#(please please please let me know if i should change anything!!)

[danidrabbles]

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. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s 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 – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re 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 cliff’s 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 weren’t 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 it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll 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 it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

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.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t 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 body’s 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 you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

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 don’t move, don’t 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 he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

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 you’ve 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 shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” 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. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” 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, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s 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 it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve 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 haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s 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 hadn’t 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.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t 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 – 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 Logan’s 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 pamphlets–or 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 hadn’t 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. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t 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 it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” 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. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t 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 you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

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 Logan’s 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. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re 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, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s 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 what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s 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, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

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.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s 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 man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t 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. You’re 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. It’s 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 Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You 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.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s 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. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

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. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” 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.

“I’ll let you two talk.” 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.

“How are you feeling?” 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. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s 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.

“It’s a story for another time,” 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 they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

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.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

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 don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t 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 don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

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.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t 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 – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s 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. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re 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.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s 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 hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s 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 Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t 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, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s 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 wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s 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 doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s 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. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s 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 he’s 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. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s 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 it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t 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 Logan’s 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. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

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.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– 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.”

Logan’s 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. He’s 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 it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You 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.”

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 there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re 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 Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” 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, you’re 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 thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d 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 you’d discussed –  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.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted 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. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d 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. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s 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 couldn’t 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. 

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. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

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 weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s 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 wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s 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. 

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 there’s 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. 

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, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” 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.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t 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.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s 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.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t 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 Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t 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.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t 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 they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” 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. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” 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, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s 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. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll 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.

You’re 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.

It’s 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 he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

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. He’s 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. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” 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. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s 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. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” 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, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s 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.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – 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. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t 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 don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s 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 fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” 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 apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” 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. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” 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. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s 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.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but 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.”

– – – – –

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 she’s 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. 

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 he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re 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 you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s 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 moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t 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. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s 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 before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

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, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s 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 everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re 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, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s 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 he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d 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. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” 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.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

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. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

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. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” 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.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

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. Logan’s 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. 

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 you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s 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.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t 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. 

“You’re so good to me,” 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. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s 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. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s 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. Logan’s 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. 

The feeling of Logan’s 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 isn’t 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.

“Oh, that feels really good,” 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. 

Logan’s 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 you’re 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. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” 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.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” 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 Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s 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, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s 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 Logan’s 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. 

He’s 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 doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” 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. It’s 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. 

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.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” 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. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t 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.

“F–fuck,” 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. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

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.

“C’mere,” 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.

You’re 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.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re 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.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s 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.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t 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. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t 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 skin–

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. It’s 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 doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” 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, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s 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. 

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, it’s 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. 

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. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re 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. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s 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. It’s 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 you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

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 Logan’s 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 you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

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 Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll 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 wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s 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) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s 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.

“...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,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

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.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. 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.

– – – – –

(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 🫂

[ribread03]

Our Song I

m.sturniolo

Summery: When you receive a DM from nick asking you about doing a collaboration with them you cant help but say yes!

THIS IS MY WORK AND MY IDEA! PLEASE DONT USE THIS AS “INSPIRATION” OR TAKE IT WITHOUT GETTING MY PERMISSION FIRST! thank you :)

AN: this is part one of the series “our song” if you would like to know more about “y/n” you can use the mood board! Enjoy :)

Y/N POV

You’re sitting at your desk editing the newest YouTube video you plan to put out. Music is playing in the background as you zone out into your computer. Your phone dings, pulling you out your computer to see who might have messaged you.

Your heart skips a beat when you see “nicolassturniolo sent you a message” in your notification stack. You’ve been a fan of the sturniolo triplet since what felt like forever, and now Nick is messaging you on instagram. You’re in such a state of shock as you open the message, hands trembling as you read what it says;

“Hello, Me, Matt and Chris have come across your YouTube channel and we’re wondering if you want to collab with us sometime in the future….”

Flash Back Two Weeks Ago…

You had just finished editing a YouTube video to post, hitting the post button you close your computer and lay down to take a nap. Expecting the usual few hundred comments and likes when you wake up in a few hours.

Boy were you wrong… A few hours go by and you wake up and see that your video has blown up, thousands of views, thousands of comments, and thousands of new subscribers. Your eyes scan your phone “congratulations on 1 MILLION subscribers” was in your email.

“OH! MY! GOD!” You screamed out, alerting your parents who happened to be downstairs, to hear you. Jumping up and out of bed, starting to exit your room, stepping over piles of books and clothes.

“Y/N? Are you okay!?” You can hear your mother frantically call up to you while walking up the stairs.

“I HIT A MILLION SUBSCRIBERS!” You say excitedly while meeting her in the hallway…

Back to the present…

“Oh. my. god…” you say quietly, fingers hovering over your screen, scared that if you hit anything this will all be a figment of your imagination. Clicking on the notification you hold your breath as your phone unlocks and opens instagram… this is no figment of your imagination. This is real life and the triplets really want to collaborate with you.

You let out a few more silent “omgs” before heading downstairs to talk to your mom about all of this. You exit your room and walk down the stairs, “Momma?” You say softly as you round the corner into the kitchen.

“Yeah sweetie?” Your mom says as she’s washing the dishes. You sit on a small stool on the floor before you talk again, petting your cat, nugget, that was by your feet.

“I got a message from Nick Sturniolo, asking if I wanted to collaborate with them,” you can hear the excitement in your voice as you tell your mom. Your mom also knows that you’ve been a fan, and practically obsessed, with these three boys since high school and have always wanted to meet them one day.

“You did? That’s great honey, what did you say?” She asks turning the sink off and turning to face you.

“I didn’t answer yet.. I'm honestly scared because what if they change their minds?” You explain to your mom with a nervous chuckle. Your cat had now made its way up onto your lap, purring loudly.

“I think you should do whatever you want, just know that a flight out to LA might be expensive.” You took your mom’s words to heart and gave her a small nod.

“I want to go out and meet them, a collaboration would help me so much.. maybe if I get a little more information then I’ll be able to see if I can afford it or not,” you explained back to your mom, pulling your phone out to DM Nick back.

“I would love to collab with you guys one day! That has been an absolute dream of mine forever. I would love to share some more information about when and where if possible.” You hit send with slightly shaky fingers before talking to your mom again, “I just messaged him back, I asked him for some more details on when and where we would collab”

“Okay sweetie,” your mom says softly before returning to whatever she was doing in the kitchen, before you came out there to talk to her. You give your cat a few more pets before standing and going back into your room, waiting for Nick to message you back with more details surrounding this possible future collaboration…

Matts POV

“Did you ask her yet?” Matt was sitting next to Nick looking over at his phone. Matt had seen your YouTube video and thought you were the most beautiful, funny, and relatable person on the internet, and he knew right then and there he needed to meet you.

He had asked Nick and Chris what they thought of some of your YouTube videos, hinting at the idea of a collaboration with you. Saying and pointing out things that would hopefully catch his brother's attention and make them also want to meet you, just maybe not for the same reason.

Matt would find himself scrolling through your instagram when he was bored, careful not to like any of your posts, wanting to keep you out of his fans stalking obsessions before he could even properly meet you. Thumbs carefully scrolling on TikTok as he watches every video you’ve made on there, watching how every video is a little different.

“Yes Matt, I did ask her,” Nick says with a slight eye roll, becoming tired of his brother’s constant asking. Nick's phone dings lightly, alerting that someone messaged him, the someone being you. Nick opens instagram and the messages that the two of you have sent back and forth. Matt's eyes scan the screen quickly, not caring that he might be invading some privacy of his brothers.

Matt's eyes land on the words, “I would love to collab with you guys one day! That has been an absolute dream of mine forever…” and he immediately becomes happier, his smile widening and eyes seem to sparkle and little more.

Nick sends you a quick DM back, asking if regular texting would be easier to send information through and that the collab would be sometime within the next two months. “I can’t believe she said yes!” Matt explains to Nick, his excitement evident in his tone.

“I didn’t think she would say no,” Nick says calmly, typing out his phone number to send to you…

AN: i hope you enjoyed this first part! If you would like to be on the tag list for this series comment on this post! Just asking to be added and i will do so :) feed back and thoughts are always welcome!

All boarders are from @issysh3ll

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 6

MDNI // 18+ content

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 3.8k approx (part 6)

Chapter Summary: You are at the mercy of Chief Chan and Officer Felix.

A/n: The time has come! Finally the Aussies have their way with y/n. I know so many of you have been hanging out for this chapter, sending messages and comments, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I know it was a long time coming.

Two things I need to mention, though. The first, I forgot Minho was a detective in the last chapter and called him 'officer' (do you think he'd be a dear and punish me for my mistake?), and two, I mentioned his clothes got soaked in the shower, but nothing about him changing into dry clothes. Let’s just pretend he did.

CW below the cut.

CW: where do I start? Frisking innapropriately, vaginal and anal fingering, photographing of injuries, pinching a nipple, spanking with a belt, handcuffs, bloody lip, hole inspection, crude language about how swollen and how much it's going to hurt, spit roasting, oral sex (m rec), cum eating, cream pie, size kink, name calling (cockslut, whore, babygirl, good girl etc, multiple orgasms, brief breeding kink, rough sex, soft dom moments from Chan and Felix, double vaginal penetration, color system (all green for go ahead), aftercare, angst (you'll see why).

>>>>>>>>

The time arrives for you to finally visit the chief and one his officers, Felix.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Minho says as he does up the last button on the oversized shirt he’d helped you into.

You nod. You’re ready, but nervous.

“Now, remember your color system, your safe word. You don’t have to do anything you don—“ he stops abruptly, coughing awkwardly as he realizes he sounds far too concerned than he should.

Flustered, he clenches his hands into fists and steps back from you.

Again, just like earlier, your heart flutters for just a brief moment, and you swallow hard. You can’t understand it. This is definitely not the context to be feeling things.

Detective Minho walks close to your side as you make your way to the Chief’s office, a protective hand on your lower back.

“Just knock and wait for them to answer.” He says stopping at the door. “Make sure you’re a good girl for them, okay?” He leans in to your ear. “I can’t wait to feel you again later.” Your eyes widen and your cunt clenches, but he walks away like he said nothing at all.

Knock knock.

You tap on the door and wait.

You only have to wait a brief moment before the door opens and you see Office Lee. Felix. He gives you a big, beautiful smile and ushers you into the office.

You’re taken by surprise when you’re immediately spun around and your chest is pressed against the wall beside the door.

“Gotta frisk you, love.” Officer Felix says sweetly. His hands are firm and deliberate as he pats over your shoulders and arms, the down the sides of your body.

“You’ll need to step a little wider, please.” He whispers in your ear.

You part your legs and his hand immediately drags up your inner thigh to cup your pussy, sending tingles through your body. You lean your head against the wall and let out a shaky breath.

“Need to do the internal now.” He says low and slips a finger deep into your heat. You squeak at the intrusion, but it turns to a low moan when he slowly drags his finger in and out of you. His fingers are expert, knowing exactly where that sweet spot is inside you. You rock back against his fingers and moan again.

“Hmm,” he says, “looks like you’re hiding a lot of creaminess here.” He reaches around, offering his cream-coated finger to your mouth. You open and let him slip it inside, pressing it against your tongue, and you suck it willingly.

“Now for the other pretty hole.” There’s a strain in his voice as he snakes his other hand underneath your shirt to find your ass. You whimper around the finger in your mouth as he presses his other against your hole.

The ring of muscle offers little resistance, and the tip of his finger pushes past the rim. Your eyes squeeze tight and your hands press into the wall to steady yourself as he begins to press his finger in further. Although your ass has already had plenty of things done to it in the last twenty four hours, the stretch still feels like a sweet mix of pleasure and pain.

With two fingers scissoring your ass, and a few shoved into your mouth, you’re on the brink of coming. You know that somewhere in the room Chief Chan is watching, even though you didn’t get a chance to see where he was.

Your moans are muffled from Felix’s fingers, and your cunt is leaking arousal down your inner thighs. You feel like a mess and they haven’t even started yet.

Your legs tremble as your pussy clenches around nothing, and you come, pathetically, just like that.

Felix removes all his fingers from your ass and your mouth, and wipes them on your shirt. “Good girl. Now we need to take photos. Come.” He grabs your arm and guides you to turn around.

This is the first time you see the room. It really does look like a Police Chief’s office, with a long, low coffee table surrounded by armchair couches.

At the far end of the room is a large timber desk, and sitting on the edge of the desk is the Chief. Chief Chan.

“Y/n.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling, his expression devilish. “Now you’re going to be a good little prisoner for us, yeah?” He stands up only to take a seat in the couch at the head of the coffee table. “Gonna let Officer Lee here take some good photos of your injuries?”

He settles into his chair. “Strip.” He commands.

Your hands tremble as you unbutton your shirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving you bare for them.

“Fuck.” Chan mutters under his breath. “So perfect.” He swallows hard. “Felix, get started.”

Felix pulls a set of handcuffs from his belt and secures them around your wrists in front of you. “I need you on all fours on the coffee table. Ass towards the Chief. He needs to see all of you.”

You climb onto the table, positioning yourself so Chan can see everything. He lets out a low hum, when he sees the red welts on your ass cheeks.

Felix retrieves a camera from a drawer to the side of the room, and begins to photograph and take note of your injuries.

“Those red welts would be from the paddling she received in the interrogation.” Felix says. Click. Click. “And this cut on her neck, was from Jeongin in the shower.” Click. Click. “Note, there’s also some minor marks on her wrists from various restraints.

“What about her nipples?” Chief Chan interrupts.

“Up on your knees, I need to check.” You rise to your knees and Felix reaches out to stroke your nipple, causing you to shudder under his touch.

“They’re a little bruised.” He tweaks the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then pulls away to take a photograph.

You look down at your nipples to see they are in fact bruised. You hadn’t realized how hard Minho and Seungmin had those clamps attached.

Felix continues to examine your body, photographing any marks or bruises he finds along the way.

“Chief. Would you like to do the honors? Y/n, back on your hands and knees. Its time for your ‘hole inspection’.”

Fuck! The words ‘hole inspection’ hit you straight in the pussy.

“Of course. Pass me your torch. Spread her ass wide for me.” Chan says gruffly, his tone laced with arousal.

You sense Chief Chan moving behind you, and the click of the torch. With a hand on each of your cheeks, Felix spreads you wide so you’re on display. You feel a surge of heat wash over you. You��re excited, aroused, and so fucking nervous. You’re loving being vulnerable like this.

You feel a pad of a thumb on your clit, rubbing harsh circles on it. You lean your head on the table, trying your hardest not to whimper. It’s difficult though. Especially how they’re talking about you like you’re nothing but a fuck toy.

“Fucking hell, Felix. Look at how used her cunt looks.” Felix leans in for a closer look, while Chan jams a finger inside your pussy. “Her lips are swollen. So red. Rubbed raw.” He says incredulously. “Chief? How’s she gonna take both our cocks. She looks too swollen.”

“Don’t worry, Lixie. We’ll make them fit. Every inch of us both.” Chan laughs like a crazed man as he tries to spread your hole wide so can try and see inside. “Look at that! She likes the idea of it being a struggle, she’s dripping wet.”

Chan runs a finger along your wet folds, gathering your creaminess. He’s not wrong. This is one of your fantasies. Taking two huge, throbbing cocks in your tight, abused little cunt.

You bite your bottom lip, willing the intrusive thoughts about how sick you must be away, and instead try to remember Detective Minho’s words. “You’re not a sick freak”.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when a loud harsh slap of a belt lands on your skin, hitting you where you were still tender from the paddling.

The sting is almost unbearable, and you bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood.

Another hit with the belt has you crying out, and the third strike has you sobbing loudly.

The fourth lands on your swollen pussy lips, and your knees buckle, causing you slip and land on your stomach.

Chief Chan doesn’t care, and he keeps landing more hits with the belt on your ass.

Felix gently pushes your hair off the side of you face and leans in, kissing your cheek gently.

“Remember you can use your safe word. What color are we on?” He stokes your back awaiting your answer.

Chan pauses his ministrations.

“G-g-green.” You sob. “P-please….need to c-come.” You begin to bawl your eyes out.

“Shh… it’s okay. We’ll take care of you.” Felix reassures you, continuing to stoke your back, and Chan rubs your cheeks gently, before landing three more strikes to your sore ass.

“Time to make the Chief feel good.” Says Felix. “Then we can make you feel good, yeah”. He helps you up but doesn’t uncuff you.

He turns you to face Chan who has resumed his seat in the armchair. He appears to like what he sees. You with tear streaks all down your face, and a bloody lip that’s beginning to drip down your chin, it seems to have an effect on him.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenched and fists in tight balls on the chair arms. You know he’s going to absolutely enjoy this.

“Come. Down on your knees for the Chief.”

You kneel between Chan’s widespread legs and look up it him through your eyelashes. He leans down and wipes your lip, smearing blood across your face.

“You seem to enjoy pain.” He says low, cupping your cheek. You stare at him wide eyed, holding your breath. “Which is lucky, cos you should have seen your cunt just now. I promised Officer Felix we’d make it fit, but I’m not so sure you’re gonna be able to take it without it hurting.”

You gulp.

“Now,” His grip on your jaw tightens. “I need you to put this pretty little mouth to good use while Felix tries to pry you open a bit, yeah?”

He leans back in the chair waiting for you to begin.

You can already see he is big just from the bulge in his trousers, and when you release it from its confines you can’t help but gasp at the sight.

Enormous. So many thick, pulsing veins, and it's heavy. So fucking heavy looking.

You hold it tentatively in your still cuffed hands, giving it an experimental pump. He hisses loudly when you lean down and lick the slit of his cock head.

“I think you can do better than that.” He growls and grabs a fist full of hair on the back of your head, pushing you down over his length.

He pushes you too deep and you gag loudly around him. But he simply chuckles at your struggle and holds you there.

Felix positions himself behind you, kneeling and pressing his cock to your entrance. He holds your hips steady with one hand and pushes into you. Chan was right, you are swollen, and it is a big stretch just to accept the tip.

Chan loosens his grip on your hair, giving you the opportunity to show him what a good little girl you can be.

You sink back over his shaft, relaxing your throat to take him just that little bit more. He groans in approval and rests his head back on the couch.

Felix fills you inch by inch. It stings, yet it feels so satisfying to be stretched open. You groan, the vibrations from your mouth making Chan shudder.

Felix slams the last of his length inside you, taking you by surprise and making you choke on Chan’s cock.

He then thrusts slowly, allowing you to concentrate on pleasing Chan, but every drag of his cock inside you is bringing you closer and closer to another orgasm.

“I wish all pussies were this compliant.” Felix laughs. “This one’s opening up perfectly.”

He rolls his hips a few times, grinding against you deliciously, then snaps his hips hard, hitting your cervix brutally. He alternates between these actions, driving you crazy, sending you closer and closer to the edge.

Chan lets you do all the work on his cock, watching you drool all over it sloppily. Sucking, licking, gagging. You take as much as you possibly can into your throat. You use your hands where you can’t reach with your mouth. Every now and then he pushes your head down a little more, testing your limits.

“Fuck! She’s so tight, Chief. You wanna feel her? I’d love to come in her mouth if I’m allowed?” He thrusts into you hard. “I’m so close.”

“Mmm, yes, let me fill her little cunt with my cum, you fill her mouth.” Chan agrees.

You’re abruptly emptied of both penises and directed to straddle Chan on the couch with one foot on either side of him, and your back against his chest. He hooks his arms under your thighs and with Felix guiding Chan’s cock to your entrance, you’re lowered onto his length.

You whimper as your body stretches to accommodate him as he continues to fill you bit by bit.

You’re too full. There’s no way in hell you’re going to fit both of them at once.

Eventually, your ass meets his hips and you’re fully impaled on him.

“Fuck, yes. Such a good, tight, filthy cunt.” Growls Chan and he rolls his hips up against you while pulling you down as hard as he can.

You cry out.

“Shh now. Here.” Felix rubs the tip of his leaking cock against your check. You turn your head and open up to take him. He fucks your mouth a lot rougher than he fucked your cunt, pushing himself deeper and deeper into your throat on every thrust. It only takes a few minutes for him to cum down your throat with a pretty moan, his head thrown back.

It makes you clench hard around Chan. “Babygirl likes a belly full of cum? Good, cos she’s gonna be fed a whole lot when all the officers take her at once.” He says, pounding into you from below.

“Open up, love. Show me your empty mouth. That’s it. Good girl.” Felix is pleased when you stick out your tongue and show him just how hungry you are.

He removes the the remainder of his clothes and starts to fist his cock, working on getting it hard again.

Chan stands up, pushing you off his cock and laying you onto the coffee table unceremoniously. He folds you in half, pushing your legs up and then absolutely rams himself into you over and over.

The cold hard wood underneath you is uncomfortable on your back as you’re being fucked into it.

“You like this? You fucking little whore? Hmm? Love having a fat cock filling you up like this?” He leans down and kisses you. It’s unexpected, but you welcome it. It’s rough and harsh, just like his cock, and the pressure inside you becomes too much.

He pulls away and you look down to see just how thick and long he is, and how much he stretches and fills you. Your engorged, pink lips enveloping him as your cunt sucks him in. You whimper as your body starts to shake, and with a loud cry, you drench his cock, clenching around it, coming hard.

“That’s our girl. Yeah milk me. Milk Channie’s huge cock!” He demands as his eyes scrunch tight and he lets out an animalistic growl as he coats your insides.

He pulls away, panting, sweating, exhausted, and removes his clothes hastily.

Felix is quick to photograph the cum leaking out of you and you hold your legs up to ensure he gets a good view.

“So perfect.” He approves and sets the camera aside. “Y/n. It’s time. Let’s change positions.” He smiles and uncuffs your hands and helping you to your feet.

Chan produces a blanket from a drawer and spreads it out on the coffee table. He lays down on it and instructs you to straddle him.

Holding his cock steady, he pushes inside your still leaking cunt once again. It’s an impossibly tight squeeze, especially after your orgasm, but somehow he manages to fill you to the hilt. You both exhale sharply when he lifts you slightly and pulls you back down again.

“Come here, lean on me.” He invites you to lay against his chest and he wraps his arms around you. “You’re already choking me. I’m not sure I’m going to survive this.” He whispers against your ear.

He fucks you slowly for a few minutes, grinding up into you over and over. Meanwhile, Felix caresses your body, stroking your back, your ass and presses kisses along your back. He spreads your cheeks and curses low at what he sees.

You’re melting under their softer approach, which you know is all part of them relaxing you for what’s about to come.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Cooes Chan.

“Feels s'good.” You mumble.

“Yeah? You ready to take Officer Felix? Think you can do that for us?” He purrs.

You nod against his shoulder. “Wanna be a good girl.” You whimper.

Chan chuckles. “Yeah? I know you’re gonna be. You’re gonna take Felix like a good little cockslut.”

You feel Felix behind you, positioning himself. “Fuck, Chan.” Felix says uncertainly. “She looks so full already.”

“She’s okay, Lix. She’ll take you no matter what. Let’s fuck her brains out. Tear up her pussy.”

You moan and clench around Chan. You’re certain this man could make you come just with his filthy mouth.

You let out a low groan as Felix presses the tip of his cock at your entrance alongside Chan.

“F-fuck!” You cry when his tip pushes past the opening. “S’too much.” You pant.

“Color?” Chan says sternly.

“G-green. J-just slow, please! Slow.”

Chan holds you with one hand around your back, the other gently holding your ass, pulling the cheek aside to help give Felix access. “You guide us, yeah?”

“You ready to try for more?” Felix asks, a kindness in his voice. The man seems so kind, so considerate. You want to have him inside you too.

“Yes…more.” You pant.

Slowly, and under your direction, Felix squeezes in next to Chan. “So tight. Chan, how are you holding up?”

Chan’s voice is shaky when he answers. “M’not gonna last, mate. Pussy’s too good.”

“More…please…make me take it. Wannabe a good girl! Wanna come on two cocks. Just fuck me!” You ramble and nuzzle against Chan.

The stretch is nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your walls are stretched further than they have ever been, and they’re so deep inside you, owning you, making you theirs.

You begin to drool, as they take turns withdrawing and thrusting in a beautiful rhythm.

The men growl and grunt as they work together, eventually deciding that instead of one thrust in while the other withdraws, they are going to thrust in at the same time.

“Oh god! Fuck!” You wail.

The both laugh at your reaction, pleased with themselves.

“Harder! More!” You demand. You need them to really give it to you like they promised.

“Make it hurt!”

Their reaction tells you it is music to their ears to hear that.

“Ready, Lix? You heard her. Babygirl wants it to hurt.”

You almost regret it straight away. Felix’s fingers dig into your hips hard, and Chan digs his feet into the table for leverage.

Together they don’t hold back, fucking you brutally. You feel like your cunt is about to split into two. It’s stretched to its limits, yet it craves more. Frantically, you seek more friction, more depth and your body automatically pushes back down against them seeking more.

Lewd sounds fill the office. Sweaty skin slapping skin. Moans, whimpers and curses of ‘fuck’. Then there’s the wet sounds of your pussy. It’s all so dirty and filthy.

You feel yourself so close to your another orgasm, and when both men move a finger to your ass, you know you’re a goner.

“Think you can take both our fingers?”

“Ngh…y-yes…give it to me.” You sob.

The moment you feel your rim give way, and their fingers slip inside slightly and pulling in opposite directions, stretching your hole wide, your body shakes uncontrollably, and you come hard with a sound that can only be described something raw, something primal.

“Fuck! You feel that?” Cries Felix, slamming into you as hard as he can.

“Y-yeah! Fuck, she’s gonna suck us dry. So tight…. Fuuuuck!!” He groans as he cums, releasing himself deep in you. “That's it, let us breed you like a bitch in heat. Gonna take Lixie’s cum too? Mmm yeah? Gonna suck the cum out of him with your tight, hungry little cunt?”

“Mmhmm… yess…need his cum too.”

“Wanna be bred, yeah?”

“Y-yes….please. Please. Need it.” You’re dribbling all over Chan’s chest, mumbling in confusion. It all feels so overwhelmingly incredible. So good you’re going to -

“I’m fucking coming again!” You cry, clamping down around the the two men.

“Oh fuck! Gonna give you my cum. Gonna-”

Felix’s hips falter as he cums, filling you so much that it begins to seep out around both cocks.

He slips out of your tired pussy, and you already feel far too empty, and then Chan pulls out too making you sob at the loss.

“You okay?” Felix wraps a blanket around you and Chan produces warm towels to clean you up.

You nod and smile, although you’re also bawling your eyes out from how euphoric the experience felt. “It was so good. Thank you for being so…considerate. You know, letting me set the pace. As you know, that was my first time.”

“Of course.” Chan kneels down in front of you. “We take our roles very seriously. Our client’s needs are our top priority.” He wipes a tear away. “Now. You need to stay here and rest. Felix will bring you food. And if you are still up for it, we will commence the final request of yours as soon as you're good to go."

>>>>

Minho listens from the other side of the door. That’s right, you’re a client. Nothing more.

He sighs.

Then why did he listen to that entire interaction? Why did he feel like he needed to make sure they didn’t take things too far with you? Or that they would honor your safe word?

He knows Chan and Felix wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with, yet he stood there, fists clenched, listening to you whimpering? Waiting for an excuse to barge in there.

Fuck! He cards his fingers through his hair.

Why did he feel jealous when he heard the sounds that your sweet cunt made when they were inside you? Why did he want to burst in there and rip them from your body and sink himself inside you?

Why the fuck does he care so much?

He settles his mouth into a thin line. He know why, and it's absolutely not ideal. Not to mention it's against the rules of the job.

He sighs again and forces himself to walk away. He needs to figure out a way that he's going to handle watching you get gang banged, and quick.

>>>>

a/n: Oopies, someone is struggling with some feelings it seems. How did you enjoy this chapter? I really wanted to make it a longish one and really give the the Aussie their moment. Please, if you enjoyed, consider a reblog or leave a comment. I love hearing your thoughts on this series.

>>>>

@jeonginsleftcheek @meilix @itgirlalisaa @linocz @boi-bi-ahaha @frozenpeasworld @grandma143 @milkypinkmimi @bangchansbbgirl @leefelixsslut @privhace @justforreaders @galaxycatdrawz @melochacco @jiwoos-babygirl @lunearta @kavifornia @chuuyaobsessed @iadorethemskz @hyun-hwanj @courtnort455 @brimarie0512 @dwaekkicidal @kibs-and-bits @txa-r @minh0scat @the-sweet-rose @chrizzztopherbang @velvetmoonlght @youcanstayyeah @skzswife @stephanieeeyang @withnia @kibs-and-bits @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @ihrtlino

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin@weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @jiminssluttyminx @dool-set-net @redstayrosie @mintymintmint251 @katsukis1wife @delulustardust @eastjonowhere

[kraftykelpie]

Originally a concept from "after the war" where Cody and Obi-Wan are discussing their long-term future goals, but it fits @codywancomfort as well!

I wrote fanfic in the tags so I had to rewrite it all here, below the cut! <3

“I've been thinking about what you said-” Cody makes an inquisitive noise in response, his eyes shut in bliss, rubbing circles into Obi-Wan's hip, his other hand playing with russet strands “-about children.”

Cody's eyes shoot open and his left hand stops in its motions, albeit briefly.

“I thought I wanted to take on another Padawan after Anakin, but I wonder if that emptiness was something I hadn't felt since Korkie, and-” he takes a breath. “- I miss that. I missed that with Korkie. That growth, watching that life form and become something of your own to watch grow into a fully recognized being of their own right.”

Cody takes a deep breath to avoid accidentally inhaling too sharply and choking on spit. He did that once after Obi-Wan winked at him on the bridge of the Negotiator. It was embarrassing.

He looks imploringly at Obi-Wan, letting Obi-Wan take his time getting his thoughts out. Cody doesn't need to add anything, Obi-Wan already knows about his ruminations about little cadets and wanting to raise one, no need to beat crumpled clankers about it.

“Darling, if you'll have me-”

He's cut off my Cody, honest to Karl, giggling and pulling Obi-Wan close. He buries his head in the crook of Obi-Wan's shoulder, while muffled, going,

“It'd be more strategically sound if we got married first though, don't y’think?” He presses a kiss into Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan chuckles at the phrasing as Cody moves to sit up.

It's spur of the moment, really. Anakin won't be pleased with his former master exchanging mandalorian marriage vows post-coitus; though Anakin isn't really allowed to judge is he? He got secretly married and didn't invite his master, so fair's fair, really.

The vows had been a long time coming, and it was a wonder that they hadn't said them sooner. Though, the ongoings of a Republic changed by war and internal corruption had made it difficult to get married, between one half of the pair working hard with the Jedi Order to try and restructure systems that should have been in place a long-time ago, and the other off championing Vodé rights delegations alongside Rex (who's leading the charge).

Now's as good a time as any.

Obi-Wan smiles up at Cody, and dryly posits “ suppose we should make it official before we go announcing pregnancies, hm?”

Cody, lit by the artificial Sun of Coruscant, looks down at Obi-Wan with all the reverence and heartfelt adoration of a patron to their god.

“That'd be a good idea”.

[hearttodevour]

nobody would believe you're a werewolf.

you're small, helplessly nerdy and anxious like a horse. you might still have no one at college if your extroverted best friend hadn't adopted you. of course you developed a one-sided crush on her. of course.

but nevertheless, when the full moon calls you, every part of you twists and rends, and you run out into the night. You run and you howl your frustration out. Sometimes you chase the deer and bite at the air inches away from them before you let them escape.

one night, you smell a familiar scent, and you follow it. you follow it to your best friend, on a late night jog, earbuds in. wearing just a sports bra. your breath hitches. silently, you follow her, watching between the trees.

would it be so bad to get closer? you wouldn't do anything, not really. you would never hurt her, you couldn't. but she'd just get a little spooked, right?

you pounce. she screams as you push her to the ground. she falls quiet as you nuzzle her cheek and smell her hair, eyes closed.

"ohgodoh-," she says, gasping for breath. "oh god." you lie down on her to feel her body on yours, you lick her face to taste her sweat. you steal those last few moments of closeness before you have to go.

"are you going to fuck me?" she asks, biting her lip. "you can do whatever you want to me."

you freeze. she giggles nervously

"did I make it weird? I hope I didn't make it weird."

you step off her and growl at her. she doesn't know all the things you want to do to her. you should leave, but you can't. but maybe you can scare her off.

"please," she pleads. "um. no blood, no lasting marks not covered by clothes. okay?"

your breathing goes shallow. you've already done something you weren't supposed to. what's a little more?

you move closer, sniffing her body. you can smell smell how wet she is. you draw your paw down her exposed midriff, eyes locked to hers, down to her waistline, claws catching on her shorts. she eagerly helps you strip her naked. you press your pseudopenis against her stomach, and she lets out a whimper.

(you don't know why female werewolves have pseudopenises when that's more of a hyena thing. you never really expected it to come up)

you push it in, and press your body on her soft skin. you've never done this before, as a wolf or a human, but let your instinct, your hunger guide you. she's warm under you. she's warm around you. you rock your hips, sliding inside her, your breath hot on her ear.

her breathing changes and she grabs onto your fur. you lick her lips (does it count as your first kiss?), you lick her neck, you caress her breasts with your tongue. she lets out such cute little noises that make you want to squeeze her like a plushie.

you find the rhythm that suits you, and you push harder. you feel the sensation building up, your back arches and your breaths get heavier. she is loud now, and you know it's your doing, and you relish in it.

all too easily, you slip over the edge and let out a long howl as the euphoria floods you. you slump over to your side, surprised to find your crush still attached to you, the pseudopenis engorged and stuck inside her. she doesn't seem surprised. in fact she's smiling as she finishes herself off, not even an inch from you. she yelps and her knee digs into your thigh.

she nuzzles to your chest and you hold her there until the stuckness releases. you make sure she gets back to the city streets safe, watching from the trees. you run and you run. you find a herd of deer. you chase down a straggler.

this time, you bite into its neck, and you taste its warm blood.

Part 1

Part 2

[ak319]

Lovesick Village Boy x Fem civil servant reader

《Beloved's Veil》

PART VI

➺ Part V

"Rahim, please… say something," you tried again, your patience stretched thin by the gnawing worry in your chest. This was the third time you'd asked, and with each unanswered attempt, your resolve to get to the bottom of things only grew stronger. If he didn’t speak soon, you were prepared to go straight to his family’s home yourself.

"That's it." You rose to leave, but before you could take a step, a small hand gripped your sleeve, halting you. Rahim’s expression was haunted, his eyes wide and pleading. His hand trembled, clutching you like you were his only anchor in a sea of terror. The fear in his gaze didn’t diminish your anxiety, it only sharpened it, tightening like a vice around your heart.

"You’ve got to say something, kiddo," you murmured, leaning close so he wouldn’t feel pressured. "You’re making me worry here."

Finally, after a silence that stretched unbearably long, Rahim’s voice came, barely a whisper. "U… uncle…"

You leaned in, gentle and steady. "Habib?" you prompted softly. "Are you talking about him? Yes, tell me, Rahim… what happened?"

He hesitated, the words hovering at the edge of his lips, but then, as quickly as he’d started, he fell silent again, retreating into himself. His eyes shifted away, shadowed and unreadable, as if something unspeakable lay hidden just beneath the surface.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing that pressing him further wouldn’t help. He needed time. Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, you signaled Odai to come closer. "Odai, stay with him," you instructed, casting a final, lingering glance at Rahim

"B-but what about you, ma'am? Where are you off to?" Odai's voice trembled slightly as he watched you prepare to leave.

"To his house, with Maha," you replied firmly, glancing at the clock on your desk. It was 7:30 a.m., too early for peace but not for action.

Odai shifted uneasily. "I should go with you, and Maha can stay here."

You silenced him with a look, then took the gun from your locker, its cold weight in your hand grounding you with the resolve you needed. "I can handle it, Odai. Just watch over him and call me if anything changes."

Odai nodded reluctantly, his eyes flickering to the unconscious Rahim. And with that, you left, setting out with Maha, who looked more unnerved than usual, her hands twisting in her lap as you drove.

"What if… what if it’s related to the story I told you, ma’am?” Maha's voice was small, hesitant. “And from what you’ve told me about Rahim, and everything… what if Habib’s… possessed again? I warned you, didn’t I? It’s not right to get tangled with him, or that family. The way his brother insulted you…” Her hands clenched in her lap, remembering that day, the bitter words she still hadn’t forgotten.

“Maha, we talked about this.” You kept your voice calm, though tension simmered beneath. “Habib needs help. This… this might be something worse, yes. God, I have no idea what we’re going to find there or how deep this goes. But if this is connected to him, I’m stepping in, Basim’s objections be damned.”

Maha looked at you with renewed determination. Her gaze shifted to the gun secured in its holder beside you, her expression hardening with resolve.

“Yes, ma’am.”

═════ ◈ ═════

When you reached the house, the air was thick with an unsettling silence, the kind that seeped into your bones. There was something about it that felt wrong, like an invisible void, as if you had come to collect the fragments of something lost. The house, once a familiar place of comfort, now felt like a hollow shell. You shook off the feeling, attributing it to the paranoia caused by Rahim's cryptic behavior and the events of the night.

"Ma’am, he... he’s very sick. He wouldn’t stop saying your name..." Kadir's voice faltered as he stood beside Habib's bed. You looked down at the unconscious man, your grip tightening on his hand as his body trembled. His mouth was dry, letting out soft, pitiful whimpers that seemed to grow quieter, calmer, as if he found some semblance of peace in your presence.

"What did the doctor say?" You asked, keeping your voice steady, despite the deepening sense of dread gnawing at you.

"He has a high fever, and he's under extreme stress..." Kadir responded his voice a mixture of concern and exhaustion. You glanced at Dana, who was sitting beside Habib, her eyes filled with a motherly worry that was almost suffocating. She didn't need to say anything, her gaze spoke volumes, each one filled with unspoken fear and you couldn't take it anymore.

"I’ve had enough." You stood abruptly, your voice hardening with resolve. "I’m taking him with me. And nobody here is going to stop me." Your stance was unwavering, your eyes locked with Kadir's, whose face paled at the weight of your words.

Kadir seemed to hesitate, but the look in your eyes made it clear you wouldn't be moved. He nodded slowly, his expression resigned, knowing full well what you meant.

"I just..." you continued, turning your attention to them, "Do you both know where Rahim is?"

The couple exchanged a glance, confusion crossing their faces. "Rahim? He must be in his room... You want me to call him?" Dana’s voice was tentative, unsure of the sudden shift in the air.

"No, no." You cut her off. "He’s not in his room. He’s in my bungalow." You watched as realization hit them like a wave, their faces draining of color as you explained the strange events that had unfolded, the boy's frantic running, the collapse, and the chilling connection to Habib. Their expressions grew ashen, the weight of the situation settling over them like a suffocating fog.

Kadir blinked in disbelief, his voice a low whisper. "I better go... inform Basim of this."

"No." You turned, cutting him off once again, your tone sharp. "Not until I leave with Habib. I am not in the mood to deal with him right now. Trust me, you don’t want me to." Your eyes flickered to the unconscious figure of Habib, then back to Maya, your resolve unshakable.

Maya, who had been quietly observing the situation, nodded in agreement, her eyes meeting yours with understanding. She didn’t need to ask any more questions. The decision had already been made.

"In fact, you both are coming with me, I think... Rahim might not mind it." You said with a touch of certainty, even though your mind raced with the implications of the situation. The bruises you had seen on the child’s body were unmistakable, and they burned in your mind. You were certain they were from Basim. You had seen his cruelty before, and this was no different. A gut feeling told you the two were somehow connected, and the thought churned uneasily in your stomach.

"Um, yes, definitely." Kadir’s voice quivered slightly, his worry for his grandson and son making him agree without much resistance.

"Good," you responded briskly, trying to push the anxiety down.

The air between the five of you was tense, the weight of unspoken words hanging like a heavy cloud as you made your way back to the bungalow. Your eyes were drawn to Habib, his limp form resting against his father in the backseat, his chest rising and falling weakly. The image of him like that, vulnerable, fragile, almost lost, was a stain in your mind that wouldn't fade.

By the time you arrived at the bungalow, the place felt more like a sanctuary and a prison in equal measure. The heavy silence from earlier still clung to the house, but now you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Dr Ali was already there, pacing in front of the door, looking visibly tense. He was here to check on Rahim and Habib.

═════ ◈ ═════

it had been three days since the atmosphere in the bungalow had turned so heavy, each day thick with the silence of unspoken fears and unanswered questions. Habib, thank God, was showing signs of improvement, but he was still too weak, refusing to eat and constantly haunted by nightmares. The only time he seemed to find peace was when you were by his side. His vulnerability clung to you like a weight, and no matter how many times you tried to shake the unease off, it lingered.

In the other room, Rahim was still as quiet as ever. He hadn’t spoken a word since you brought him back, and every day that passed without him opening up felt like another failure, a missed opportunity to get to the root of whatever was haunting him. Still, his grandparents’ presence did seem to calm him in some way, though you couldn’t help but wonder if that was enough. You prayed for his voice every night, hoping he would say something, anything, to give you a clue about what he was going through.

Kadir had told you that Basim and his wife had gone to visit some relatives for a wedding, which felt... odd, to say the least. How could a wedding be more important than their son’s condition? And why hadn’t they been told about what was happening? Kadir, of course, insisted that it was better they didn’t know yet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. His reasoning didn’t sit right with you. And then, there was Samir and his family, who had moved out of the village with no warning. Something didn’t add up. Why would they leave so suddenly, just as things were escalating?

Maha’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone tentative but insistent. "There is... I just... feel fishy, ma'am. I mean, all the Rahim fiasco and how Kadir insists on you marrying-"

You held up your hand, cutting her off, your voice steady but carrying a weight of finality. "It was my decision, Maha. I want it to be done."

"But, why, ma'am... why so fast? Shouldn't we wait for things to settle?"

You let out a slow breath, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you gathered your thoughts. "Maha, I can't have some man in my bungalow..." You trailed off, hoping she understood the gravity of what you were saying. "Y'know, try to understand."

Maha was silent for a moment, her eyes dropping to the floor as she processed your words. Then, without a word, she nodded, her expression softening with understanding.

"I have... talked to my parents," you continued, your voice low but resolute. "And they agreed. Fortunately. Tomorrow, go find the cleric. Bring him, and in the afternoon, the ceremony has to be done with." Your parents were shocked to hear your sudden announcement but as you kept the details about the current situation mostly vague they agreed, somewhat happy and given our urgency they agreed to be on a video call during the ceremony. It was going to be a small one, Habib's parents, Rahim and you both.

"Yes, ma'am." Her tone was firm, her eyes momentarily drifting to the hallway. You followed her gaze, only to catch a glimpse of Rahim standing by the corner of the hallway before he quickly disappeared out of sight. You sat there for a moment, your heart thudding against your chest as you absorbed the subtle shift in the room

"Rahim..." You stood up, your mind heavy with worry, and moved toward the hallway. You quickly were on your feet and stalked in the direction, Maha, following behind.

With a gentle knock, you entered the room, your eyes falling on the boy sitting quietly on the bed. His back was turned, half of his body facing the door, but his posture was stiff, unnatural, like someone trying to brace against something they couldn’t see or understand. The atmosphere around him was thick with tension, his usual mischievous energy nowhere to be found.

"Um, Maha..." you said softly, and she nodded before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone with him.

You stepped forward slowly, the floor creaking faintly under your weight as you sat down beside him. For a long moment, you said nothing. It seemed there was nothing to say, no words that could bridge the silence between you both. You just sat there, letting your presence speak for itself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his voice broke the stillness, soft and hesitant. "You... are going to marry...?"

At first, you were unsure whether it was a question or a statement, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. You glanced at him, his face still angled down, avoiding your gaze, but the emptiness in his eyes struck you hard.

"Yes... I am... isn't that a good thing?" You gave him a soft smile, one that didn’t reach your heart, but you tried. Gently, you reached out and rubbed his back, trying to offer comfort, though you knew he wasn’t the same boy who had always bounced around, full of life and questions. "You getting this cool aunt." You chuckled to lighten the mood.

But his response was far from what you expected.

"Don't."

"You...don't...want me to marry Habib?" He stayed quiet. Once again.

"Rahim…" you whispered, though you knew he probably wasn’t listening. But you couldn’t stop yourself. "Talk to me, please."

"They...they...always...just didn't let me tell you. I wanted to." His leg started bouncing and you immediately held his hand, the other on his leg to calm him. "Take breaths, I am here, you are safe. No body is going to do anything. So, talk freely, and fully. Whoever it is about. Even if it's Habib, if he's done something to you, tell me that too. I won't say a word to you, or anyone about this to anyone. Even if it is about... the thing regarding your uncle being possessed and all...I know the story...Habib himself told me, so don't think of me as a stranger. Alright?"

He nodded and wiped a tear. He took moments to clam down and with a heavy breath continued. "My...uncle...he..." He breathed in a breath.

"Was never possessed."

“He’s known for his extraordinary beauty. I have not seen him myself though. So, up until he was about sixteen, everything seemed fine. But then, he suddenly vanished from his friends’ lives and stopped attending school. Despite the family’s best efforts to conceal the issue, it eventually came to light that he was... possessed."

"When I was younger—around sixteen—I... went through something. Something I can’t fully explain, even to this day."

"It was like... something else had control over me. I was sick...and I was dangerous. I hurt people--people I loved, hurt myself too. My family didn’t speak about it much after it was over. They believed it was better left forgotten. But I can’t forget. I’ve tried to move on, but..."

No...those...those are all stories? He gave you and himself to catch a breath then continued.

"When I was a child," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I thought...what everyone thought that...indeed Uncle was. He was praised for his beauty, and my dad... hated him for it. Every chance he got, he'd tear into him, beat him, humiliate him. It only made Uncle more closed off. He stopped going out, hid from everyone, saying he was cursed by his own looks." Rahim’s voice cracked, his gaze distant as if seeing those memories unfold all over again.

The words tumbled out of him, fast and desperate, as if he had held them in for too long. "He started saying someone was using black magic against him, someone in the family. And my dad, he... he enjoyed it. He fueled those fears and made Uncle believe he was haunted and cursed because he was angry at Uncle for rejecting my aunt's hand and just y'know jealous. Everyone around started to believe it too because he started to act...like...he was. It became this... rumour that swallowed him whole. Even the cleric knew it wasn’t true, he told everyone but no one listened. And my grandfather, even he started believing it."

Rahim’s shoulders shook, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to contain his grief. "We live in a village where nobody talks about mental illness. People don’t understand, they don’t want to understand. They just accepted that something was wrong with him and left him to rot. But I knew… I knew it wasn’t magic. I researched on my own, in school, and I just can't figure out what's wrong with him but I know there is....there is something psychological. I wanted to help him, I tried to, but nobody would listen."

Tears streamed down his face now, his voice breaking as the words poured out like a dam finally bursting. "Dad would beat me whenever I tried to bring it up. And Grandfather who has always been helpless against my dad always said that he will be fine once he gets married… he just wants to marry Uncle off because he thinks marriage will fix him like that’s some kind of miracle cure. Especially getting him married to you.... someone of your status. But it’s all... it’s all bullshit! Marriage won’t solve anything! The medicines he takes are just mostly sleeping pills and--and some herbal stuff my grandfather gives him which are not what he needs! He needs a proper treatment...proper treatment."

Rahim’s outburst ended in a sob, his chest heaving as he broke down completely. He was no longer the reserved, cautious boy you knew, he was vulnerable, raw, and heartbroken, carrying the weight of years of pain and helplessness on his young shoulders.

"When you came here and even better, took interest in my Uncle, I thought that maybe marriage wouldn't be bad because he would be free and you would get him treated, I would tell you about it myself when the time is right. It was...about to happen but...again my Dad...he ruined it, I thought it was over, you were out of his life, but I still hoped, he loves you so much and I know you do too so...I was ready to help my uncle run away but.."

You were too shocked to even ask him why he had stopped speaking and simply let out a questioning hum.

"My mum and dad… they… they tried to…"

"Tried to what?" You were both startled by the sudden ringtone of your phone. Seeing Odai's name on the screen, you quickly answered, bracing yourself against the possibility of more bad news.

"Ma'am, I checked the footage from the village gate. Samir left last night with his family around 4 a.m. But Basim and his wife… they never actually left the village."

Your eyes widened. "What? Are you saying… they’re still here?"

"Yes, ma'am," Odai confirmed before you ended the call. You turned back to Rahim, whose face had gone pale, frozen in place as if dreading the implications of this revelation.

"Rahim…" you said slowly, your voice soft yet urging. "They tried to what? And… where are they?"

(AN: Did you guys expect that ʘ‿ʘ? Do comment and lemme know! Also, I know I should have mentioned it earlier but the story is set in 1990's due to which especially in the village people don't use much tech, like wifi and all cuz not everybody has computers etc that's why Rahim did whatever research he could in his school's library and computer.)

[cakepoppresent]

I'm a Grown Ass Woman

Malcolm is veryyyyyyyyyy demanding. It's very much his way or no way

Transcript under the cut!~

[Luna]: Should we go back home for Winterfest? It's been a while

[Malcolm]: Go back and do what? Spend the rest of the year with Dad? Don’t be dumb

[Luna]: It was just a suggestion you fucking bitch.

[Malcolm]: We haven’t been back in years why go back now?

[Benji]: That sounds like fun. We can all go back. My dad has been bothering me to meet up with him anyways

[Luna]: Stop being such a fucking downer. We don’t even have to go back home...we can stay in town or something. Rent a house I don’t know but lets just go back

[Malcolm]: Why the hell are you so interested. What’s back home for us anyways

[Luna]: Benji, sweetie can you get some beers for Malcolm and some wine for me please?

[Benji]...okay. Malcolm...behave yourself

[Malcolm]: Shut the hell up! Luna. What’s the issue?

[Luna]: Malcolm. I’m going to say something and I need you to not react. Let me finish speaking

[Malcolm]: The way you’re starting this conversation is already pissing me off.

[Luna]: I didn’t even say anything!

[Malcolm]: I swear to god Luna this better not be about Andre. I swear to fucking god

[Malcolm]: We can dead this conversation right now. Forget all about Andre and going back home and not piss me off

[Luna]: Too bad.

[Malcolm]: Luna what the fuck

[Luna]: Listen, Malcolm. I love you and that won’t ever change but I also miss Andre. I worry about him, he’s not doing okay...how can I just ignore him

[Malcolm]: Easy. Just forget that he exists, follow his example and never bring him up again

[Luna] I don’t think I can do that Malcolm.

[Malcolm]: Omg Luna why are you acting so dumb? Andre never cared about us just leave him alone!!

[Luna]: Watch how you fucking speak to me. This isn’t me asking you for permission, this is me telling you I’m going to reach out to Andre and figure out what happened.

[Malcolm]: Jesus Luna. Why can’t you just drop it. Who cares about Andre?!

[Luna]: You aren’t fucking listening! I care about Andre! I do! Im worried Malcolm what if something went wrong. What if Dad made him leave!

[Malcolm]: That’s even MORE of a reason to leave him alone! Dad is scary! You’re being so fucking stupid!

[Luna]: You know what? I'm leaving, I don’t have to sit here and let your bum ass talk to me like this.

[Malcolm]: Fine! Then leave!! Since you don’t wanna listen to my fucking advice

[Luna]: I'm a grown-ass woman and don’t need my brother telling me what I can and can’t do. I’m going to see Andre and you can mop all you want about it

[Malcolm]: Is that fucking right? Weren’t you the one who said it would always just be us? You already breaking promises by reaching out to Andre. You’re a liar!

[Benji]: Please let’s just calm down so we can figure something out. Malcolm you know that's not true

[Malcolm]: It IS true! Look she wants to leave right now! So let her leave!

[Luna]: I’m saying it again since you aren’t fucking listening. I love you and would never put Andre above you, but he’s suffering out there and we don’t know why and I can’t just leave him. He’s my brother too...

[Malcolm]: I don’t wanna hear it!

[Luna]: Fine. I said my peace. Call me when you stop acting like a damn child

[Malcolm]: Whatever! Don’t call me when this all blows up in your damn face!

[Luna]: Whatever you big ass baby.

[Benji]: Lun-

*Door open and slams shut*

[Benji]:...fuck..

[ilikekidsshows]

This is a longer one, sorry 😅

About that ask you replied to about Marinette's parents. I didn't grow up in a healthy household and i struggle to form a properly informed opinion on Marinette's parents in all this mess.

Cause clearly they are very loving, caring, and supportive, but they aren't perfect either. They are realistically human. They have blind spots, didnt actually RAISE her apparently when she does things wrong, and hardly give Marinette any boundaries or consequences to face, which now evolved into her neither being able to handle anything not going her way nor having to actually take people into consideration and go through with improving on the things she said she should.

Im pretty sure Marinette was a very friendly child who didn't cause too many problems, if at all, so now that she's a complicated teenager who actually needs some boundaries and discipline they dont know how to handle it. Thats the picture im getting. Not to mention that they don't know Marinette is Ladybug so they have no idea what's caused all these extreme changes in their daughter and how to accommodate to properly help her.

But in my eyes, without the whole Ladybug thing, this is still a pretty normal and realistic portrayal of a modern family, so Marinette is simply a normal ass kid. She's clearly spoiled to a solid degree and emotionally shielded the way most middle class kids from central Europe are. Just because her family isn't perfect doesn't it mean she's being abused or her parents are bad. For me, they are a realistic healthy family. Whatever faults her parents have are pretty common things parents do wrong.

But this now raises the question for me how exactly to go about Marinette's family. Obviously her parents didn't to everything right in their parenting, so those flaws of Marinette can be traced back to them while Marinette at the same time SHOULD normally STILL be asked to grow out of it the way any normal teenager should, it's just slightly more challenging.

But then I see discussions that take it way too far imo but I don't know where exactly to draw the line.

It is correct that Tom and Sabine for example seem to know very little about their daughter's friend group to the point that they just let Sabrina into Marinette's room. The common argument I see being raised here is that Sabine is neglective because she doesn't know that Sabrina isn't Marinette's friend.

Now this doesn't feel quite right to me. Marinette's parents seem to be pretty much unaware that their daughter was bullied in school which unfortunately isn't at all uncommon. When the parents are neither told by the child or the school, then how are they supposed to know? The most they seem to know is that Marinette has a hard time with Chloé, but I never had the impression that they know how serious this was. Marinette sure was never shown to ever voice any of that.

So Sabine thinking Sabrina is Marinette's friend is a fair enough assumption in my eyes. I remember back when I was 12-13, forming friendship in a collective class is alot easier when you're a kid. Kids just go with the flow like that and become friends in 10 seconds even if they aren't spending much time with each other directly. Forming connections tends gets more difficult as one grows older.

I don't think at that age parents can be faulted for not keeping track of all their kid's friendships. Sabrina running up to Sabine and claiming she's Marinette's friend and Sabine believing her is honestly nothing too special.

What I take issue with, though, is that Sabine just let Sabrina go into Marinette's room ALONE. That a parent, imo, truly shouldn't do.

And yet, one still wouldn't call her a BAD parent for that, right? It's very flawed, but obviously Marinette also continues to rely on her parents doing that with the amount of times Alya just gets to come and go however she please, even with Marinette not being there, despite Marinette knowing Alya merely year at this point. Way less than Sabrina for example.

There is this persistent grey area here that I can't quite place. Marinette's parents are very obviously very trusting, but the way the show portrays it seems to border on neglective imo, but it's based in their daughter just getting free reign most of the time so Marinette can do shit in her room and leave for long periods of time for example that parents should normally check on their kids for.

So, at the same time, is it actually neglect? Thanks to being Ladybug, it is Marinette who has pulled more and more away from her parents and since season 4 is doing so to honestly very unnecessary degrees. There is little reason for why Marinette constantly locks herself and Alya into her room and doesn't spend much time with her parents when all that Marinette is doing in there is panicking and not doing something actually productive most of the time anyway. You may as well just spend time with your parents instead of crying to Alya that you supposedly CANT (while taking over Alya's life and being the actual reason why SHE cant)

Teenagers at Marinette's age starting to pull away from their parents is nothing uncommon. So I'm pretty sure that's just how it looks like for her parents. Marinette is starting to grow up and doesn't prioritize spending time or sharing her life with them as much anymore.

Can't pretend like that's not a sad truth parents have to deal with, so the kid's friends are trusted by the parents to know their kid in ways they don't anymore.

Marinette has very loving and caring parents who don't push her to involve them or share what she doesn't want to. Now here is the question. While this is neglective to a degree and Marinette does seem to be affected badly by it, is this necessarily something her parents are doing objectively WRONG? From their perspective, their daughter is growing up and so busy that they aren't much of a priority in her life. She's pulling more and more away and her parents try to adjust to that supportively without being given context as any parent must.

Clearly the created distance has Marinette now incorrectly believe that her parents aren't actually a real support system anymore, the way Marinette didnt even try to reach out in Kwamis Choice and her thinking she has lost EVERYTHING at the end of season 4 and then proceeding to act like she doesn't think she truly has anyone or anything in season 5 too.

Now, is Marinette thinking that she has NOTHING at the end of season 4, and still seeming to think so in season 5, something her parents failed at teaching her better?

When a kid starts pulling away from their supportive family, because they are so used to having them, and ends up convincing themselves that their parents dont count anymore as support because it isnt as perfect and easy as they'd like, is this a failure of the parents for not sitting their child down to remind them that the kid isn't the emotional equivalent of an orphan now the moment they have to do something alone?

Or is this simply a normal thing a teenager has to realize on their own? That just because the loving parents aren't a perfect support system anymore, doesn't it mean the kid just gets to disregard them fully as an option the way Marinette constantly does?

Because, well, this IS what it constantly feels like for me when it comes to Marinette.

When Marinette takes offense with her parents not unconditionally believing her all the time, is it really always her parents fault for not having raised her to handle push back better, or is it also just a natural part of growing up that you have to get over yourself and realize that your parents too need context for the situations you're in (e.g. Adoration) because growing up means you're parents shouldn't just handwave all the accountability away you potentially have to take now because you're not an 8 year old anymore and capable of genuine wrongdoing?

Yes, her parents definitely failed a solid bit in regards of leaving Marinette emotionally immature and unprepared when it comes to pushback, criticism, or considerations of others.

But to what degree are her parents actually WRONG in wanting Marinette to learn it for herself now because that's normally how it done?

Do her parents REALLY have to sit her 14-15 year old ass down and teach her that other people have feelings and lives of their own? That reality exists outside of her head and feelings? Or should a teenager be expected to learn that themselves, especially one that's so busy and involved in everything as Marinette? Cause it actually seems to me that her being Ladybug caused her stunted development in this regard. Because being Ladybug always serves as the right excuse to always demand and expect the others to do the learning cause she's "too stressed" and "too justified as leader who doesn't owe anyone anything, but is owed everything herself cause she says so".

It's seems that it's rather that being Ladybug caused the damage in Marinette's development which her parent can't know about, and not that her parents are particularly failing by not holding their daughter's hand all through growing up even more to spoon-feed her every bit of development she should grow into now to make sure its as pleasant and easy as possible?

In my opinion, from teenage age onwards it's not the parents' job to tell their children at any uncomfortable or challenging occasion what's right and wrong and do all the work in the child's personal development into a young adult. And isn't that what Marinette's parents are being criticised for anyway? That they don't let their daughter face disappointment, discipline, and struggles because it makes her upset? But now they are in the wrong for wanting to have their daughter learn and figure things out in their own, but fully intend on always being there for her in every way when she needs it?

There definitely IS a complicated grey area here where these two parenting styles badly overlapped and caused problems.

Tom and Sabine DO give Marinette way too much free reign cause it badly clashes with how little discipline, rules, boundaries, and consideration she was raised to actually having to oblige to as part of living with other people.

Marinette was not well prepared for the freedom she now has, but looking at it in general, the problem seems much more to be Marinette being Ladybug, and not necessarily that she's a teenager who lacks refined emotional intelligence because she grew up shielded and cuddled. If Marinette had a normal life, she would have some more trouble growing out of it, but it's not like her parents ruined her.

I think it's that Marinette is Ladybug that is to blame here. Because that's how she was put in a position where she learned that she just needs to stomp her foot, scream, cry, or use her titel to make it so that it's always everyone else who has to do the learning and not her. Marinette's concerning entitlement grew through being Ladybug and not tolerating anything but having all the support, resources, and everyone beneath her in the hierarchy who must submit to her will or else she cant function.

Whatever problems her parents caused in her upbringing should have been easy enough to grow out of. It's LADYBUG who stunted that development because Marinette learned that she has the option to just demand that everyone has to cater to her instead. That is not her parents fault, but it always leaves me at the same problem of not knowing how to properly dissect and discuss what blame Tom and Sabine objectively have in this.

---

This is a very insightful and interesting essay, Anon. When it comes to Marinette’s parents, it's really hard to call them “bad parents”, because they're really good at many things that come to parenting. They're supportive, they respect Marinette's space and privacy, they believe in her ability to handle herself and Marinette clearly feels safe with them. And you're also right that it's extremely difficult for them to guide Marinette learning social-emotional skills now that she's a willful teenager and wouldn't be receptive to her parents “correcting her behavior” if they even knew there was something to correct.

I also don't think Marinette's parents can see all the issues with Marinette’s conduct. She is a very “easy” child; she's polite, she respects authority and doesn't get into purposeful mischief. She's the exact kind of child adults don't worry about, so they don't have to constantly keep an eye on her. Especially since a lot of her problems come to the forefront as Ladybug, a whole new part of her life her parents aren’t involved in.

The thing here is that 14-year-olds not knowing that other people have feelings or how to deal with disappointments is exactly why early childhood education is now emphasizing the teaching of these skills so much. For a long time, there was a belief that kids learn social-emotional skills naturally and there's no need to purposefully teach them, because kids will “get it” when they're “old enough to understand”. Except that we have now discovered that they don't, in fact, just naturally “get it”. These skills need to be taught in early childhood, starting from simple ideas like “your friend is crying because you took their toy, don’t do that again” and moving up from there. And the only way to teach these things in a purposeful way is to put your small kids with other small kids and let them do small kid things, even if it results in someone ending up crying, especially if someone ends up crying, because learning to deal with your own emotional responses and other people having emotional reactions to your actions is, in fact, an essential life and relationship skill. The theory of mind (the understanding that other people have thoughts and feelings that can differ from your own) is something that preschoolers are expected to learn and should get support in learning if they don't.

I’m saying Marinette should already know this stuff. Her parents and possible kindergarten teacher should have taught her almost a decade ago.

However, I don’t disagree with your assertion that being Ladybug is why these common problems with Marinette’s conduct are such a big issue for her relationships now. Because her upbringing neglected to teach her essential social-emotional skills, and she’s been shoved into a position of not just power, but absolute power where no one is in a position to question her, she’s now a nightmare boss who expects everyone else to be fully committed to making the broken system she’s running run smoothly while she comes up with some nonsense project to keep busy so that she has the excuse to take her frustrations out on everyone beneath her.

If Marinette was just constantly ditching her friends so that she could do something relating to her love quest, I’m pretty sure the most severe, realistic consequences for her friends would just be them thinking she doesn’t want to hang out, feeling bummed and no longer inviting her. Marinette being in a position of leadership both exacerbates her social-emotional ineptitude and makes its consequences more severe, because now they’re facing dangerous situations and the leadership only doesn’t care if they get hurt, but sometimes actively hurts them for the sake of achieving some other goal in the future.

We must consider that Marinette has been Ladybug for only a year, while her parents have raised her since birth. Anything being Ladybug has taught Marinette was learned on the basis her parents gave her. I don’t think this is an either-or situation. Now that she's an independent teenager, of course her parents expect her to pull away, be private and figure things out on her own. What Marinette is doing wrong now is on her, because she's the one taking on all these responsibilities, leaving others in the dark, not consulting anyone who doesn't just appease her and making decisions for others. However, this being her go-to approach shows us that her parents failed her in the past.

I think Marinette's parents are doing everything right for an older child, but I also think they were very out of their depth when Marinette was a small child. She clearly wasn't taught this stuff that has to be taught at an early age because she's now a teenager and seems to have no clue how interpersonal relationships work. Of course she's still too young to understand everything, especially romance, but she lacks basic understanding of mutual friendship as well. It just really feels like Marinette's parents have never had any expectations for her, even when she was a small child throwing a fit when she didn't get her way.

[heartmaddie]

untitled incl; angst, hurt/some sort of comfort , i wrote this to puberty 2, fem!reader , character isn't specified , my head hurts, no use of yn , it's 2am

she knows it’s nearly over.

there was a sudden dust which had settled between the two of them, a mutual understanding that their transient time together was beginning to end. as warm, intimate embraces had become stiff and heavy, she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt anything besides the apathetic nature he exhibited. but of course, she already knew the answer to that question. his eyes were emotionless, no longer filled with warmth and home-cooked dinners tasted stale and metallic on her tongue. 

everything had changed before she even realised it.

the rain pelted against the glass windows of their high rise apartment, drawing her attention to the city still bustling hours after dark. more recently, his hours had stretched longer, the couple spending no more than four hours in each other's presence on a standard weekday, and in some twisted way she preferred it like that. was it selfish for desperately hoping for things to go back to the way it was? maybe, but she couldn’t help herself regardless.

she’d wait for him every night, wrapped up in his soft jumper and baggy sweatpants while she lounged on their duck feather couch, wasting time watching the show they’d once dedicate their saturday nights to. it was unbearably lonely in their apartment now, and she started to realise the weight of her heart more frequently. when the door finally clicks open, a surge of hope would course within her, yet, the almost hesitant step into their home only shattered her exuberance. 

“why are you awake?” he came across indolent, regardless of his thoughtful intentions. his chest expands as he lets out a deep, exhausted sigh, slumping down on the couch right next to the warmth of her body. he was freezing, but still didn’t reach for her.

“can’t sleep.”

“me neither.”

her hands clenched as quietness serenaded through the air, she glanced towards him, noticing how his eyes were trained directly on the floor, almost as if he didn’t want to look at her.

“should we go to bed?”

“maybe”

she nodded, letting out a soft huff as she pushed herself off the couch, nearly offering him a hand before she stopped herself, embarrassed by the actions which could’ve been. their footsteps conversed together as they travelled through the desolate apartment while their mouths stayed silent. they both knew what they wanted to say - or even what needed to be said, but nothing transpired. was it out of fear or selfishness? neither of them knew.

their bodies slumped onto the king sized bed, less than a metre apart but the distance could account for oceans. unbeknownst to each other, both their eyes were peeled wide open, staring up at the sky-light which displayed the white moon shedding tears. the rain against glass only portrayed how erratically their hearts pulsed. organs which once beat together were beginning to disassociate, a reflection of their fragmented affection.

in the wake of the night she heard the soft snores of her counterpart, hours after they’d returned to bed together. reluctantly, she looked towards his sleeping figure and she couldn’t help but be temporarily soothed by his soft exhales and gentle expression. she felt drawn to him, her body yearned for his comforting touch once again. 

languidly, her body shifted towards him, she gently lifted his arm and found herself underneath it, curling into his side. & for the first time in a while, her eyes could shut with the comfort of safety. she knew it was nearly over, that the monster which was their parting was slowly creeping up on her. but it doesn't matter right now, she’ll let it lurk for as long as she can.

613 words

i wrote this with kageyama, sakusa and osamu in mind but i think anyone is applicable

please like , reblog or follow if you enjoyed :p © heartmaddie all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

[discordiansamba]

zuko freezes at the sight of her.

"lady mai...?"

his eyes flick between her and the two water tribe siblings. she probably should learn their names. his brow furrows in confusion, as if he can't quite process why she's here. which is fair. she knows what azula told him.

"just mai," she tells him, "-please."

"i can't- that wouldn't be proper," zuko says, "-what are you doing here? have you come to take me home? did katara change her mind?"

mai glances towards the water tribe siblings. they pointedly avoid making eye contact with her. when she'd overheard lan-wei and azula talking about waterbending healing, she'd felt a surge of hope in her chest- that maybe zuko could be brought back. that he wasn't gone.

but he still believed he was lee.

mai sighs. she tells zuko that she's not here to take him back to ba sing se or azula. she's here because he deserves to know the truth about himself. zuko just stares at her, puzzled. his gaze shifts warily to katara and mai rolls her eyes. she hasn't done anything to me, lee. azula lied to you. waterbenders can't manipulate minds.

she pauses. she's actually not 100% sure about that, so she glances at katara, who just vigorously shakes her head no. zuko just stares at her, lost. mai sighs. why don't you make us some tea, lee? clearly I have a few things I need to discuss with these two. lee still looks uncertain- but his brainwashing runs deep, so after a few moments he bows to her. mai takes a seat at the table, and katara and her brother awkwardly take the places across from her.

lee returns with their tea. his service is flawless.

mai asks them if they've had him firebend yet. katara and her brother wince. she'll take that as a no. she glances towards zuko, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than here. for a moment, she tries to put herself in his shoes- how would she react if everyone around her kept telling her that her entire life was just one carefully constructed lie? that everything he thought he knew about himself wasn't true?

lan-wei had given him a new personality, for agni's sake.

"lee," mai asks, "-do you remember the first morning we had tea together. what i asked you?"

zuko frowns. he does. she'd asked him how he was adjusting to becoming princess azula's tea server. mai shakes her head. no. she'd asked him how he'd been adjusting to his life. zuko's brow furrows, because it's a question that still doesn't make any sense to him. he's always had this life. why would he have to adjust to it?

"zuko," mai says, "-come on. some part of you must know that's not true."

zuko just stares at her. he looks betrayed. mai can't find it in herself to care. she's tired of entertaining this farce. it was one thing when she thought it was impossible to get zuko back, but now that she knew that they could? she was done with it. she'd drag zuko out of lee kicking and screaming if she had to.

zuko takes a step back- and then another. he looks between her and the water tribe siblings- and then runs. katara gets up to go after him, but her brother stops her. let him go. it's not like he can escape. katara slowly sits down, and her brother turns to mai.

"so," he says, "-firebending. how can we get him to do that?"

katara finds zuko tucked away in the corner of the villa, curled up in on himself. he's clutching his head, and visibly flinches when she draws closer. katara stops in her tracks, even backing up a few steps.

he's terrified of her- and she can't even blame him.

they should have known azula would have tried something like this. that she would lie to him. she just doesn't understand how she could do this. she tries to think about sokka becoming a different person, and it makes her shudder. she can't imagine asking for it herself. and then making him become her servant?

she doesn't think she'll ever understand azula.

"lee," katara keeps her voice quiet, "-i'm not going to hurt you."

zuko shakes his head. he doesn't look at her.

katara sighs, and sits down. zuko somehow manages to force himself more into the corner. it was beyond surreal to see him like this. it had been beyond surreal the entire time. she'd really rather he go back to yelling at her and calling her a water tribe peasant. she could deal with that.

"listen," katara says, "-I know this is scary, and I know what Azula told you, but none if it's true. the only thing I want to do is help you."

zuko looks up at her. he asks her why they've locked him up here if that's really true. why keep me prisoner if all you want to do is help me? katara bites her lip. he has a point, but... he's made it obvious that he'll run if he gets the chance. she can't blame him for that either. he doesn't know any better.

zuko is completely convinced he's lee. he's spent two years caught in a web of lies, enforced as much by innocent bystanders who have only ever known him as lee as it was by lan-wei. he'd built a life for himself in ba sing se as lee. he'd been... genuinely happy there, she thinks. and it's enough to almost, almost make her try and convince iroh to just let him live like this. to just be lee.

she doesn't think zuko was ever happy.

it's funny. she's spent so long resenting him for his betrayal at ba sing se. but these past few months, and getting to know him as lee... she thinks she's ended up with a better understanding of zuko than she's ever had before. she doesn't think he deserves to endure azula's constant mockery of him, but... a nice, peaceful life at the ba sing se tea shop.

but it wouldn't be right.

katara took the chance while he was unconscious to check out his brain. she'd spent weeks after the war, systematically freeing the brainwashed joo dees. it had been a struggle at first, but once she'd found the rhythm, she'd practically been able to do it in her sleep. she'd already known lee would be different, but...

...it had been worse than she'd thought. so much worse.

they were so, so lucky she'd found zuko when she did. a year or two from now? she didn't even know if water from the spirit oasis would be enough to save him. there wouldn't be a zuko anymore. he'd just... become lee. completely and utterly. he already was lee, completely and utterly... but they still had a chance.

the window of opportunity was very much closing.

"please, katara," zuko says, "-I just want to go home."

he doesn't even know this villa belongs to his family. iroh told her that they had many happy memories in this place- memories that zuko has forgotten entirely. no, not forgotten. just... locked away. inaccessible. she sighs.

"lee," she says, "-i know this isn't going to be easy to hear. but you need to the truth. all i'm asking is that you listen."

"what?" lee spits. "you're going to tell me I'm brainwashed again? I know who I am, katara."

"no," katara says, "-you don't."

[royalarchivist]

Quackity: That's the original, dude. I have a really cool hat dude– damn, look, I'm going to bring you my hat– [He walks off-camera]

Missa: Guys, we don't have much time, we don't have much time– Roier, Roier– Quackity faked the moon landing. You need to know. You need to know. We have to tell them– we're taking advantage of the opportunity to tell them, ok? If you see photos of the moon landing, Quackity faked them—

Roier:

[anastacialy]

tracked down this clip just because of this post! have jokes from skizz and scar

[silverorchideon]

He tells Me to ask you to remember him...

You won't.

HELLO.

Fanart for the au, Slay The Watcher, made by @blueishspace!!! A story told through polls and your choices, it's really fun!

After making some TTSBC fanart, I wanted to make some for StW, since it's a very interesting au!!

This isn't any particular scene in StW, I just wanted to capture the vibes of it. I definitely do recommend following the au and supporting Space!

[prosecutors-path]

i don't feel like trying to fix/finish this anymore so i'm just gonna post it lol

redraw of this image

[dealilcats]

I finally managed to draw something. These are still only sketches BUT! They're people's ocs so I'm posting to ask for feedback if there's anything I accidentally get wrong.

From the left: Ellipsis, Foxglove ( @mysticalcats ) and Bluebelle ( @murdleandmarot ) looking at a bug encyclopaedia Ellipsis probably provided out of desperation but now Foxglove won't shut up in the library.

I've been using the 3D firealpaca tool a lot lately and I've started using it for character heights too. Though it always looks weird in perspective. I might change the composition to space it out better.

@bingbongsanitygone 's Callio walking by her guitar picks pile while carrying an unplugged powerchord. I thought this was the funniest thing.

Callio again (featuring @/kokolencha's art for reference). Sorry if the text being flipped bothers anyone.

Messy sketches under the cut.

Fighting to keep ellipsis consistent and miserably failing.

[deepbluececil]

Closed starter for @townofcadence

Excursions like this always felt rewarding, at the end of the day. The artifact had been difficult to find and even harder to get to, but it wasn't any fun if he didn't have to work for it at least a little! His job was far from over, though-- he'd have to get it home, study on it a bit, and then figure out what it's worth before he could get down to selling it. But for now, he thinks he's earned a big dinner! And maybe a nice long nap, too; he just has to get home first.

He sticks to the more secluded beaches as usual, ones separated from the rest of the world by rocky terrain. It's amazing what a bit of extra challenge can do for deterring people, sometimes, so he's not expecting to run into anything or anyone. But-- huh? His left ear-fin twitches, and he stops in his tracks. There was something magic nearby.

Cecil turns towards the feeling, lifting himself up to peer over the rocks into the next sandy opening on the beach. There was a person just... laying there. Looks like they were washed up, given they were half in the water and half stuck in the sand. Their eyes were closed, and he didn't see any movement from here. Slowly, quietly, he slithers himself fully into the area and approaches the person. Okay-- yeah. Nothing living looked like that. Even with clothes on they were so wet he could tell the thing looked almost emaciated. There was blood on their head, too. And the bruise-like colors beneath the eyes? Definitely dead, he doesn't even bother to check breathing, he knows a corpse when he sees one. Maybe they fell off the slippery overhang, hit their head and ended up in the water. Or maybe it was a dumped body someone didn't care enough to properly weigh down.

His fin twitches again, just a bit harder this time. His eyes graze over the body, searching... until they land on a bag at the body's side. That's it, that's definitely what's giving him the most of the feeling. He eyes the mechanical arm too, though... it seems like it would be magical itself, or at least valuable, but seeing as it's mostly metal he'd probably be better off leaving it here for now and coming back with something he can use to transport it more safely. Not like the corpse was gonna get up and walk off with it after all! Ha! Though... maybe he'd better drag it back onto the beach a little more, just to make sure it didn't get washed back out.

A sharp toothed grin spreads across his face as his claws latch onto the bag and pull it to himself. Seriously, what amazing luck he's having today! A successful hunt, with two extra magical items just laid out for the taking? These coming weeks were going to be very sweet indeed. He leans down, scooping up the supposed corpse and throwing it over his shoulder easily. Let's see... where's somewhere he can put it for safe keeping, that's not out in the open?