never thanked you, for um⌠Andââ
With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. âYâdonâtââ
To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, âLogan, Iâm supposed to be deadââ
âSo am I,â he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, âIâve been where you are. Past it, even.â
You donât know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but itâs impossible to look away from him. Loganâs gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but itâs not from anger. Instead, itâs like heâs searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesnât bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,
âI had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you thatâs, franklyâŚ,â he makes a face as he pauses, âa horrible excuse for a coffee, helps⌠I can do that. I want to do that.â
The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. âWas it Wade?â
Logan lets out a chuckle, and itâs honest â fond. âYeah.â
âFigured,â you say. âHow did you meet him?â
Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. Itâs an innocent question, but maybe it isnât something heâd like to revisit right now. Loganâs mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeatâÂ
It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you metâŚ
Thereâs no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here.Â
Thereâs hesitation in it, like he isnât telling you the whole story, though you donât comment on it. He doesnât owe you anything and youâre too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.
âItâs a very brave thing the two of you did,â you say when heâs finished.
âHmm, it was all Wade,â Logan muses. âHe did it all for the people he cares about.â
âIâm sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.â
At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. âDo me a favor, donât put me on a pedestal.â
You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried youâve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.
âI gotta go but um, Wadeâs friendsâ,â he stops himself, correcting, âour friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap theyâre going to be watching but⌠itâs nice. Itâll be nice to be around good people.â Logan doesnât wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.
âWait, no, I invited you,â you protest. âI shouldââ
âYou can pay next time.âÂ
When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.
â â â â â
You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.
THE PANTRY
ââbut itâs the best one!â Wade protests, DVD in hand.
âThey fly a car into space, Wade,â Laura sighs.
âLaunched off a jet,â he corrects. Like it helps.
You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyoneâs babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.
It hadnât been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, youâd thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that youâd be relieved you hadnât canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadnât been as bad as you feared.Â
Thereâs Peter, Wadeâs friend. Ellie, another one of Wadeâs friends. Yukio, Ellieâs girlfriend. Laura, Loganâs daughter. Mary Puppins, Wadeâs small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wadeâs blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wadeâs ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasnât there.
Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were⌠unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, âgood for the group dynamic,â and it made you beam with pride.
âDonât they have like, rockets attached to the car?â Ellie questions, to which Yukioâs eyebrows knit together.
âExactly!â Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. âCitizen Kane wishes.â
Thereâs more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasnât in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.
Youâre pretty sure heâs the only one who knows what heâs even talking about.
An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesnât need to pause the movie before you go.
The apartmentâs small, so it isnât far to the kitchen, but itâs nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. Theyâre more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.
Right as youâre finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. Thereâs another sound, like a muffled groan. Itâs coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. Thereâs a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it youâre walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it openâ
Youâre not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasnât this. Loganâs sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how heâs trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.
Fuck.
Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. âItâs okay, youâre having a panic attack,â you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. âYou need to breathe. Iâll help you, just look at me.â
Loganâs head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.
âHey!â you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, âLook at me.âÂ
Loganâs eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees itâs you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where itâs buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.
âBreathe,â you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesnât catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Loganâs eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. âThere you go, good job. Keep going.â
You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.
âCame outta nowhere⌠suddenly I was back there⌠letting them down.â
âIt caught you off guard, it happensââ
âI let them get killed,â he says, voice raw. âThey were likeâ They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I⌠I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.â
Loganâs tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. Heâs talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but itâs more than that. Itâs shame, remorse, grief, survivorâs guilt, all wrapped into one.
Itâs the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.
âHowâ How can I ever atone for that?â he asks. âHow can I everââ
âLogan, you can't change your past,â you interrupt carefully. âYou made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them byâ byâŚstepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.â
âWhat if it wasnât enough?â
âWhat if it was?â you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, âYou did what they would have done. And now you⌠you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.â
Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal⌠until thereâs a loud explosion coming from the living room. Itâs followed by cheers and hollers, and youâre both suddenly reminded of where you are.Â
âCâmon,â you say, patting Loganâs knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. âBetter get back before we miss the good stuff.â
Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. âThink this was the good stuff.â
â â â â â
Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway.Â
It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wadeâs mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck youâre staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps⌠He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessaâs expression twist into recognition.Â
âNice to meet you,â she says, followed by an apologetic smile.Â
You respond in kind.Â
When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. âSee you around!â she throws over her shoulder.
A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, youâre not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.
THE MEETING
April flies by, rolls into May, and thingâs are⌠okay.
With some help, you find a therapist. Itâs good, sheâs good, but itâs difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself itâs all part of the process youâre going through.
Last week, after a particularly difficult session, youâd left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything youâd discussed â like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.
Youâd answered without saying a word.
âGot any plans?â Logan had asked on the other side of the line.
âNo,â youâd replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.
âAlâs making her meatballs â she and Wade canât agree on if theyâre famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, weâll order in.â
Youâd hummed, managing to ask, âWhat time?â
It had stayed quiet on the other end, and thatâs how youâd known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed itâwanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago.Â
âSounds to me like now might be good.â
âYeah,â you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. âYeah, Iâll be there soon.â Youâd released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination.Â
âLogan?â
âStill here.â
âThank you for calling.â
ââcourse. Get here soon, Iâll stay on the phone.â
The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartmentâs kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories â Altheaâs recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.
The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldnât be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day.Â
Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week.Â
âI thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,â heâd explained. âFigured I couldnât continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to⌠avoid my problems.â
You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so⌠official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You werenât good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other peopleâs problems...
But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasnât just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe⌠this was his way of telling you he needed some support.Â
Thatâs how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. Itâs as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters.Â
Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that thereâs a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front.Â
The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel⌠connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, itâs actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.
âBefore we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,â says the woman leading the meeting â youâre ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. âDoes anyone want to share something about that?â
It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand.Â
âLogan! Come on up!â She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.
The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.
âNot good at this stuff, so Iâm going to keep it brief,â he starts.Â
It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesnât expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.
âMy life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, itâs not all bad. Coming here has been good. Iâm starting to feel more like I did beforeââÂ
He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after.Â
âI have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. âCause I donât want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my⌠past shit.â He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, âThey show me so much kindness and understanding, that⌠that even though itâs fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I⌠have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.âÂ
You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.
âSo, thatâs what Iâm currently working on.â Logan sighs. âThatâs it. Thank you.â
A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.
Your palms hurt after.
â â â â â
âIt was really nice, what you said in there,â you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You havenât felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.
The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Loganâs when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didnât plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company â it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.
Logan scoffs in reply.Â
âIâm being serious,â you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. âIt was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. Iâm proud of you.â
You swear he blushes. âA guy like me, huh?â he asks, almost amused.
Itâs your turn to scoff. âYou know what I mean.âÂ
âA mutant?â He looks at you from the corner of his eye.
âNo,â you say, because itâs not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact heâs not entirely wrong make you track back. âWell, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.â
Logan doesnât shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. âThink you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.â
âMaybe next time.â
During the comfortable silence that follows, youâre reminded of something youâve been considering for weeks now. You hadnât paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.
âIâve been wondering something,â you begin. âThe night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?â
Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. âWhen I had just, um, gotten here, it wasnât always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that theyâre not that different.â
âYou went there on your side?â
He hums.
âBy yourself?â
He hums again.
âDid youâŚâ You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because youâre not sure if you have any right to ask and because youâve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.Â
âNo, no, no, I⌠I canât explain it, itâs just one of those places I was always drawn to,â Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. âThink it took me coming over here to find reason in it.â
Itâs a thought thatâs equal parts sad and lovely.Â
The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you canât place, but Logan doesnât look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You canât help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,
âIs mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?â
His eyes widen â amusement or surprise, you canât say. âIt can be.âÂ
âCan you do it?â
âNo,â he says. âAnd itâs for the best, fucking hurts when you canât control it.â Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. ââsides, I donât know if I would have a lot of⌠consideration for peopleâs boundaries.â
It makes you chuckle. âRight. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot â imagine reading Wadeâs mind.â
âHurts to even imagine,â Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, âThis your place?â
âWhaâ?â Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. âOh! Yes.â
âAll right,â he nods. âSee you next week?â
âDefinitely,â you reply.
âOh,â Logan says right before you turn around. âBring coffee? You owe me.â
You make a face at him. âYou donât have toâ Iâll get you something else, I know you donât like it.â
âI like it when I drink it with you.â
Itâs incredibly hard to hide your grin. âOkay, Iâll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.â
âSee you.âÂ
He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. Itâs not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.
THE SUMMER
Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. Itâs a warm feeling to know that youâll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.
Youâre invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.
Itâs not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you heâs proud of you.
Itâs way better than champagne.
â â â â â
Youâre in serious, desperate need of a new placeâŚÂ
The August heat is relentless, and the entire buildingâs AC isnât working. Itâs with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friendsâ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isnât with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, thereâs no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.
âNo.â Itâs a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. âHere, too?â
âIf it wasnât this fucking hot Iâd be offended by that greeting.â He sighs. âCome in.â
Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. Heâs in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room.Â
âTried everything, thereâs no fixing that fucking thing.â
Wade makes a face, âListen, I know what youâre thinking: Wadeâs in his underwear, Loganâs emerging from the bedroom⌠But we didnât fuck, itâs not that kind of stââ
âWho are you talking to?â you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.
âNo oneâYou!â The door closes with a bang.
Confused, you walk further into the apartment. âWell, telling me you didnât is just going to make me think that you did.â Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.
Wade suddenly turns to face you. âDid I ever tell you about our time in The Void?â
âWade,â Logan warns.
Wadeâs eyes are sparkling with mischief and you canât deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Loganâs buttons. Itâs a good distraction from how youâre drenched in sweat. And youâre actually curious.
You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. âDid you..?â
âOh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.â He grins. âWeâre so alike.â
âShut up. Both of you.â Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. âItâs too fucking hot to be annoyed.â
It isnât lost on you he doesnât deny a thing.
â â â â â
Apartments look weird with nothing in them.
Itâs what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. Itâs a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.
âIncoming!â comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.
You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked âKitchenâ down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, thatâs also the kind of energy youâre bringing to this.
Itâs nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You donât get long, however, because more help has just arrived.
Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.
It draws everyoneâs eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.
âAll right, all right,â he says. âStop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!â
â â â â â
âSo it was like an experiment?â you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.
Tonightâs your first night hosting at your new place â Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare.Â
Once he had arrived, it hadnât taken long for him to admit he wasnât much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You donât remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.
âThey needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,â he explains. âI was in a dark place. Figured I didnât have anything to lose if it didnât work.â
You nod in understanding. âDo you⌠remember much about it?â You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.Â
Loganâs knife stops hitting the cutting board. âYeah, I⌠I remember every second of it.â
You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what youâd want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Loganâs head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you couldâve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.Â
âBut Iâm trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.â As soon as heâs said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, âHere in this timeline, I mean.âÂ
You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. âThat sounds like a great idea.â
â â â â â
âI need your help with something,â you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you donât like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.
âJust say the word,â comes Loganâs reply from the other end.
âI need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.â Thereâs a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.
âAm gonna need you to say a little more than just that.â
You laugh, âWadeâs been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fuââ
âYes, I know the one,â he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, âConsider it done.â
THE PARTY
âThere you are!â Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartmentâs crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.
âI got you something,â you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.
âWouldnât have let you in if you hadnât,â he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. âIs it a cock ring?â
You canât help but laugh at that. âUnfortunately, they were all sold out.â
âThey always are,â he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. âWell, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.â
âLogan helped me kidnap it,â you explain, pointing at the picture. âAnd the little red hearts on the frame, well, theyâre your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.â
When he looks at you after, itâs with genuine emotion⌠but Wade is Wade. âNever thought Iâd say this, but Iâm kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.â
A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. âThank you.â
âWe should take a new one,â he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. âYou both should be in it.â His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. âBut letâs be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldnât even fit in the frame, much less his bulââ
âStop talking about my dick, Wade,â Logan snaps.
âI was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitiveâŚâ Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.
âDid he like it?â Logan asks, voice low.
âYeah,â you smile.
âGood,â he replies. âWas a nice idea.â
You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. âWhat did you get him?â
The corner of Loganâs mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.
âItâs an inside joke,â Logan shrugs.
Wadeâs eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesnât elaborate, only adds, âItâs classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.âÂ
âAnd I have top level clearance, lieutenant,â you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates youâve gotten the reference. âWhat, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?â
âNo,â he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, âbut that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.â
â â â â â
The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay sheâs doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips.Â
While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration heâs almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.
It hits you how you havenât thought about this in a while. Youâd decided long ago that the future wasnât something you had to worry about, but suddenly youâve arrived, like youâre in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time youâre getting back with the life you now have.
For a while now, youâve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isnât much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that thereâs room for something else.
Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know itâs been far from easy for them. You suppose thatâs what itâs like, especially as you get older. Itâs less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet momentsâ
âDo you dance?â
You startle, head turning towards the voice next to youâÂ
âLogan,â you breathe.Â
Itâs like youâre seeing him for the very first time. Heâs standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt heâs wearing isnât even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. Heâs grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but thereâs a hint of green between the hazel.
It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything thatâs been happening, that youâve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldnât put your finger on⌠it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.
You like him.
All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. âI mean, not that Iâ You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, itâs a reference toââ Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, âAre you okay?â
You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that youâre afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. âYeah,â you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.Â
Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what itâs puzzled together at such a sickening pace that thereâs an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this beforeâ
âI gotta go,â you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.
Loganâs eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. âWaitââ
âBye, Logan.â
THE TABLE
Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.
Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, itâs laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. Itâs not like you donât know what Loganâs like; heâs kind, funny, supportiveâŚ
âŚbroad, handsome.
Shit.
Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Loganâs your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. Itâs ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.
But he might.
Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.
But it would change everythâÂ
Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, youâve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are yourâŚÂ
friends.Â
You didnât say goodbye to Wade.
The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didnât even say goodbye to him before you left. Youâre a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, thereâs a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where youâre seated.
âAre you in there?â a muffled voice calls out.
Itâs Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.
The first thing you notice when you open it is that heâs dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. Thereâs a deep furrow in his brow, and itâs different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.
âLogan, is everythingââ you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.Â
âJesus, here you are. Whyâd you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didnât see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you werenât in the water, thank fuckââ
âWait, you wentââ you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. âDid you think..?â
âYeah,â he sighs, shoulders slumping.
âShit.â Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. âNo, I wasnât⌠I donât want that anymore.â
âThen what the fuck was that all about?â
The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. âI was just⌠I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,â you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.
âYou⌠like Wade?â Logan asks, his frown deepening.
You canât help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. âNo. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. Heâs with Vanessa.â
The answer does nothing to change his expression. âAnd you want it to be different?â
His line of questioning confuses you. âIâ No. Logan, this isnât about Wade or Vanessa, but itâs about⌠what they have. Something thatâs real, but imperfect, and thatâs what actually makes it perfect, and I just⌠I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didnât give myself time to even think about⌠I havenât felt myself wanting for so long,â your gaze flicks up to his. âSeeing them just made me realize thereâs so much left that I still want.âÂ
Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. Thereâs no doubt he finds his answer; youâre ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.Â
Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. Itâs eager, and the angle is off, but itâs quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.Â
Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, âBeen⌠thinking about doing that.â
âReally?â you say, breathless and amused. âWhen did you, um, start wanting to do that?â
âFew weeks agoâFuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,â he admits. âBut I wanted to give you time, space. Wasnât sure if you feltââ
âI do. Didnât realize it before, but I fucking do,â you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.
Loganâs hand on your waist holds you off. âI just donât know how to⌠how to be this,â he confesses softly.
âThatâs okay,â you say, your nose brushing against his. âI donât either.â
He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, âWouldnât be the first time we figure it out together, huh?â
The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Loganâs hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him.Â
His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before youâre scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Loganâs while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.
Loganâs sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you canât help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own.Â
âYouâre so good to me,â he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. âAlways so fucking good to me.â
It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, heâs the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Loganâs flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit.Â
âThis okay?â Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.
âYeah, itâs justâ Oh, god.â Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. âBeen a while,â you manage to finish your sentence.
âIâll make it good for you,â he promises. âYou want that?â
All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. Itâs paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Loganâs nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down.Â
The feeling of Loganâs hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isnât tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.
âOh, that feels really good,â you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine.Â
Loganâs eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where youâre dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.
The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life.Â
Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. âLet me give you something to come on,â he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.
âOh, fuck, fuck, fuckââ Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Loganâs off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. Heâs too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, andâŚ
âLogan,â you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.Â
Itâs so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Loganâs tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt.Â
Heâs a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesnât leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.
âHowâs that?â Logan dares to ask.
âHmm, no speaking yet,â you protest.
Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. Itâs slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.Â
With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.
âFeels nice,â he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, âAre you gonna let me fuck you?â
âGod, yeah,â you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. âWant you inside of me.â
âJesusâThen get it out,â he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.Â
If you werenât so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.
He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.
âFâfuck,â Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin.Â
It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. âHowâs that?â you echo with a teasing lilt.
He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, ââS good, sweetheart.â
The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.
âCâmere,â Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.
Youâre so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.
âJust like that,â you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. âKeep going just like that.â
He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Loganâs hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that youâre practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.
âFuck, itâs a lot,â you say, and when he grins against your mouth you canât help but kiss him again â just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and itâs a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over. Â
âCan stay like this a little longer if you want,â he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.
âHmm, no, you can move.â Youâve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didnât feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. âJust donât break my table.â
The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you canât say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skinâ
With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. Itâs a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesnât miss a beat as he continues fucking you.Â
âJesus, Logan,â you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.
With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.
The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, âItâs so deep like this, canâoh, my godâcan feel you everywhere.âÂ
Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. Thereâs a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesnât quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow heâs still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple.Â
You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, itâs not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall.Â
Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies.Â
âTouch yourself,â he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where youâre joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. âThatâs it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.â
You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Loganâs finding with every thrust. âYeah, fuck, IâmâDonât stop, donât stop, pleaseââ
Heâs coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. Itâs so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where youâre gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.Â
The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Loganâs shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.
It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like youâre made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.Â
Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Loganâs hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell heâs already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly thatâs making you pant, and...
Itâll be a long night.
THE PEARL
It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasnât that he didnât trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasnât a Christmas movie â mandatory for December. Wadeâs right, but after you explained that itâs the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) heâd agreed.Â
Now that youâre actually watching it, you suspect heâs genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, heâs been quiet for longer than youâve ever heard him be quiet.
In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffaloâs character Dan and Keira Knightleyâs character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.
â...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these⌠these beautiful, effervescent pearls,â Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. âI gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just⌠becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.â
The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.
âMore string than pearls?â Gretta inquires with a frown.
âYeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.â Thereâs a pause as he turns to look at her, âThis moment is a pearl, Gretta.â
She gives him a hint of a smile. âIt sort of is, isn't it?â
âAll this has been a pearl,â he admits, sharing a look with her.
A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Loganâs. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.
It takes a lot of string indeed.
Sometimes even interdimensional string.
â â â â â
(THE END)
If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.
And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help đŤ
#dani writing#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x you#james logan howlett x reader#worst wolverine x reader#logan x reader#x men x reader#worst wolverine#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine smut
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aventurine, sunday, and any others when reader pretends to not remember them after a bad injury heheâŚ[angst with fluff at the end] i love giving my poor babies heart attacks mwahaha
anyways love u and ur writings btw k byeee drink water ok byeee đâ¨
âI'm sorry, but who are you?â
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Fluff, Light Humor Angst to Fluff, Established Relationship, Memory Loss, Reassurance.
Warnings: Emotional distress (brief moments of fear and confusion).
A/N: thanks for reminder, anon! đŞđŽâđ¨I really need to drink some water
Aventurine's eyes widened, his usual playful smirk faltering as you looked at him, confusion clouding your gaze. He reached out, as though instinctively wanting to close the distance between you, but he hesitated. Your words cut through the air, soft and fragile.
"You⌠you are⌠who exactly?"
The words stung more than he expected. His heart raced in his chest as he observed the faint, distant look in your eyes. He had always been in control of the game, masterful in reading people, but this? This was a blow to his carefully constructed facade.
"You donât remember me?" His voice was softer now, the bravado slipping as his pulse quickened.
You shook your head, an empty feeling creeping into your chest. "I donât think so. Sorry⌠am I supposed to?"
Aventurine's smile faltered, and for a moment, you saw something raw beneath his cool exterior. Pain. Fear. He stepped back slightly, trying to hide the cracks forming in his walls.
"I suppose Iâve miscalculatedâŚ" he muttered to himself, voice barely audible.
But then, you reached out and touched his arm gently.
"Iâ"
Aventurine looked at you, his breath catching in his throat as you softly smiled. "I do remember you, though. Maybe I was just⌠testing you?"
The game was on again, but this time, it was different. He chuckled, a soft, relieved sound that made the weight of his worries lift just a little.
"You're dangerous, you know that?" he said, his voice returning to its usual lighthearted tone, though there was an underlying tenderness now.
You smiled. "I think Iâll keep you on your toes."
And with that, the shadows of doubt lifted, replaced by the warmth of your presenceâone he could no longer imagine being without.
Sunday stood there, his eyes darkened with a mix of concern and confusion, staring at you as if you were a stranger. His fingers twitched slightly, an impulse to reach out, to make sure you were real, that you hadnât slipped into some other world.
"You⌠you donât recognize me?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, fragile under the weight of his own disbelief.
You blinked at him, the blank look in your eyes unnerving him more than he cared to admit. "Iâm sorry⌠I donât think I do. Are we⌠close?"
The air between you seemed to freeze, thick with unspoken emotions. His mind was racingâhow could you forget him, forget everything you had shared? The kindness, the warmth, the bond heâd built so carefully with you...
"I see," Sunday murmured, his gaze softening with a hint of sadness. "I suppose itâs a part of the dream, isn't it? To forget⌠to lose everything."
You could see the strain in his expression, the hope fading from his eyes. "Sunday, I⌠I didnât mean to forget you."
You reached for him, your hand trembling as you touched his sleeve. The contact seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, and his breath caught.
A moment of stillness.
Then Sunday smiled faintly, the sadness still lingering. "I suppose weâll just have to make you remember, won't we?" His voice was gentle, though you could hear the underlying fear in it.
You smiled, this time with a reassurance he needed. "I think I already do."
A sigh escaped him, a soft, grateful breath as he pulled you into his arms.
"Don't ever scare me like that again." he murmured into your hair, holding you close.
Ratioâs usual air of unshakable confidence was nowhere to be seen. He stood before you, his eyes wide with confusion and an almost frantic edge to his movements.
"Youâdonât remember me?" he repeated, his voice betraying a crack he hadnât expected.
You stared at him, trying to piece together the fragments of the world around you, the details of his appearance leaving you more unsettled than anything. "I⌠Iâm sorry, I donât think I know you."
His frown deepened, his expression unreadable but filled with something you couldn't quite placeâwas it hurt? Disbelief?
"I see. This is⌠unfortunate," he said, voice smooth yet tinged with something that didnât fit. He folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing slightly. "I expected better from your memory."
You looked at him more closely, sensing a vulnerability underneath the sharpness of his demeanor. He was, despite his intellectual brilliance, losing himself in this.
You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, your hand reaching for his, gently catching his wrist. "Iâm sorry⌠but Iâm sure weâve met before. I justâ"
He paused, his sharp breath catching in his throat as he looked down at your hand on his. For a brief moment, his composure cracked, and you could see the raw emotion behind his usually controlled facade.
"Don't do this to me," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the weight of the situation was too much to bear. "You must remember."
You smiled softly, understanding now. "I remember. Youâre the one who always insists on teaching me things."
His gaze softened instantly, a relieved exhale leaving him. "Good."
Ratioâs usual brilliance returned, but this time, there was something gentler about him. "Perhaps next time, try not to lose your memory so easily."
And though his words were sharp, his hand reached out to take yours, a reassurance that you were not lost to him.
Me lmaoo
#honkai star rail#hsr#x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#hsr aventurine#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#hsr aventurine x reader#sunday hsr#sunday x reader#sunday sunday sunday#hsr sunday#ratio honkai star rail#hsr dr ratio#hsr ratio#ratio x reader#dr ratio#hurt/comfort#fluff and angst#angst with a happy ending#emotional hurt/comfort#light humor#established relationship#memory loss#reassurance#emotional distress
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OP, I hope this is okay to add - I recently spoke in depth about the topic of AUs where Anya keeps the baby here... more specifically ONE AU where the artist tried to be respectful and realistic.
What I do want to say here is a few things:
We have no idea how Anya really felt about the baby and keeping it. We can infer, but there's little to no evidence or dialogue we get to have about her feelings about this child, though we can use context clues to infer. This is not me defending these AUs inherently, or thinking they're good. I am just trying to gently point out that there were potentially more than just the one reason she ended her life. We don't get her POV or thoughts or feelings thanks to Curly and mainly Jimmy's POVs being the forefront focuses.
This is really important, far more important for me to say because with the current climate surrounding women's rights when it comes to abortions and the real reality of being a victim of SA and experiencing pregnancy as a result... I am begging people to please watch what they say about the topic of Anya keeping the baby period. The reality is: rape victims more often than not, for multiple reasons, DO keep their babies. This doesn't make them or their children bad people. I am speaking from personal experiences and after having spoken to beloved, long term friends who kept their babies after their assaults. I implore a LOT of you to rethink how you've responded to AUs like the one I specifically linked about because the shit you say does have a real impact. You can't say you're speaking for victims or defending victims if you show disdain and disgust about a very real reality for many people IRL. You can't be prochoice and then show disgust when a parent keeps their child.
I do agree with everything else you have said and do not really condone the treatment of Anya in the fandom or just generally speaking. I do believe people lack nuance in many areas when it comes to this game, especially with what I said here.
I genuinely think Mouthwashing fandom is a good example on how real life misogyny is very wired on people brains and influenced how they engage with fictional misogyny.
You have a story about a woman being assaulted and telling a man he trusted but being dismissed because he is friends with the attacker, and people fixate on shipping her with either of those me.
You have a story about how men that downplay their male friends violence, assume neutrality is the safer option, unintentionally help create an environment that's unsafe to vulnerable people, at a risk becoming a victim themselves. And people make it about toxic yaoi.
You have a character kill herself because she didn't want birth the child of her abuser. And people make AUs where she happily keep the baby.
Misogyny isn't just "I hate this women", it's also downplaying their trauma, defending those who caused it, and reducing them to mothers or wives against their wished under this idea of what womanhood is about.
I don't think we can separate fandom misogyny from it's real world influence, not yet.
#i said i was going to stop engaging with this topic but this felt really important for me to say#and before some of you weird niggas try to cut me down insult me or accuse me of shit#i am a rape victim first and foremost#and i am quite literally not defending certain aus that flat out miss the point of anya potentially keeping the baby and make it like#cutesy or fun or whatever#sorry this is long and im sorry for bringing this up again guys#mouthwashing#rape tw#ask to tag#misogyny tw#also to be clear: i do not ship anya x anyone lmfao. especially not with jimmy#imo i don't necessarily agree with the idea that she'd keep the baby#but i respect the above artist for wanting to explore the topic which they literally explained in the replies#to people wishing death on them and insulting them.#and i respect victims who have given their slice and contributions to the conversation about this topic period#esp the one whom i sc'd in my og post#long post#op pleaseeeee understand i don't want to fight with you or anyone. i hope this is coherent and makes some semblance of sense#lastly: please please READ what i am SAYING guys and look back at my previous post. i am disinterested in fighting anyone over this either#however if i misremembered things or misspoke let me know
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*đđŤđ đđ¤đŠ đđ¤đŞ*
Pairing: Changbin x Reader (Fem)
Genre: Angst (Happy ending of course)
Warnings: Abusive father! Violence, Blood, Alcohol, Sick mother, Lots of cursing. Father is a real piece of shit and puts hands on reader multiple times. Sorry for any mistakes or missing tags.
Just for another warning because I think itâs important. This has content that could trigger some people. Please please read the warnings. If any of them make you uncomfortable please donât read. Also a reminder. Youâre not alone. No one ever should be laying their hands on you. I love you. Youâre loved. You donât ever deserve anything like this.
Find The Request Here
-đ¤
Changbin wrapped his arms around you pulling you close to him. He kissed your neck tenderly nuzzling himself into your neck. You both were snuggled up on the couch watching a show. âMy angelâ he said softly before softly kissing your neck once more. When you were with him it felt like nothing else mattered like the world was alright. Your moment of happiness was short lived though seeing your phone buzzing. It was your father. Just seeing his name flash on your phone made you anxious.
After your mother had passed away your dad became an even bigger monster. He was always a good for nothing, But now not working as much as he did he stayed home drinking. Your mother had told you before the only reason she had stayed with him was because she didnât have anywhere else to go. Her family was from another country, she didnât have much money or friends. She was such a brave woman though. You donât know how she dealt with him so long but I guess him never really being home helped. He had gotten fired from his big job because of his drinking and anger problems. Going to work one day hungover and punching a coworker so hard it broke his nose. He had to pay a hefty fine for that. Now he has a slow job where he only works a few days.
One of your earliest memories of him being his asshole self was him telling you how he hated that you were a girl. He hated that in his words âthat useless bitch couldnât even give me a boy.â He wanted a son so badly and he made sure you knew that. He never really bonded with you however heâd be damned if you didnât respect his authority. The first time he ever laid hands on you, you were 9. You accidentally knocked over a table braking the lamp that was placed on it. He grabbed you by the wrist smacking you across the face. âYou stupid fucking brat! Look what you did, youâre just like your fucking mother!â He spat pushing you away from him.
After that day it just kept going. Having to wear long sleeves at school to hide the bruises. At one point you had to stay home for almost a week. You had stepped in front of him to protect your mom when he hit you square in the face busting your lip. It stayed swollen and bruised for a while. Tooth slightly cracked from the incident.
You wanted so badly to tell someone. Confide in a teacher anything. You were scared to though. Scared theyâd blame your mom, put her in jail and take you away. So you endured it. As your mom started to get sick he turned more of his attacks on you. Although a complete peace of shit he wasnât stupid. He knew if he did anything to her the doctors would see it.
After she had passed you kept yourself from the house as best as you could. Not going home as much as you possibly could. You got a job at a cafe down the road and thatâs how you met changbin. He was a regular who once you started talking admitted to only coming so much to see you.
You kept your home life a secret to him as much as you could but one day you were getting intimate you forgot about the bruises. When he had lifted your shirt his smile dropped. He looked at you with wide eyes âwhat the fuck? Who did this to you?â He said clenching his jaw. All you could do was sob he held you in his arms rubbing your back. âIâm sorry for raising my voice I just- y/n please- what happened?â He asked.
Through your sobs you told him, you unloaded everything in a word vomit of sadness. He would and wanted to go find your father. To beat him senseless, to show him how it feels but he knew you needed him more. He held you so tightly, feeling his own heart breaking from your words. Knowing a family member could do this to someone they were supposed to protect. To love and cherish just broke him. He was such a family oriented person and now he realized why you never wanted him to meet him. Never talked about him. He asked why you couldnât just leave explaining to him how your mother wasnât from here, how you had no family and no one else to rely on.
âShit- itâs my dadâ you said frantically picking the phone up.
âWhere the fuck are you? He spat.
âIâm- Iâm just at a friendâs houseâ you stuttered.
He laughed âsure, youâre probably slutting around. Get your fucking ass home.â
He hung up leaving you shaking. âI gotta go.â You said picking your keys up.
âY/n you donât have toâ Changbin said with pleading eyes.
âIâm sorry.â You said before heading to the door.
Your brain wondered what was going on. Why he needed you home. As you pulled up coming through the door you saw him slumped in his usual chair. âAbout fucking timeâ he hissed. âDo something useful and go get me some more beerâ he demanded.
You stood there almost dumb founded. Before he hissed again âdonât make me say it again!â
You nodded heading down to the store and getting it for him. When you got home again you sat the beer beside him. He gave you a smirk âglad you know how to listenâ he chuckled. Your nose twitched at his smell, you hated being close to him. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes and B.O. always radiated off of him. He motioned for you to leave and you did slinking back to your room to text changbin.
Him: Y/n! Text me back! Iâm worried!
You: Iâm fine. He just wanted beer
Him: I swear Iâll end him one of these days
You: Iâm gonna go to bed ok? Iâll see you in the morning! Love you!
Him: Love you to beautiful. Text me when you wake upđ¤
You fell asleep shortly after always finding peace in sleep. The next few days were the same old. Going to Changbins after work going home late when you knew heâd be passed out. Today though. You had to run home for your wallet. When you walked through the door your dad was in the kitchen. You took one look around and realized something had to have happened. Things were thrown around. Smashed. Your body froze before you could go to walk back out he saw you.
âWhere do you think youâre fucking going!â He yelled. He made a bee line toward you.
âIâm- Iâm picking up another shift at work I just came home to grab something.â You lied.
âBull fucking shit!â He spat.
He grabbed you by your throat lifting you up against the wall. His eyes were dark, knuckles bloody from punching the wall. âI get fucking fired from my god damn job only to come home to see you running back out? For what huh? To go fucking whore around some more?â He said. âNo! Thereâs gonna be some fucking changes!â He screamed.
He dropped you to the floor before grabbing you by your wrist dragging you to the kitchen. âYouâre gonna get another fucking job, youâre gonna start paying the other bills!â He spat. âYou got it!â
When you didnât answer right away he slapped more like punched you across the face. âAnswer me bitch!â He said gritting his teeth. All you could do was nod scared for your life. You felt a warmth running down, your nose was bleeding.
âYouâre fucking pathetic you know that, just like your fucking mother! That bitch. That bitch fucking deserved what she got! Iâm glad sheâs fucking dead!â He spat. Something had come over you at that point. You shoved back making him stumble backwards. You made a dash to the door luckily in his drunken stupor he stumbled getting back up. You ran. Not even bothering getting in your car afraid it take to long.
So you ran. You ran as fast as you could until you couldnât anymore. You hid yourself in the bushes at the park panting. Trying to catch your breath as you fumbled to call changbin. âHey angelâ he said happily but when he heard you breathing heavy his heart sank. âY/n whatâs wrong? Are you ok?â He asked.
âIâm- Iâm at the- park down- down the road- pleaseâ you stuttered out.
âStay there Iâm just down the road!â He said before grabbing his keys speeding to you.
He gripped the steering wheel afraid for what had happened. âAngel? Iâm here!â He yelled out.
You peaked your head out, when he got a good look at you anger filled his body. âThat mother fuckerâ he snarled. There was no time to be angry right now though. You needed him. So desperately needed him.
He sat beside you pulling you into his arms. He took his jacket placing it around you as he whipped away the blood from your nose. He noticed the handprint mark around your neck, he gritted his teeth seething. You sobbed, holding onto him for dear life. He rubbed your back âssh sh itâs ok angel, Iâm here, I got you.â He said.
He rocked you back and forth letting your sobs subside before asking you anything. âDoes it hurt?â He asked lifting your face to him looking over your nose and neck. You nodded. It hurt to swallow, hurt to breathe, everything just hurt. âCan I take you to the hospital?â He asked. You were hesitant but you nodded.
The car ride there all he could do was watch over you. Scared something could seriously be wrong. Cursing at himself for not being there. He was in the process of finding a new place. A new place so you could move in with him. The only reason you didnât live with him now was for the fact he had other roommates and if the tenant found out about you they all could be evicted. He was gonna surprise you today with the good news, that he found a place. Close to his work and close to a bakery you had wanted to work at.
When he had gotten to the hospital they all looked at him like he had done it. They checked you over asked him a million questions. The cops being called from below to ask him questions. They werenât completely shocked when they heard your dadâs name. He was notorious for his anger outbursts and violence. He had a list of charges that had gotten one being the man he punched at his old job. They wrote everything down, took pictures of your bruises and wounds. Asking you lots of questions before leaving.
âY/n did you know you had a broken rib at one point?â A nurse asking you.
You shook your head.
âLooks like it happened a while ago, it fused back but not properly. You ever have sharp pains?â She asked.
âYeah, she use to complain about side pains but they kinda just stopped.â Changbin chimed in.
âHow is she right now?â Changbin asked.
âNothings broken however youâre lucky, the pressure he had around your throat bruised your vocal cords. Any harder you could be looking at serious damageâ
The nurse had left to grab some papers changbin took your hand into his. He kissed your cheek softly rubbing his thumb over yours. âIâm sorry I wasnât thereâ he said softly.
You shook your head âI donât want him hurting you eitherâ you said looking up at him.
âIâm proud of you though, pushing back and getting yourself out of there. Your mom would be proudâ he said with a small smile. His words made you smile a bit. âShe definitely would.â
âI had some news to tell youâ he said hoping this would make you smile.
âYeah?â You asked.
âYeah. Iâm moving. Well weâre movingâ he said with a smile. When you looked at him a bit confused his smile grew âI got a place for the two of us. Wish it could have happened sooner but-â he said.
You wrapped your arms around him hugging him tightly âweâre gonna live together? Iâll get to spend all the time with you?â You said eagerly.
âYep! Got the keys today!â
When the door opened you thought it was the nurse however it was an officer. âY/n we have your father in custody. Do you have a place to stay for the mean time?â He asked looking over at your boyfriend.
âI do, but can I go back and get somethingâs you asked.
The officer nodded âIâll have to escort you because itâs a crime scene now.â
You nodded.
âWhenever you get discharged we can go alright?â He said before walking out.
After you went to the house grabbing your clothes, laptop and a few things you smiled saying good riddance to this place. You had the few things from your mom packed, having nothing more in this house for you.
Moving in with changbin was something to get use to. However he helped you every step of the way. You got into much needed therapy and after your fatherâs sentence you felt like things were going up. As a little house warming gift Changbin had surprised you with a cat. You had bonded with him with the many times he had taken you to the cat cafe. You always said how much you wanted him and now you had him. You had your little family now.
Changbin showered you in love as usual, never missing a chance to compliment you, praise you and tell you how much he loved you. You knew in your heart your mom wherever she was, she was happy. Happy seeing her little girl finally get out of the situation. To live her life to the fullest.
ďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďšďš
đ If youâd like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me somethingđŠľ
Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp
#stray kids#skz#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#changbin#changbin angst#changbin drabbles#changbin x reader#changbin fanfic#stray kids angst#stray kids drabble#stray kids x reader#stray kids fanfic#stray kids comfort#changbin comfort#bangchan#han jisung#hyunjin#jeongin#seungmin#Lee know#Lee Felix#kpop angst#kpop drabble
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Do you do batfamily? I literally love your profile aesthetic and I think it would be really cool something like girly reader who is the youngest in the batfamily, I think it would be funny the boys dealing with her and everything. ilyđ¤
âI PRESSED HIDE ICONS BUT I CAN STILL SEE MEâ ââ .⌠DOLLISH â. đ Ë
A/n: this literally made me laugh but tysm ily too, but literally i tried to balance this with sass + a girl who likes pink and other colors instead of stereotypical pink girly girl and etc but if this is not correct then sorry because i only have one sister and a brother and iâm oldest out of all of them.
tags: batfamily x girly!batsis
â. đ Ë
The manor is, of course, dark and filled with heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Meanwhile, youâre room is beautiful with subtle hints of pink decor and white, and a beautiful walk in closet, and your room is the only spot with cozy, neutral decor and soft pinks, which you somehow convinced Alfred was âtasteful and happyâ
Bruce pretends he doesnât notice the little decorative changes you make around the house, like the rose-gold lamp in the hallway or the fresh flowers on the dining table. Alfred, though, secretly loves it because it makes the place feel a little less like a âdepressive episodeâ (Iâm convinced if someone suicidal went in that manor they would likely fucking commit at this rate).
âCINDERELLA ARE YOU FUCKING READY?!â ââ .âŚ
When you go to family dinners or galas, the boys have come to expect that youâll need at least an hour to get ready. They used to complain, but now theyâve just accepted it (even if it means sleeping while standing up waiting) And youâre always perfectly dressed, from your hair to your jewelry.
Tim once asked why you had to wear rings on your ring finger without being married, and without missing a beat, you responded, âBecause I need to let people know I have style standards, maybe you can learn a or two about fashion, your dressed like a fucking caveman.â
âITS EXPLAINABLEâ ââ .âŚ
Alfred has somehow become your unofficial shopping partner, knowing all your preferred stores and patiently sitting outside the fitting rooms. Heâs the only one who will willingly go with you without complaint, and he even knows which colors you like best
Once, Bruce was caught off guard by a credit card alert because it was awhile someone spent THAT much money and asked Alfred about it. Alfred just responded calmly, âIt was for necessary purchases, Master Wayne,â even though the ânecessary purchasesâ included a ton of âdesignerâ things.
ââ .âŚ
Damian once challenged you to a chess match, thinking he could beat you easily. Halfway through, you made a risky move, looked him dead in the eye, and said, âYouâre about to see a queen move.â Damian lost, and heâs still confused about how it happened.
One morning, Dick said, âIsnât it a little early for all the glam and glitter?â You just gave him a look and said, âIsnât it a little late for you to be alive, your social security number is probably one.
YOUR BEAUTY PRODUCTS BECOMING A ATTEMPT ON PEOPLES LIVES ââ .âŚ
Bruce has almost tripped on your eyelash curler twice. The family has also officially banned you from putting skincare masks in the fridge after Jason mistook your green tea gel eye masks for some kind of salad topping (the worse part is⌠he ate the whole thing and didnât realize until he went shopping trying to find the exact one until he found it in the skincare aisle instead of the salad dressing aisleâŚ)
Tim opened the wrong drawer in your room once, and it looked like a makeup frenzy had exploded. Lip glosses, nail polishes, tiny skincare samples, and sheet masks cascaded out, and he just stood there, baffled by how much one person could need, (he thought you ran a business for a few days after.)
ââ .âŚ
You also gave Bruce a mini heart attack when you told him you wanted a different laptop because âthis oneâs too boring.â The Batcomputer tech isnât boring, but you wanted a rose-gold case and âa vibe,â so Bruce ended up ordering one in the exact shade you wanted.
The family group chat is complete chaos. You regularly send pictures of quotes from romance novels, and the occasional inspirational meme with sparkles. Once, you sent a photo of the living room and asked, âCould we get some lighter curtains in here? For my aesthetic and mental well being?â
Whenever someoneâs late, you flood the chat with passive-aggressive texts like, âJason, do you know what âbe here at 6 PMâ means?â or âDick, if youâre any later, Iâll be old enough to vote for Kamala at this rate.â
MOVIE NIGHTS ââ .âŚ
You insist on watching rom-coms and dramas instead of the usual action movies. Even though the boys groan, youâve noticed they secretly enjoy the movies by the end. Tim tried to deny it, but he was caught laughing at a scene in white chicks and you swore to never let him forget it.
Once, you convinced them to watch a âfall aestheticâ movie marathon, complete with hot chocolate and fuzzy blankets. Even Jason joined in, and you teased him the whole night, whispering, âDonât pretend you donât love a good blanket.
THE OFFICAL FASHION GURU FINALBOSS đ ââ .âŚ
Youâve taken it upon yourself to occasionally âadviseâ the boys on their fashion. If Tim wears a hoodie thatâs âtwo shades too close to âdepressionâ â youâll be the first to tell him. You even convinced Damian to try a collared shirt once, though he looked horrified.
Dick gets roasted the most. He walked out wearing cargo shorts once, and you deadpan, âGoing for the âiâm so old i saw humans evolveâ look i see.â He didnât change, but he was clearly a little self-conscious the whole day (he never wore cargo shorts ever againâŚ)
SKINCARE TIPS ââ .âŚ
Youâve taught the boys some random facts they never knew, like the importance of hyaluronic acid for skincare and the difference between ballet flats and loafers. They pretend to brush it off, but youâve overheard Jason giving roy skincare advice using the tips you shared.
When Bruce had a minor scratch on his face from patrol, you casually handed him concealer. âJust dab, blend, and donât tell anyone,â you said. He followed the instructions without a word (he used to do that before, just impressed you also knew)
THE BABY OF THE FAMILY ââ .âŚ
As the youngest, you know how to work the âbaby sisterâ angle like a pro. The boys are fiercely protective, and any time you need a ride, money for something âtotally essential,â or help with homework, you can count on one of them stepping up.
Once, you asked Damian to grab something from a high shelf for you, and when he hesitated, you hit him with, âGuess i really am alone without a good brother..â He ended up grabbing it for you with a grumble, but you swear you saw him smirk.
@dollishbabess made by me, do not translate, or repost or copy.
Second divider: @cafekitsune, other dividers not sure I kinda forgot sorry
#batfam#batfamily#dc universe#hcs#batsis!reader#batfamily memes#batfam x batsis#batsis oc#dollishbabess#writers on tumblr#damian wayne#jason todd#dick grayson#bruce wayne#tim drake#platonic hcs#batfamily incorrect quotes#dc robin#fanfiction recommendation#incorrect quotes#funny hcs#girly!reader#fem!reader#fanfic#new#platonic#i love tumblr#series#asks open#asks
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When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 6/?
Some light word-building, and a try at explaining a little with reader's thinking/worldview. And of course, a soulmate :3 Next chapter in about a week(+/- a day)! (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)
Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn
Wordcount: 2506
Summary: Youâve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly donât expect to have another.
Itâs been a week since you saw either of them.Â
Your soulmates.Â
You donât like them being that, you could call them something else you suppose. But calling them their names all the time is more of a mouthful, and though you gave them nicknames before you learned their names, giving them new ones seems worse than just calling them what they are. (Even as much as you hate it.)
The ache in your shoulders and upper back has settled to a near permanent thing now, only fleeting relief for the for the briefest of moments if you massage the area.Â
You know why it doesnât fade, but you donât want to admit that to anyone, especially not Evelyn when you visit her for a check up, this time at home in her and Oliviaâs apartment.
You wonder how many other people have to bring brownies to their doctor appointments as you ring Evelynâs and Oliviaâs doorbell outside the building. To be fair, not everyone elseâs doctor works as a veterinarian and has a wife that would kill you if you didnât bring them (not really, but sometimes you think Olivia is certainly capable of doing so).Â
Said wife is the one who buzzes you in, and greets you in the hallway just outside their front door with an enthusiastic yell of your name, and a hug that makes you let out a small grunt of pain that you try to hide in favor of hugging her back with the arm not currently holding onto the strap of your backpack.
âOh, Iâm sorry, youâre a wounded man, come in, come in, Evelyn is just setting up.â Her beautiful dark and curled hair bounces as she heads to the kitchen, and you follow her after making sure the front door is closed behind you.
The kitchen table is covered in towels, towels you know are specifically for this purpose, since none of them are the cute patterns Olivia loves. You also know that underneath thereâs cling wrap covering the table, for cleanliness and just in case. It hadnât been often you had been on this kitchen table instead of the clinic table, but the procedure Evelyn has around it isnât unknown to you. A lot more organized than what Wadeâs and Loganâs had been.Â
You banish the thought of them from your mind as you put your backpack down, dipping your hand inside to fish out the box of carefully wrapped brownies out, and present them to Olivia. She gasps at you, almost yanking the box out of your hand with how fast she takes it.
âSometimes I swear itâs like you are my second soulmate.â Your stomach swoops at her words, and you make a face. She knows and disagrees with your view on soulmates, so you know itâs a friendly jab, and normally you wouldnât have cared, but this time it hits something you donât like.
âYeah, yeah.â You roll your eyes at her, focusing on Evelyn instead as Olivia goes to put her treasure away. âReady for me doc?â Seems to be the perfect time to ask that question as Evelyn puts gloves on and pats the table.Â
âUp you go.â You do as asked, hoisting yourself up. You take your shirt off, balling it up, putting it under your head as you lay down, getting comfortable. âFeeling fine?â Evelyn starts to peel your bandages off, slowly and carefully.
âYeah. They seem to be doing fine, in my non-medical opinion.â She hums, and you know sheâs taking your words into consideration, but it wonât really matter much before she has had a look herself. You let your eyes stay open, watching the ceiling as you hear Olivia putter around the kitchen, and feel Evelyn poke around your wounds.
Nasty couple of things. Well, they had been. You have been surprised nothing had gotten infected, you had no idea how well Wade took care of his swords, how nasty or not they were. But well, to be fair to him, if you had gotten an infection, your makeshift bandages would have been just as likely a culprit.
âLooks like you wonât die anytime soon, but theyâll still leave some nasty scars behind.â Evelyn offers, seeming to be done with her inspection of you, as she changes gloves, and starts applying new bandages. You shrug, you figured out much. Nothing cuts that deep without leaving behind a mark.
Well, unless you are a super healing mutant. Even after you had tried multiple times. Both with a katana and a gun.
Should you even feel bad for hurting your soulmates like that when it was done when in panic but with the knowledge it would heal? And you got more permanently hurt?
And to be fair, Wade had knocked you out before you ever hurt them after realizing they were your soulmates, so it wasnât like you hadnât been hurt, but you shot them both. Caused them more pain.
So maybe you are all a little beyond messed up.Â
Made for each other, like that soulmate shit implies.
You shake your head at that thought, dispelling it into the ether, which gets you a weird look from Evelyn as she finishes with your bandage.
âYou alright?â
âYeah, I just havenât been sleeping right.â
âChest pain?â Her hands hover near your chest, but move away as you shake your head.
âNo, shoulder and upper back, think Iâve accidentally pulled something.â She frowns.
âI thought I told you to not work out or put unnecessary strain on your body as you heal.â You know what itâs from, and itâs definitely not that.
âI havenât been working out or lifting anything heavy, I promise. Iâm just an old man.â You joke, she rolls your eyes at you as you sit up, taking the glass of water Olivia offers you.
âLet me know if it keeps up, and Iâll see if I canât figure out what it is, and get you something for it.â She canât know and wonât be able to get you anything, but still you nod.
âAm I allowed to put my shirt back on Doc, or do you just want to ogle me some more?â You joke, this earns you a slap on the shoulder by a now gloveless hand just after Olivia hands you a chocolate chip cookie.Â
âThought you were making pasta?â You get off the table and take a bite out of your cookie as Olivia smiles at you, and Evelyn starts cleaning up.
âI am, but good patients get rewards.âÂ
âWhat am I, five?â You joke, Olivia reaches out as if to take the cookie out of your hand, you take a step back. âI prefer your cookies over any stupid little toy.â Oliviaâs smile is bright, and if you werenât gay and she didnât have a soulmate, she could have been your type. She turns around, planting a kiss on Evenlynâs cheek as she passes her on her way to grab ingredients for the dinner she is going to make for you all.
You lean on the kitchen counter and munch on your cookie, mindful to stay in the background and out of the way for them both as they move around each other with ease. Evelyn cleaning up medical supplies and the makeshift sickbed, Olivia starting to cook dinner.
You donât want to bring up your soulmates with either of them, since you know their stance on it all is opposite of yours, since they are themselves soulmates. Youâve had plenty of arguments about this both drunk and mostly sober. You think soulmates make one vulnerable and just bring misery in the end, they think it brings strength and that you should enjoy what good you can have in life.
So you know they would just tell you to go to your soulmates, and be with them.Â
For the rest of your life.Â
Ugh.
Youâre fine on (mostly) your own, thanks.
â---
This time, when the universe decides itâs time for some light fuckery, itâs Logan. On his own. And itâs not while you are working.Â
Not that it makes it any better.
You are taking it slow, the bar you find yourself in isnât the fanciest thing, which suits you perfectly. The tables are mostly clean and the floor has seen better days, but they have several types of beer on tap and in bottles, a pool table, and even two shuffleboards. All in all, very casual, somewhere you could sit alone, or join a random group playing one of the games. If money sometimes exchanged hands, both between players and spectators, nobody gave a shit.
You had been a few times before, always enjoying yourself. Youâre not even drinking this time, sticking to soda as much as you want to have a proper drink. You had just needed to get out of your apartment, and though you long to feel the burn of alcohol pass over them, you know it wonât heal any faster, so if you can just keep from drinking for a little longer, you can get back to the normal state of things quicker.
Well, as normal as they can get after the universe decided to change the core of your life. You were not one for company, at least not permanently.
Currently you are sitting at a table, watching two long bearded and bald men play pool, making snide comments back and forth. You had made a bet on the man with the scarred ear, but he is losing, pretty badly.
Oh well, 20 bucks isnât the end of the world.
What kind of feels like it though, is when you spot Logan walking into the bar. Heâs wearing normal clothes this time, just some jeans, boots, and a green flannel. He glances around the bar, you duck your head in the hope that he doesnât see you.
You donât hope for long though, as a very full glass of what looks like whiskey is sat down next to your soda, and the chair on the other side of the table becomes occupied.
âLogan.â Your uttering of his name in greeting is icy, your name falling from his lips are decidedly less so.
âWhat are you doing here?â You ask him, feeling your shoulders ease up. Which annoys you so much, heâs just arrived, and heâs already making you feel better. You want to go, to leave, even as your loosening muscles reminds you that staying for a little bit will stave off side effects of your unfortunately shared bond.Â
âDrinking.â He grunts, taking a sip of his glass. You roll your eyes and look at him for a few moments, head swirling with thoughts. You settle on one, just to have something to say as you stall and try to figure out how much time you need to feel more than just a little less shitty, though you canât help but be actually curious as you ask.
âCan you even get drunk with your healing shit?â Logan frowns, and you wonder if thatâs his default. You donât ask about that though.
âWith some effort.â
âWhy the fuck even be in a bar then?â Your tone is still not kind, even as you feel your shoulders ache just a little bit less, like you had just massaged over a good spot. He shrugs.
âCompany I guess.â Itâs your turn to frown.
âI have no interest in being company. Get away from me Logan, or I will make you go away.â You know you should stay close longer so you can also stay away longer, but you are still stubborn, not wanting the fuckery that is soulmates.Â
At least if you just stay in the same room, it should help, you think.Â
You hope. No need to stay close in the slightest.Â
He takes you in, quickly glancing at you from top to toe.
âI -â You donât let him speak.
âWhat did I just say Logan?â He scowls at you, you glare back at him, but let him speak when he opens his mouth this time.
âI donât like it.â Logan reluctantly admits as the scowl stays on his face. âThis being the way we are going about things.â He clarifies.
âThough shit.â He tilts his head at you, scowl turning into more of a squint.
âAre you always this combative?â You feel like a street dog on high alert, barking in warning.Â
âFuck off.âÂ
âLook-â And when barks donât workâŚâŚ
âYou had your warning.â You say as you grab your knife from your left leg. You stab it into his hand, aiming for the skin between where the claws go through his hand, hitting the jackpot as red seeps around the knife and the tip of it burrows into the table. Seconds later there is warm and sharp metal pushing your chin up. You grin and waggle a finger at him.
âNah ah, mortal, remember?â You twist the knife around once for good measure, making him grunt in pain, and then pull it out of his hand. You already know you are banned from this bar for life, but you donât care. His claws retract, this time you realize it actually makes a sound. Huh.
âSo you are always this combative.â Logan grits out between his clenched teeth, as his hand heals itself, leaving behind nothing but the blood that spilled out where you stabbed him.
âFellas, time to go.â A bouncer suddenly stands in front of your table now, a t-shirt with security over his chest in big white letters. Heâs huge, towering over both you and Logan, arms ready at his sides, eyes flicking between the two of you. You see Logan seize him up, and for a moment you wonder if he is going to fight the man, but his eyes go to you as you get off your chair.
âYeah, yeah, Iâm going.â You put your knife away. âAgain, fuck off Logan.â You show him the finger as you walk out. Heâs just steps behind you, clearly no longer welcome in the bar either, but he keeps his distance as you both go out of the door.Â
You have no idea where he's going, and you have no plans now, so you start walking in the direction of home.
After gaining some distance, you look over your shoulder. You donât want to be followed. Logan is standing just outside of the bar, looking at your retreating back, but he takes a step forward as your eyes connect with his. You show him the finger again as you disappear around a corner.
You rub your forehead as you are out of sight, annoyance cursing through you. You think some of it might be his.
Fuck, you wish you could get drunk right now. Well, you could, but it wouldnât be good for your healing. And you have no idea how bad or good your control over your bonds are when youâre drunk.
Just another thing for future you to figure out, you guess.
#wolverine x reader x deadpool#logan howlett x male reader#wolverine x male reader#logan howlett x reader#wade wilson x male reader#deadpool x reader x wolverine#wade wilson x reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine x deadpool x reader#deadpool x reader#deadpool x male reader#poolverine x reader#logan howlett#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#wolverine fic#deadpool fic#marvel fic#deadpool and wolverine fic#wade wilson#wolverine#male!reader#male reader#written#when you touch me#wytm
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hii i just started playing veilguard so i wanted to ask what you think of the fact that it's not open world! sorry if you said this already, i've had all the tags blocked so i don't get spoilered, but now that i'm playing im curious. i actually really like the way it's done (at least so far from what i've seen). inquisition open world was too much to me while da2 was a liiiitle too railroaded. it reminds me of origins maps in the best way
my response was thank god lmao
open world is too much for me i get very lost and distressed đ even veilguard city maps get me turned around, i have phoned it in with them completely and just follow the quest objectives. six playthroughs in iâll finally know my way around treviso i promise
but aside from my personal directional incapability i donât think open world ever brought anything to dragon age. it was incredibly poorly used in inquisition to just give you endless quests that didnât matter, in order to farm the necessary xp to finally get to the actual story, which removed tension and pace from the actual story. when you play veilguard you can SENSE how hard the devs were thinking about that and how to avoid it with every choice they made. i really like how side quests are handled
iâm probably too much of a da2 girlie myself and actually enjoy those maximum railroaded maps but i think this is a really well handled balance that will work both for me and for people who want to explore. exploring is definitely rewarded well!!
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i got hints of a spoiler from the hazbin leak and i feel like crying in frustration TvT i already unfollowed the hazbin tags and people i follow STILL are going to blab about it, i just want to peruse art and fics but now i feel i have to go full hermit because fans don't have the decency to understand there are other fans who want to watch the next season unspoiled
Im only on tumblr and twitter and I don't follow many people so I managed to avoid all spoiler luckily
But I'm truly sorry you had to deal with them.
What they did is terrible and the people who spread the leaks around are even worse for not respecting the hard work of those people, you can't be called fan if you do that. It's awful.
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And I actually did NOT say "not wanting to be raped is purity culture". I did NOT say we should get raped rather than commit suicide (as if it's one or the other, as if most women even know they're about to get raped and have time to kill themselves instead, as if this is the norm). I did NOT say surviving trauma is easy. And I most definitely did not say anyone should go on living through endless torture they can't escape, you hyperbolic twit.
So here, let me extrapolate what I actually did say, since reading comprehension is not your strong suit:
Feminists like to say rape is a fate worse than death. I said that rape is not inherently worse than death, because death is final. You can survive rape and though it may be difficult, you can get help, you can get better, and you can go on to have a fulfilling life. This is not to say you necessarily will, just that it's possible and worth trying for, whereas nothing is possible if you're dead. Call me an optimist, but I believe in the potential for happiness, even with life's hardships. I do not believe victims of rape or any other abuse are doomed for it.
But feminists don't seem to agree. They claim rape is the worst thing that can happen to a woman, and that they would rather kill themselves instead. This notion and what it implies is what I'm calling purity culture. Again, why is rape worse than death? Does it mean you're ruined for life? You're damaged goods because a man forced himself on you? You'll never find happiness again, so that's why it would have been better if you had killed yourself? Cos that's sure what it sounds like. Do you not see the problem with this? If rape is worse than death, how can rape victims go on living?
I saw in your tags that you have been raped before, and I am genuinely sorry to hear that. But you didn't kill yourself, and you add that you're still not sure if you would or not if faced with that situation again. Kinda contradicting what you're saying in your post, but I get it. It's a traumatic, awful thing to go through and no one should ever have to go through it. I understand why you have complicated feelings about it.
I'm not saying you or anyone should choose rape over death. I'm saying you shouldn't have to choose death over life. I don't care about hypotheticals, I'm worried about what this rhetoric does to people who have survived. Yall deserve better than that.
Haven't seen anyone else addressing how the "feminist" preference for being eaten by a bear over meeting a man alone in the woods is in large part about purity culture and terror of rape.
Like, this whole thing is an obvious reference to older tales where the virtuous maiden flees the wicked men and gets eaten by a bear or fell off a cliff, but at least she died a virgin!
I miss where there was at least a feminist contingent that thought that being raped wasn't a fate worse than death.
#I've been suicidal more than once so maybe I'm projecting but like#I know surviving trauma is hard. Let's not make it harder#Idk I can't make this any clearer
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he looks just like a dream â・ďžâď¸ď˝Ąâ・ ďžâž ďžď˝Ąâ
summary: dating headcanons w/ remus lupin
a/n: hello!! this is my most recent fic on this account and my first Marauders fic, so sorry if this is bad!! also, please keep in mind that even though i'm writing a fic about something tied to the Harry Potter universe, this does NOT AT ALL mean i like JK Rowling. i've liked her books since i was a child and have been separating the art from the artist for quite some time when it comes to this. also, i've written Remus in more of a modern situation, so keep that in mind :)
tags: @back-totheoldhouse @daemontargaryennn @o-kye @unbeleevable @mochamuff1n @call-me-frosting-or-not-idc @dangerouslyyour (this is me just guessing who would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be removed/added from the taglist!!)
warnings: nicknames with "girl" in them but otherwise gn!reader, mentions of crying, mentions of scars
boyfriend!remus who's memorized how you like your coffee or tea. or if you don't like either, he's memorized your favorite drink and has perfected it every time he makes it. you tell him it's not needed, that you can make drinks yourself, but he says it's worth it just to see the smile on your face.
boyfriend!remus who wouldn't dare tell you to cover up with a dress or outfit you're wearing when you go out ("any guy who tells their girlfriend/partner to cover up because it makes him uncomfortable or insecure instantly just proves he has a fragile ego accompanied by a micropenis.") and he'll only suggest a jacket if he knows it'll be cold outside. if you're happy in what you're wearing, why should he stop you?
boyfriend!remus who reads the books you're reading to have an extra thing to talk to you about and to ensure he understands what you're describing when you rant about how much you either love it or hate it. "yeah I know, I can't believe he did that!" "seriously, the way the writer set up the plot is terrific." "what was the author thinking? the plot makes no sense."
boyfriend!remus who always gives you his clothes. his soft beige knit sweater? of course you can wear it to our date. you need to borrow his beanie because it's cold outside? please do. you want to wear his shirt to bed? just keep it, he thinks it looks 10x better on you.
boyfriend!remus who takes you on all sorts of dates. library dates, lego building dates (which turn into laughing hysterically because one of you doesn't understand the instructions and the other one does understand, but can't find the right piece), cafe dates, aquarium dates, baking/cooking dates, late night walk/drives dates...the list goes on (i will happily elaborate on any of these if asked). he may or may not stalk your pinterest to find out what dates you like
boyfriend!remus who subtly shows you off to the marauders. he's usually a little bit touchy with you in public (a hand on the small of your back or intertwined with yours, his arms around your waist or shoulders, etc.), but he does it more around his friends. it's not any sort of intentional possessive thing (like "grrr my bbg is mine you can't have her raaah"), he just likes people knowing he has a gorgeous partner :)
boyfriend!remus whose room is littered in random trinkets, some of which he'll randomly gift to you. a silver pocket watch he found with intricate details because he thinks you'd like it. a rock or crystal he says looks like your eyes. a flower that he found because he remembered the one time you said "what a pretty flower" when you accompanied him on a walk. a stuffed animal he found at a yard sale because it was your favorite animal. the list goes on.
boyfriend!remus who mainly shows love through acts of service and physical touch. your shoe's untied? he's getting down on his knee to tie it. your books are a bit heavy? he'll carry all of them for you. you're not feeling good? he's doing your homework.
boyfriend!remus whose nicknames for you are mainly "dove/dovey", "baby", and "darling". he calls you "sweet girl/pretty girl" when you're sick, under the weather, or sad, "my love/my dearest" when he knows you're upset, and "sweetheart" when you're in an argument.
boyfriend!remus who would be terrified of showing a lot of skin around you because of his scars mainly because he doesn't want you to be disgusted. he knows deep down that you wouldn't, but it's a deeply-rooted fear for him.
"Remus, your friends have scars. Does that make them ugly or bad people?"
"No."
"Some of the teachers you like have scars. Does that make them ugly or bad people?"
"No."
"I have scars. Does that make me ugly?"
"Of course not, dove."
"So then why do you think scars make you ugly if they don't make anyone else you care about ugly?"
#remus lupin#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#remus x reader#mauraders#marauders#the marauders#marauders era#remus x you#remus lupin fic#remus lupin drabble
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Nights Like This: Part Three
Roman x black!oc
Warnings: language, angst
Word count: 1.4k
a/n: guys are we riding at dawn or not lmaoo??? if i forgot to tag you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list please feel free to lmk đ
âTell me what?â
Serena and Roman froze, which angered Zoe to another level, because itâs one thing to screw her over, but its another to play in her fucking face.
Roman turned towards Serena,âGive us some spaceâŚâ His voice was stern, more of a demand than a request. Serena briefly looked at Zoe and sighed, she proceeded to grab her keys and walk outside.
âWhere the fuck is she going, you both seemed to have a lot to say.â Zoe started walking towards the door to confront Serena, but as she was about to reach the door her movements were halted when Roman grabbed her by the waist gently pulling her back.
âBaby we need to talk, just you and me pleaseâŚâ he pleaded. Seconds later she heard a car engine start. This bitch really had the audacity to leave without saying a word.
âOh so now you want to fucking talk? Because you damn sure didnât have shit to say before I found the condoms,â Zoe sneered as she yanked her body away from him.
Roman paused and took a deep breath, slowly rubbing his hand over his beard, âBaby I fucked up, Iâm sorry...â
âYouâre sorry, is that really all you have to say?â Her voice cracked, she could feel her throat begin to tighten.
Roman felt like the biggest piece of shit. Seeing the exhaustion and pain in her eyes, hurt him. He hated to see her cry, let alone being the reason behind it. There was no excuse for what he did, and he knew it. Which is exactly why he didnât want to tell her, but actions have consequences. He made his bed, it was time to fucking lie in it.
âBaby Iââ As he began to speak Zoe cut him off, âRoman Iâm gonna ask you this one time. Did you or did you not, cheat on me with Serena?â
Roman lowered his head, his gaze now shifted towards the floor. He paused in silence for a short moment, she could see his hands were slightly fidgeting. Roman briefly looked up at her, still avoiding making eye contact.
âYes,â his voice was barely above a whisper.
Zoeâs heart felt like it was ripped out of her chest. She knew the answer, but she wanted him to have the balls to actually fucking say it. Tears that she had been fighting back started to roll down her face, sobs escaping her. âFuck you, Roman.â She started to walk away, but was stopped when Roman walked in front of her stopping her in her tracks.
âZo donât leave, please just talk to me.â
âYouâre such a piece of shit, I fucking trusted you. She wiped away some of her tears, which was of no use considering she couldnât stop crying, âMy best friend? Are you fucking kidding me? Youâve only met her a handful of times!â she yelled.
âI want you to tell me why, you wanted to talk, so fucking talk,â she hissed.
Romanâs eyes were glistened with tears, his shoulders were slumped as he inhaled a deep breath, âIâI came to her to help me plan our trip and your birthday dinner. I figured since I don't know shit when it comes to throwing parties, Iâd hire someone who not only works in that profession, but someone who would know what youâd like.â
âYeah it seems she ended up finding exactly what I liked,â she scoffed.
Roman put his head down, his voice getting lower, âI ended coming over at different times over the span of two months to approve some of the planning details. Little by little I noticed she was flirting more than usual, in the beginning I tried to ignore it, but over time IâI began to like the attention.â
Zoe felt sick to her stomach, she listened quietly while angrily wiping away her tears. She wanted to leave to avoid hearing this bullshit, but a part of her wanted to know why. Why would two people who claimed to love her, hurt her in the most disrespectful way possible.
Seeing Zoe silently crying made the pit of Romanâs stomach drop, he was disgusted with himself. How in the hell did he let something so stupid, jeopardize what he had? He loves Zoe, he couldnât give two fucks about Serena. Yet, he let a moment of weakness ruin everything and hurt the one person he loved more than anyone.
He walked towards her, and gently lifted her face. âBaby, please look at me,â Zoe refused, and that fucking killed him.
âI donât need all the details, just tell me what happened...â her lower lip was slightly trembling. She pushed him away, making sure to keep a distance between them.
âBefore my last visit, I let my ego cloud my judgment. I went to the store, bought the condoms and headed over to her house.â Roman paused, he was internally struggling to say the rest, but he knew he had to, he owed her that. âWe kissed, and she ended up giving me head.â
âLet me guess, you returned the favor?â Silence. Just as she expected. âOf course you did because youâre such a generous tribal chief, right?â
He took a deep breath, his chin dipping to his chest. âI went with the intention to fuck her Zo, I did. And I know that thereâs no amount of apologies in the world that will change what I did, but I need you to know that I didnât fuck her.â
âSo youâre telling me the condom unwrapped itself?â
âI was going to fuck her baby, I was. But when the time came, I thought of you, and I justâ I just couldnât do that to you.â
Roman walked towards her, gently moving some of her hair out of her face, he wiped some of her tears away with his thumb. He felt a sharp pang of guilt seeing her so broken, the weight of what he did was fully sinking in his chest.
âBaby please look at me.â
She doesnât know why she actually did, but she felt so numb as if nothing even really mattered anymore. She looked at his big brown eyes, eyes that she once viewed with love and admiration, she now saw with despair.
A few tears slipped down his face. âZoe please understand that she means absolutely fucking nothing to me. I love you baby. Iâm so sorry. Iâm sorry that I lied to you, Iâm sorry that I hurt youââ
âIf it was me that did this to you, how would you feel?â
He sighed heavily, facing down. He couldnât even say a word. What a fucking hypocrite.
âYou knew all the bullshit that I went through with my ex, and you went and did this shit. I opened up to you, and you promised me you would never do what he did to me. I feel so fucking stupid to have actually believed you. The fact that you wouldnât have told me shit had I not caught you makes me sick to my stomach. You want to know what I think Roman? I think youâre a fucking coward.â
Zoe grabbed her keys and headed towards the door. She didnât care about leaving her things behind, that slut seemed to like her leftovers anyways.
âZo, please donât do this to me,â he pleaded. Every single emotion that she tried to hold in was released, she was crying uncontrollably. She ignored him and was able to get in her car.
âYou did this to yourself. You donât have to worry about me anymore Roman, you and Serena can go fuck yourselves.â
Zoe started driving home, but the farther she got the more her anger built. She pulled over at a store to park and try to compose herself, she was so mad her hands were trembling. The memory of Serena letting her cry on her shoulder while being the actual cause of her tears, and leaving without even trying to apologize made her even more pissed. Fuck this. She put her gps back on Serenaâs address, enough is enough. The only thing on her mind right now, was beating this bitchâs ass.
#roman reigns#the tribal chief#otc#roman reigns fic#roman reigns x black reader#roman reigns x black!oc#roman reigns x oc#roman reigns fanfiction
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Right again ⪠Tom Riddle x f!reader
Requested: No
Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!reader (+ SPOILER x f!reader)
Summary: Tom, who always thought relationships were meaningless, changed his mind when he met y/n. He plans on telling her how he feels, however, it doesn't go as planned, and he finds himself to be right - again.
Word count: 1.1K
Warnings: Fluff; angst; English is not my first language.
A/N: It wasn't supposed to be this long lmao. I will write the same plot with Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo and Theo in the future - hopefully with a better title lol. PLEASE PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FLOP OR YOU WON'T SEE ME ON HERE AGAIN LOL. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it! xx
Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan @blocked-zombieartist
Tom Riddle was in his dorm, one of the only places in Hogwarts where he could be by himself, and where he could be doing the things he enjoyed the most - studying and reading, both in silence. But, despite being currently sitting on his desk - always perfectly arranged -, he was not currently reading a book or studying. Instead, he was doing something he never thought he would do and was feeling something he never thought he would feel: thinking about a girl, and being nervous about a girl.Â
Contrary to Mattheo and his friends, Tom has never cared for relationships - he could barely bear being around Mattheoâs friends if serious, meaningful discussions or activities werenât involved. Sure, he cared for Mattheo, more than he cared to admit, because they were of the same blood. And for Tom, blood was one of the things that mattered the most, alongside loyalty, knowledge and influence.Â
And y/n.Â
Tom had always thought Mattheo was the only person he could ever care for - after all, they needed to have some sort of loyalty towards each other if they wanted to have a chance to fight their father - but, just like he was surprised to learn he did not want to follow his father in his quest for tyranny, Tom was surprised to find himself caring for y/n.Â
Just like he had never cared for friendship, Tom had never cared for love. He did not think it was a weakness as his father did, but he did think it was not as important as people made it out to be. And, also, why care for love when something terrible, something that would likely cost lives was being prepared?Â
But then again, y/n challenged that idea. Despite being in the same house and the same year, it took Tom several years to properly notice her. He knew she was one of Mattheoâs close friends outside of his usual group, and that gave them occasions to spend time together. Strangely, Tom had first found her company more tolerable than the others - she seemed to understand his will for silence, deep conversations and his interests, seemed to have the same thirst for knowledge. She was kind as well, having what people called âa heart of goldâ, always ready to help anybody in need. She was also warm and funny, two things she shared with Mattheo, and it usually didnât take people enough to want to be her friend. Tom had considered y/n the closest thing he had to a friend, and he thought he would stay that way until, one day, he saw her and Mattheo sitting closer to each other than usual, and he felt something strange, something he didnât expect to feel, and something he struggled to understand - jealousy. He didnât think it was that at first, but it became obvious it indeed was jealousy when he found himself wishing that he was the one sitting next to her, and not Mattheo.Â
From that moment, he kept thinking about y/n in ways he had never done before - how beautiful she was, how he loved her smile, how he wanted to hold her hand, to smell her addictive perfume, to be the person who mattered most to her⌠how he wanted to hold and kiss her. He had considered those thoughts as foolish at first and tried to not have them, but everytime he was with y/n, they came back running, and he sometimes had to restrain himself from sitting closer to her just to smell her perfume when they were in class, or to hold her hand when they were studying in the library. He didnât have anybody to ask questions to - Mattheo would laugh at him - so, like he always did, Tom gave himself the answer: it was love. At first, he thought it was only temporary and it didnât even cross his mind to tell her about it, but he was forced to admit that, instead of disappearing, those feelings became stronger with each day passing. The idea displeased him, and he tried to avoid y/n so these feelings would go away, but it was in vain, and only made him miss y/n - and made him love her more. But one day, as he was sitting on his desk busy thinking about her instead of studying, the idea of just telling her how he felt seemed right. Of course, the idea of rejection secretly terrified him, but he would accept simply being her friend. y/n deserved a loyal, sincere friend and that is what Tom was. All she had to do was give him a chance he could be the boyfriend - the word seemed so meaningless compared to what he felt - she deserved, a boyfriend who would be loyal, caring, sincere, and who would put her and her needs and safety first. Â
Thus, he got her favorite flowers, and, having thought about what to say to her for hours, decided to go and ask her to have a moment of her time. And now the time had come. He grabbed the bouquet, and, trying to pull himself together, left his dorm. At that hour, y/n should be in the common room. With a bit of luck, she would be alone. Tom headed for the common room, which was nearly empty except for two first years laughing. He started looking for y/n, and his heart, which had started to beat faster with nervosity and hope, almost broke.Â
y/n was indeed here, standing in a corner of the room - kissing Mattheo, who had a hand on her waist and the other in her hair. He broke the kiss, looked at her in a way Tom had never seen him and y/n had a smile before Mattheo pressed his lips on hers like he couldnât help it.Â
Tom took a step back, and the only thing that stopped him from dropping the bouquet was the noise he knew it would make. He turned around and quickly yet silently went back to his dorm - where the flowers finally met the ground. His back against the door, he almost wanted to laugh now. How could he have been so foolish? It should have been obvious to him from the start that y/n, warm and kind y/n, would prefere Mattheo, Mattheo would everybody loved or at least fond of, who had no problems making friends and be with people, Mattheo who had never been anything like their father. Mattheo, who people didnât intimidate or rightfully found cold and strange.Â
Youâve won, brother.Â
As always, Tom Riddle found he had been right. Love was meaningless, and he should never have cared for it - should have never cared for her - in the first place.Â
He was right, but for the first time in his life, he wished he wasnât.
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â | âź | âś
[NONVERBAL SUN AU: THE START.]
Sun woke up. It was a normal Tuesday...or it would be, if he hadn't woken up in parts and service. "WHERE- WHERE ARE WE!?" he exclaimed, scared. He had been to parts and service before, but not when he was asleep. "I have no idea." a voice said from beside him, making him jump slightly. As he turned to fave it, he saw none other than his nighttime counterpart, Moon.
"MOON!? HOW ARE YOU OUT OF ME!?" he asked, shouting. Moon covered his ears, wincing. "I'm sensitive to loud noises...please keep it down..." the lunar animatronic mumbled quietly. "Sorry, Moony..." Sun whispered quietly. To his surprise, Moon just took his hand. "It's fine...Sunny." he replied, his voice soft. Sun got up and helped Moon, who wobbled a bit. Once he steadied himself, he managed to stand.
"Thank you..." Moon mumbled quietly. "Out of context, the earlier sentence I said was so strange..." Sun said. He then walked out of the room. Moon followed, but almost fell. Sun caught him. Right. Naptime was only 1 hour while playtime was 7. So Moon isn't that used to walking. Dang it. "Want me to help you walk?" Sun asked. Moon nodded slightly as Sun helped him stand. Then, they started walking, slowly but surely.
"Thank you, Sunny..." Moon said softly, genuinely grateful. Sun smiled softly. "No problem, Moony..."
Mod: RAAHHHHH I LOVED WRITING THIS! I am SOOO gonna make another story about this very soon lol.
Tagging people, even if they're not my mutuals but I think they'd like this: @goodolddumbbanana @noinoi999 @ikamigami @multifandomcutie13 @thekillermaretwinz @inkyucu @skyuvu123 @ryomaandgundhamkin @coffee-the-bat @sen-sational @dagh0stking @ilikescience-confession-blog @tsamsconfessions123 @silly-a-777 @nosleepygay @eddwardharrison @bloodmoon-da-idiot @lunarlovesbeanbags @mo0ndr0p @sleepy-hall @a-fucking-tornado @rayofmfsunshine1201 @darksuns-beloved-pet @letthebloodrunlikeariver @astrofairy06 @sunny-sourzii @upsidedownapple @yelesomeblue @deyisacherry and literally anyone else. Half the people on here are not my mutuals and half of them are. If you would like your tag removed, just ask me and I gladly will. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED
#tsams#sun and moon show#sunandmoonshow#the sun and moon show#fnaf sun#sundrop#sun tsams#tsams sun#sams sun#sun sams#sams old moon#old moon sams#old moon tsams#tsams old moon#old moon#the security breach show#NONVERBAL SUN AU#my original au#fanfic#writers on tumblr
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im under the assumption that requests are open, so uhmmmm
ahem-
can i request Aventurine giving Reader a hug or whatever physical affection, and Reader starts crying because of that? (Reader is crying because it's been a long time since they were last touched/held, and the thought of someone wanting to touch/hold them is very scary. even the sensation behind being touched/held is almost overstimulating, despite how badly they want to be held)
i know my request is, uh, oddly specific ?? hope that's ok with you tho đ§ââď¸ im one of the few dorks out there that is so touch-starved that i cry when it happens lol,,, it's not that i hate touch, my brain just can't register it.
âIf you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever didâ
Summary: After a long time without any physical affection, youâre overwhelmed when Aventurine gives you a comforting hug. The sensation is almost too much, and you break down, finally allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Aventurine reassures you with gentle words and a steady presence, letting you know heâs there for you whenever you need.
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Established Relationship.
Warnings: Emotional Overwhelm, Touch Starvation, Reader Crying.
A/N: Donât worry, Rose! My requests are open, so feel free to drop yours whenever you like! ;) And donât worry, your requests arenât weird or anythingâactually, theyâre cute and wholesome. đ¤§đĽş I can also relate to the touch-starved feeling, though Iâm uncomfortable with people touching me without consent (trauma). Iâd be fine with holding hands or arms, though. :') Hope you enjoy this! And remember, you're valid! đđšđŤ *Sending virtual hugs <33*
Sorry this uh rushed and I didn't edit it properly and got to your request late :')
The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the city outside. Aventurine led you in, his gentle hand resting on your back. You felt your pulse race as he guided you to sit on the sofa, his easy confidence steadying you as you took a shaky breath. Tonight, heâd traded his playful banter for a quieter presence. His usual grin softened, and his eyes were filled with something far more tender.
You sat beside him, hands twisting nervously in your lap, feeling that comforting warmth radiating off him. Despite how close he was, you couldnât shake the distance you felt from it, as if an invisible wall held you back. It was as though you were tethered to a feeling you couldnât escapeâsomething that had kept you from letting anyone close for so long.
âAre you alright?â Aventurineâs voice was low and gentle, his words laced with concern. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture simple, yet it felt like a landslide of emotion.
And then, without another word, he drew you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. The sudden warmth, his touch, the feeling of his heart beating steadilyâit was too much. A wave of sensation hit you, so foreign yet so needed, and before you could stop yourself, tears blurred your vision.
You hadnât been held like this in so long, hadnât felt this kind of closeness. It scared you, left you trembling in his embrace as the ache in your chest spilled over into silent sobs. Every part of you was screaming that this was wrong, that you couldnât trust it, that you shouldnât let yourself need it so badly. Yet Aventurine held you tightly, his presence unwavering, silently urging you to let go.
âHey⌠youâre safe here,â he whispered, a hand rubbing slow circles along your back. âIâve got you.â
You felt his hand press against your back, steady and comforting, grounding you with each small touch. His other hand cupped the back of your head, cradling you as though you were the most fragile thing in the world. His words, low and close to your ear, were soft promises that left no room for doubt.
The tears came harder, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling the fabric of his coat against your cheek. You clung to him, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as though he might disappear if you let go. Every part of you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was terrifying, yet liberating.
âIâm sorry...â you managed, voice muffled against him.
âFor what?â He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, were filled with nothing but understanding and warmth. âThereâs nothing to apologize for.â
Your words choked up, and you simply shook your head, a fresh wave of tears welling up. You couldnât explain it; it was too raw, too deeply ingrained in every wall youâd ever built around yourself. But Aventurine seemed to understand. He stayed, hands gently brushing up and down your back, thumb tracing soothing circles along your shoulder.
And in that moment, for the first time in ages, you felt safe. The warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the quiet strength in his holdâit reminded you that maybe it was okay to let yourself be held, to be cared for, even if it was overwhelming. His hand found yours, fingers entwining, grounding you in the here and now.
âWhenever you need this,â he murmured, his voice steady and filled with reassurance, âIâm here. And Iâm not going anywhere.â
The promise lingered in the quiet, like a lifeline you hadnât realized youâd been waiting for. You let yourself lean into him, allowing the tears to finally fall as he held you, the world slipping away until it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, safety, and an unspoken promise of more moments like thisâof a love that was patient enough to wait.
This is so Aventurine đŞđ
#honkai star rail#hsr#x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#hsr aventurine#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#hsr aventurine x reader#fluff#hurt/comfort#emotional vulnerability#reassurance#established relationship#emotional overwhelm#touch starved#reader crying
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darling, dearest, dead
written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge for November | prompt: guard | wc: 532 | rated: G | cw: major character death (but not really?) | tags: angst with a hopeful ending, Ghost!Steve Harrington, GhostHunter!Eddie Munson
Thereâs a legend that the first person who gets buried in a cemetery becomes the guardian of all the other souls buried there after. They become a reaper of sorts, ferrying the newly dead from this world to the nextâa place they can never go.
This is what happens to Steve Harrington, aged just eighteen when he tragically dies in the Starcourt tragedy in â85.
Steve, who dies but doesnât move on. Doesnât go peacefully into that good night, or however the hell the saying goes. He canât.
Steve, who attends his own burial, but despite how loud he screams into the faces of his loved ones, goes entirely unheard.
He eventually gets it, of course. Despite what everyone thinks (thought? Do they still think of him?) Steve isnât stupid. He catches on quickly when the first few souls come wandering up to him, lost and alone. Steve can see the path theyâre supposed to follow, even when they canât. So, Steve takes the time to explain to them what he knows, tries to comfort them, before he guides them towards the afterlife.
Itâs a curse, really. Eternal isolation. Decades pass but Steve remains. The few souls he speaks to are always so eager to leave him. In the end, Steveâs forgotten.
And then one day, Eddie Munson comes stomping through his cemetery.
âđĄď¸â
âWhatâs with the get up?â A dark haired stranger asks, startling Steve, âthere an anime convention going on or something?â
Steveâs eyes trail up and down the newcomer. He wants to make a comment about the strange attire he died in, but usually upsetting the newly departed isnât a good idea.
âItâs my work uniform. I didnât have time to change.â Steve explains, a well-rehearsed response. The Scoops uniform that he can never shed was always a point of interest for people. âSorry, I didnât see you come in.â
This is the first time Steveâs missed a burial. Strange.
The guy snorts, âdonât apologize. Iâm the one intruding. You visiting someone? I can wait to do my shit.â
Steve frowns, brows creasing where they come together. âNo. Iâm just⌠waiting.â He answers.
âFor the ghost?â The stranger asks, his interest clearly piqued.
Steve blinks. âThe ghost?â
âYeah, yâknow. The ghost that supposedly haunts this graveyard. Legend has it itâs some guy who died way back in the 80âsâthere've been sightings for like, thirty years, but no oneâs been able to actually record anything decent. All the pictures are super blurry. But I intend to change that. Iâm Eddie, by the way. Ghost hunter and semi-professional psychic.â Eddie grins, giving a strange little bow in his introduction.
WaitâŚ
â1985?â Steve asks.
âYep,â Eddie popâs the âpâ, âThe year Starcourt burned down and old Steven Harrington bit the dust. You know the story?â
Steve didnât need to breatheânot anymore. And yet, he still felt short of breath. Lightheaded.
âItâs just Steve.â He clarifies.
âYeah?â Eddie snorts, âhow would youââ
A light seems to go off in Eddieâs head. He pales, eyes widening.
âYou can really see me?â Steve canât help but laugh, tears stinging his eyes.
âYeah, I can see you, Steve.â Eddie mumbles, stunned, looking like heâd seen a ghost.
â
tagging: @sleepy-steve because they let me rant about reaper Steve to them<3 check out her reaper!eddie fic: here!đ
#reaper Steve Harrington#steddie#ghost Steve Harrington#ghost hunter eddie Munson#angst with a hopeful ending#steddie microfic#guard#my writing#write Rae write#November monthly challenge#writing challenge#Steddie fanfic#fanfic#angst#steddiemicrofic#steddiemicroficnovember#Steddie ficlet#Steddie microfic November#steddie fanfiction#steddie challenge#steddie fic challenge
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