#I'm just. thinking about it tonight. this impacted more than i thought and that's the case every single time i think about her

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Every so often realizing how badly I was fucked up by a 10 year friendship abruptly ending and cracking open to reveal an utter emotional CHASM

[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 🫂

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ TENDING TO YOUR INJURIES

-ˋ ♡ ◞ xiao ･ alhaitham ･ ayato. genshin impact. repost.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ xiao

you imagined this would have gone differently. you imagined xiao would be frantic, furious-- not at you, but at those who dared bring you harm. you imagined he'd be scolding you endlessly for such acts of recklessness, but he does not. instead, he chooses silence, expression stoic, almost unreadable, and it makes the heart sink into uncertainties.

it is silent.

there is a heaviness that lingers in the air as he tends to your wounds, fresh cuts stinging and irritated by the balm he applies in the gentlest of ways. you imagined this would be so much more different, and you almost wish it was, because you can feel his hurt like it is your own, and you know that he believes your pain is his, always and forever.

the salve is cool against your skin ; it tingles, the back of your hand, but a warmth replaces the sensation as his fingers dance across the injuries. he doesn't look at you, but instead, chooses to displace his anxiety and frustration in the way he takes care of you.

you tilt your head the slightest bit, force your gazes to meet as you smile faintly. it is a guilty smile, he notices, and he does not return it, nor can he bring himself to look away.

"i am still here, xiao."

then, he speaks for the first time tonight.

"you should have called me. you know you cannot face dangers greater than yourself alone."

there is something in his words-- a grief, the thought of what could have been, a preemptive readiness for the loss of a loved one-- and your smile turns somber. he is right. you should have asked for help. you are lucky to have survived the night, and you both are well aware of that.

you grab his hand, squeeze it gently despite the pain. you can see that small flicker of surprise in his eyes as you pull him towards you, and in the way your lips meet his, there is the quiet seeking of forgiveness and a known gratitude.

"i'm sorry, xiao." you murmur against his lips. "i will be sure to speak your name when the time arises."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ alhaitham

"be honest. you're pissed."

alhaitham is quick to care for your wounds, but he is not quick to panic. not a surprise, really, and it's also not really a surprise as to how he's acting.

"i'm not angry". he states, a blunt brutality in his words. "i'm just disappointed."

you don't say anything initially, your expression deadpan as it meets his before you throw him a half-hearted glare. there's a slightly teasing tone in his response, though you know he means them. had you been a stranger, you would have thought he was dead serious.

"i'm sorry," you start, "i almost thought i was being grounded for a second."

alhaitham doesn't say anything at first, simply stares at you-- and it's a long while of just looking at each other until the first person breaks. he's almost certain you will be the first to lose in this battle of resilience-- you always are, albeit through his own means. so he scoots a little closer to you, leans forward until all you can see or think about is him. he cups your face with his hand, touch gentle, almost too warm, and how steady it is that he holds your gaze.

"you are." he murmurs, and you almost think you see a hint of a smile when you finally look away, begrudgingly leaning back the slightest bit in silent admit of defeat.

"shut up."

"i won't." he answers. "now come back to me. you have a scratch on your face, you know."

"oh. is that why you were getting so close?"

"yes," alhaitham chuckles, and you are unsure what makes your heart beat faster : the love in it, or the way he closes the distance between you once more, "but i also happen to like you, too."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ayato

"beloved, you wound me so."

there's a faint curve that settles on ayato's lips, but there's worry in that smile, and you know that no amount of words can ease it. you let out a quiet laugh, your hands in his as he squeezes them gently in comfort to both you and him : to you, in means of letting you know that he is there for you, and to him, in means of reassurance that you are still here, still alive and breathing.

there's bandages all over your body-- no serious injuries, thankfully, but there are still so many, and how they adorn you terribly so.

"and i thought i was the only one who was wounded." you respond, a lighthearted tone in your words. you do not wish to see him sad, nor do you wish to add any additional stress to his already hectic routine. ayato has experienced much loss in his life -- and even now, he must be on guard for those who wish to harm him through means of hurting those he cares for. you squeeze his hand twice : a quiet apology, an i'm sorry, and he hears it loud and clear.

"in spirit, i'm hurt, too."

your laughter grows a little louder. he's always been so cheesy and theatrical when it came to romance. the worry in his smile dissipates, turns into something of genuine relief at your reaction. though you may be littered in wounds, it's clear that you are alright.

"well, we can't have that, can we?" you murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead in yet another means of apology. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to worry you." you whisper, and you press your forehead against his. "i'm alright, love. thank you for taking care of me."

[azrielwingspan]

SOON (THEO NOTT X READER)

Summary : Theodore Nott was just another Slytherin asshole to most of Hogwarts. But to you, he was something much much more.

Themes : Mild kissing and swearing.

A/N : This is my first Theo fic AHHH. Just thought I would give it a shot. Let me know how it is!

P.S.- This is strictly a one shot. There will be no part 2.

"He is quite charming isn't he?" Ginny commented sneaking a glance at Theodore Nott. Seated at the Slytherin table between his usual rowdy gang of friends, he smirked at something Lorenzo had said.

"I think the word you're looking for is enigmatic, Gin. For all we know, he could be Voldemort in disguise." you stated flatly, stabbing a piece of potato on your plate. Earning a smack on the arm for using You-know-who's name so boldly, you ignored Ginny's attempts at convincing you to attend the party being thrown tonight.

"Help me understand why you're so bloody against the idea?! Is it because you have to bring a date?" she raised her eyebrows in question.

"That may be a part of the reason." you refused to meet her owl like stare, instead choosing to focus on the copy of the Daily Prophet in front of you.

"Why would that be an issue ? I can name five people off the top of my head who would say yes instantly." she prodded further, thankfully choosing to redirect her gaze towards the mail she'd received. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, you snuck a glance at Theodore again. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled upto his elbow and you greedily took in the sight of his veiny forearms.

"What are you looking at?" Ginny broke you out of the reverie, your eyes immediately flitting towards the shawl Pansy was wearing.

"Pansy's new shawl. I can't recall which store I've seen it in but it looks very familiar." The lie rolled out smoothly, misleading Ginny. The pang of guilt ,that never lessened in impact, hit you yet again.

"Oh. Yeah, it does look quite familiar now that you mention it." She went off on a tangent about clothes and you let out a relieved sigh.

Ginny couldn't know. Not for now atleast.

The morning went on, your focus elsewhere during most of the classes. Ginny hadn't brought up the party again but you knew it was unavoidable. You were definitely acting quite strange. Not being the one to turn down an invite, your sudden refusal to attend this massive party did come as a surprise to your friends.

You had your reasons. Utterly selfish reasons.

However as the evening rolled by, Ginny had cornered you into agreeing. On bringing up the issue of the date, she'd simply shrugged and said "I took care of it."

That did not sound very reassuring.

It was worse than you had expected.

"CORMAC MC FUCKIN LAGGEN ?!?" you hissed at Ginny , your back to the boy in question.

Ginny looked away sheepishly and said "He told Hermione who told me that he had a thing for you. So I thought you guys could talk? I mean you don't have to really. Just drop him off in a corner."

"Drop him---" pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you whipped around to face Laggen and gave him a saccharine smile.

"Nice to meet you Laggen but I'm not interested."

He looked astounded, trying to wrap his head around the rejection. After a few seconds, he managed to sputter out "We haven't talked yet. How can you--"

"Yes. Yes I can. You have my permission to tell everyone I'm your date but please don't approach me again. Bye." you sauntered off into the party, Ginny keeping up behind you.

"Where's Harry anyways?" you asked, straining your neck to see past the crowd.

"Running late. Neville set his pants on fire so Ron and Harry are helping him out."

Shaking your head in amusement, you let your eyes run around the room searching for him.

There.

Theo sat on the couch near the fireplace, one arm thrown around the back , a glass of amber liquid in the other. The smoke from Mattheo's cigarette made his figure hazy.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink." Ginny said her voice floating by. You nodded distractedly , your attention held captive by Theo.

As if sending your presence behind him , he turned his head around and met your eyes. Slight confusion marred his face making his eyebrows furrow. He hadn’t expected you to be here.

Signalling to you with a quick nod of his head, he excused himself from his group of friends and made his way to his dorms. You stayed down for a couple more minutes , getting yourself a drink to throw off suspicion.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d come tonight. Ginny change your mind?” Pansy popped out of the blue , startling you.

“Uh.. Pansy, hey. Yeah you know how Gin is.” Pansy was a bit of a talker. Aware that this conversation could go on forever , you tried to come up with an excuse. “Hey listen, I’ve got to use the bathroom real quick. I’ll find you again alright?”

Not waiting for a response , you made your way in the direction of the bathrooms and took a sharp turn in the opposite direction once you made sure Pansy had redirected her attention. Sneaking up the stairway to the boys dorm, you took a moment for yourself outside Theo’s dorm room, straightening out your clothes.

“Took you long enough.” His voice drawled as you entered his room, the familiar surroundings providing a sense of comfort.

“Pansy almost started a conversation.” You said laughing lightly at his wide eyed expression.

“Didn’t take you long then.” He corrected his previous statement , prowling towards you.

“No. I guess it didn’t.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you into a searing kiss that had you holding onto his shirt for balance. The words 'I missed you' played at the tip of your tongue struggling to be let out.

He nipped at your lower lip , a breathy sigh leaving you as you tangled your hands in his hair.

"Cormac Mc fuckin Laggen? Seriously?" Theo muttered , lowering his head to place soft kisses across your jaw. Leaning your head back to give him more access, you let out a soft laugh. "That's exactly what I said. Ginny is the real culprit."

A strangled moan left your lips as he sucked at your neck, immediately soothing it with a sloppy kiss. "T-Theo..you idiot. That's gonna leave a mark." He just hummed in response seemingly lost in the pleasure. Tugging his head back, you made him meet your gaze head on.

"If we stay up here for any longer, they'll suspect." A shiver passed through you as his hands trailed lower and cupped you arse, pulling your hips to his. "Let them." he said dropping his head to capture your lips once more.

"THEO, YOU IN THERE ??" Blaise Zabini's voice boomed through the door making you jump. A string of Italian curses left Theo's mouth as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah give me a minute!"

Cupping your face in his hands, he leaned down to your face placing you at eye level. "It'll all be over soon alright? We won't have to hide anymore. We can be free." The promise in his eyes lit a spark of hope within you, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Soon." you whispered , your eyes fluttering shut as you placed a kiss on his Dark Mark.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Lisa, Eula, Yae, Shenhe, Chiori, Rosaria, Navia, and Furina's S/O feeling insecure

No one requested this, just writing away some blues tonight since I can't sleep. Totally unrelated, Just Give Me A Reason is a really good song.

Lisa immediately noticed something was bothering S/O.

The way their hands fidgeted on the teacup, staring out into space with their brows creased.

(Lisa) "...S/O?"

She gently calls out to them, snapping them out of whatever they were thinking about as they blinked a few times in surprise.

(Lisa) "Is something the matter?"

S/O gave a smile, one she immediately knew was forced.

(S/O) "Ah, it's nothing.-"

Their expression vanished the moment they saw how concerned Lisa was getting. There was no point in lying to her, was it?

S/O sighed as their fingers resumed rapidly tapping against the side of the cup, struggling to look her in the eyes.

(S/O) "This is going to sound really dumb but...I've just been thinking lately. You...still love me right?""

Lisa's back straightens at their words, where was this going?

S/O shook their head in a slight panic as they realized how their words came across.

(S/O) "I-It's nothing you've done, I promise! I just...I'm just worried that I'm not good enough. And that...you'll leave me because of it."

Lisa for her part remains silent for a moment. Not because she didn't know what to say, it was the opposite.

She was just relieved that it wasn't something more serious. But regardless, Lisa's arms reach over the table and hover over their hands before gently squeezing them.

(Lisa) "S/O, you've always been perfect for me. Whatever thoughts you have right now, don't listen to them."

Her smile and soothing voice makes S/O thankfully relax, with them meeting her gaze.

(Lisa) "Of course I still love you. I always will."

Lisa gets up from her seat to embrace S/O, letting them take a second to let their emotions out.

(S/O) "Lisa-"

(Lisa) "It's okay. Take as long as you need."

Eula is completely stunned when she hears S/O voice their thoughts.

Leave them?

Eula's mouth opens to immediately rebuke that, but quickly silences herself.

Truth be told, she felt that fear herself. The fact that S/O chose to love a Lawrence was a fact she still struggled to fully comprehend.

S/O was the first person to show her true love, and it felt like a knife to her heart to hear them think so little of themselves.

Instead, Eula's palm slowly caresses their cheek, letting their head rest into it.

And with a voice that grows softer by the second, she takes a deep breath and replies:

(Eula) "You mean more to me than anything I could ever say or do, S/O. Don't ever think that you're not good enough for me, because there's no one else I'd rather have."

(S/O) "...Thank you, Eula."

Once she sees that smile she loves, she gives one herself, not being able to help the teasing that follows up.

(Eula) "Remember, our feud is for the long-haul. Don't think that you can escape it that easily."

(Eula) "Hah, of course..."

Yae exhales deeply, processing S/O's words as her ears uncharacteristically twitch for a split second.

A soft chuckle from Yae is the sound S/O hears, making them turn their gaze from the ground to her.

(Yae) "Frankly, I thought when you began that sentence, it would be far worse."

For once, there's no sign of a mischievous smile or anything resembling that she'd tease them.

Yae gives a soft kiss to their forehead before taking their head to rest on her chest in an intimate hug.

(Yae) "I certainly hope you'd know by now, S/O. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't be here right now."

(S/O) "...S-Sorry, Miko.-"

She cuts them off by squeezing them tighter, her voice still as affectionate.

(Yae) "Don't apologize. Just remember that even if you doubt yourself, that I won't."

S/O pulls away after a small eternity, with Yae's expression going back to normal.

(Yae) "Good, that's the face I like to see."

Shenhe is terribly confused.

Why on earth would she ever leave without a good reason to?

(Shenhe) "You don't have to worry about something like that, S/O."

Abandon the person who made her feel human again, to feel love when she thought it was completely gone?

She would have to go completely insane to do that.

(S/O) "I-I know...It's not fair to you at all and-"

Shenhe instantly hugs them tightly, her face and voice not fluctuating all that much despite the strength that held S/O.

(Shenhe) "I am still struggling with emotions, but I know the feelings I have for you are real."

She's put at ease when S/O hugs her back. Thank the Archons she was saying her piece correctly.

(Shenhe) "I'm sorry that I have ever made you doubt me, but I love you, S/O."

(S/O) "I'm...I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Neither of them move out of each other's arms for a long while.

Chiori sighs before she speaks up in her usual stoic tone. Though this time, there's a hint of kindness in it.

(Chiori) "Well, you're right about sounding dumb."

...Wait, shit that's not what she meant-

(Chiori) "I mean, you know I'm not the type to beat around the bush. If I wanted to leave, I'd have done it. I'm still here, aren't I?"

...Chiori shakes her head, mostly at herself. Even at times like these, she still can't help her choice of words.

This time, she moves to give them a tight hug, wiping away the tears forming at the edge of their eyes.

Chiori feels their heartbeat, giving her time to think of a way to not sound like a bitch.

(Chiori) "Too direct right now, aren't I? Then how about this, my feelings for you haven't changed, and they won't."

She hears S/O give a small chuckle, making her a little more at ease.

(S/O) "You have such a way with words, Chiori."

(Chiori) "Remember, you chose me...And I chose you, S/O."

Rosaria is silent, much of her actions mimicking S/O's.

She didn't look them in the eyes as she took her time, coming up with a response in her head.

Once she glanced at S/O and saw how uncomfortable they had become, she figured out what to say.

(S/O) "I shouldn't have brought this up, sorr-"

(Rosaria) "I'm glad you did, S/O...If anything, I feel like I haven't been there for you enough."

And she was proven right, seeing how they were tonight.

Rosaria hesitates before letting her hands hold S/O's, closing her eyes.

(Rosaria) "I know I'm not here a lot of nights to reassure you, and I know I'm really bad at this kinda stuff..."

Instead of saying anything, she gets up to kiss them, hoping that gets the message across.

(Rosaria) "...Don't worry about me leaving, that's not happening."

She makes it a mental note to come home sooner than usual now, if at the very least to wipe any tears S/O may have away.

Navia thoughtfully listens to S/O's troubles.

Her expression is completely serious, not saying anything until they finished their sentence.

Her first instinct is to wrap her arms around them and tell them that it's okay, but she knew what they really needed.

(Navia) "S/O. I don't think I could imagine my life with anyone else. And I never want anyone but you."

Seeing them relax got her to do so as well, Navia leaning in to kiss the top of their hand.

(Navia) "Don't ever be afraid to tell me these kinds of things. I'll make sure that you won't think that way about yourself ever again."

Now, she allows herself to give them a bone-crushing hug, making her giggle.

(S/O) "Thank you, Navia..."

(Navia) "It's what your wonderful girlfriend is here for, right?"

To brighten their mood, she puts her hat on them, before tilting it down and giving a cheeky smile.

Honestly? Furina completely understood the feeling, more than S/O could ever know.

She was so afraid that the people of Fontaine or that those closest to her would leave upon knowing what she was really like.

Centuries of feeling that she wasn't good enough for anyone ate away at her every night.

So to hear S/O voice the same words, thinking they weren't good enough for her?

The person who loved her despite everything? That broke her heart.

Furina's arms wrapped around their back before her head rested on their shoulders, hugging them tighter than she ever had before.

(Furina) "...Thank you for telling me, S/O."

She had no room to tell them that they shouldn't think this way about themselves. After all, she was still struggling with the very thing plaguing their mind.

(Furina) "I'll love you, no matter what you think. Because you'd do the same for me."

[maopll]

omg hi I love ur work this is so exciting

honestly I’d be happy with anything you made so please just hcs for all your faves!! thank you!

shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?

#genshin impact !

⌗:, a/n: making my come back again after 2 months. wrote this in class pls take it. don't even know if this is actually a headcanon or not mate.

⌗:, warning: childe's real name, mention of endearments in many.

⌗:, pairings: childe, kaeya,zhongli, diluc, ayato, neuvillette, wriothesley, beidou w/ gn!reader (separately)

CHILDE

He works day and night just to be by your side when you go to sleep. He can't let you sleep alone on that cold bed. He comes everyday and falls asleep while hugging your form. All the regrets and bloodlust now gone as he focuses on your sleeping peaceful form. He grows sentimental by the night and always worries about you 'how will you able to stay safe when I'm not here ?'. He is snapped back to reality when you softly speak in a low voice "ajax? you're here" and smile while turning towards him. Even in the darkest of nights your smiles brings him the brightest of dawns. He hugs you tightly to his chest and kisses your forehead. This soft and sweet side of childe is what only you can see.

KAEYA

Being a cavalry captain means that he is quite efficient in the ways of welding swords and riding horses. Although they don't quite apply at present but he has taken you out on horse ridings for more than once. Riding through the vast forests and along with the wind. As the evening fell, you two rested under a tree in Starsnatch Cliff while watching the sun set in each others arms. He held you close to him as he softly kissed you. Oh, how beautiful you looked as the suns rays fell on you. He could cherish this moment forever...however fleeting moments of happiness are best savoured when they are short-lived as they would continue to stay engraved in his minds for years to come...for centuries to last.

ZHONGLI

Hands intertwined with his big ones as you two strided along the coast of the sea. It was twilight, almost dusk. The cool breeze of the sea, accompanied by the lulling of the waves, all seemed so surreal. You were smiling brightly, and Zhongli felt that you looked ethereal. For all the years he's lived, he's never felt so loved and so lucky to have someone by his side. The lovesick moment between you and your lover was sealed by a kiss from Zhongli. Oh, how can you look so beautiful?

DILUC

Maids hear the sound of the gramophone from your and Diluc's shared room, but they just brushed it off thinking that it is you listening to the old mondstadt classics and waltz. Little do they know that the songs are on because two lovers are dancing to it. A cherished pastime of his as he softly holds you close to him. Steps careful and synchronized. The sound of footsteps, the symphony from the gramophone, and the glowing orange embers of the sun illunitaing the room through lace curtains. A dreamlike landscape. He looked at you with lovesick eyes, the same eyes he looked at you with when he first proposed to you. A gentle smile tugged at his lips as he closed his eyes, taking in the moment with you.

AYATO

Atop the cliff of Amakane Island, you and ayato were writing your wishes on the lantern, which would then float up to the skies to receive the blessings of the archon...as per the story goes. The lanterns glow illuminated your faces as Ayato carefully admired your face. 'you look so radiant tonight love' he thought to himself and then chuckling because of how helplessly he is in love with you. "Love I'm done writing should we let it go now?" you said excitedly and he humed in approval. The lantern was then let go off and it found its place among the blanket of stars in the night sky. Your lover held you close to him as he kissed you on the forehead, taking in the ethereal quietness and serenity of the moment

NEUVILLETTE

On the soft green grass, the melusines played as you carefully groomed Neuvillette's long hair. You braided it and added a few freshly picked rainbow roses and lumidouce bells to his hair. "Are the flowers necessary dear?" "nope! you look absolutely gorgeous love, don't take them off". He was about to retort until the melusines also agreed that he looked pretty with the flowers. He hesitantly agreed but if it means that it will put a smile on your face he will gladly do so. Putting the flower crown on top of your head that one of the melusines had made before, he held you close to him. He never felt so peaceful in all of his lifetime. It was a blessing to spend the day with his beloved and also with the melusines he adores so much. A smile broke out in his face as you all continued with your day. It seems that the sun will shine for quite a while today.

WRIOTHESLEY

Brewing tea with you always had such a wholesome domestic vibe to it. You boiled the water as he selected his and yours' favourite tea. Being his lover made you knowledgeable about all the types and kinds of tea and the techniques required to brew them. "Honey, you can put in the tea now. I'll go grab the cups." he added the required amount and waited for it to be complete. He listened intently to the song you were humming...what was the name again? oh! it was one of fontaine's classics. After it was done, you two enjoyed the tea in silence. It was comforting since most of the days inside the Fortress of Meropide is spent is hustle and bustle and matters related to the maintenance and whatnot. Moments like these were sparse, but he thoroughly enjoyed the little time he spent with you.

BEIDOU

Once the crux fleets arrives at the harbour, the first place Beidou takes you to is Wangmin restaurant or to any other local food stalls there are in the liyue harbour. From the spiciest of dry braised fish or stew to sweet and savoury rice puddings or even the fanciest of rice wines. All of them in one night. "Haha! I hope you are enjoying today, love days like these might come after a long time! maybe even months!" and she proceeded to chug down her entire bottle of wine. "thanks for this day beidou, I love you" you said as you drank your own wine. It was a full moon night and the sky was brighter than on any other day. What an eventful day it was with the captain of the Crux fleet!

[simvanie]

7 Sins Legacy - generation 5 (gluttony)

Gulshan: I really appreciate that you wanted to take me out for dinner after... After I got the letter this morning that my restaurant has officially lost a star. Halle: Of course, I can't imagine how it must feel for you.

Gulshan: Honestly, I still have to process it... But let's not talk about that right now. I don't want to ruin our dinner- You look beautiful tonight by the way. Halle: Thank you... But what are you wearing? It looks like you found it in the back of your grandfather's closet.

Gulshan: Oh- I... Uh, It's vintage. Halle: Yes, that's what I said. I was just expecting something... fancier. Something that fits this restaurant.

Gulshan: ...I don't really care what the people in this restaurant think of what I wear. Halle: Why? You don't like it?

Gulshan: My parents love it, but I... I have some issues with this place. It's very expensive as well and I currently don't have that much to spare... I'm losing customers every day since it became public knowledge that I was about to lose a star-

-I just didn't want to tell you when we got here because you planned this surprise for me. Like I said, I don't want to ruin our dinner... Halle: Well, I think my dad would love to hear about the issues you have with this restaurant.

Gulshan: Your dad? Halle: Yes. Well, technically he is my stepdad. You've probably heard of him. Because he owns this restaurant. Gulshan: ...What?

Halle: Yes, He is more a dad to me than my biological father has ever been. He has no children himself, so I will inherit most of his assets when he gets older. You see, it's in both our interests that his restaurant has as little competition as possible-

-And when he was reading through the list of new restaurants that the critics have high expectations of, he mentioned your name... I said that we went to high school together, and he asked me if I wanted to help him out.

Gulshan: ...So were you... Were you the person who filed the complaint with the restaurant inspection? Halle: To get rid of your pig? No, I didn't make the call. I just told my dad that you had a pig in your restaurant. He filed the complaint.

-I just had to find out what would impact you the most... Which wasn't that difficult to be honest. It was quite obvious that you had a little crush on me back in high school, and lucky for me, those feelings you had never went away.

Gulshan: ... Halle: I thought you would've figured it all out by now. Especially considering that you were never really my type anyway. I thought that was a given when I started dating one of your friends back then...-

-So if that's clear, I think it's time for me to go now. I have some other things planned for tonight-

-You should probably focus on hoping that your cooking skills are good enough to keep the restaurant afloat- Wouldn't it be a shame if it turns out that sir Hamilton was the main attraction and your food just mediocre at best.

Gulshan: Hamlet. Lord Hamlet.

Halle: Whatever. He should be on a plate, not eating from it. Also, don't forget to pay for the dinner when you leave-

-...Goodbye, Gulshan.

[romanstheory]

Midnight Flowers a Damian Priest One Shot PT 2

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem recieving), language, male POV

Word Count: 1,740

Part One

Damian

I can't stop thinking about her, the night we had... Or didn't. I stop myself from calling or texting her what feels like a million times that night. I scrub my palms over my face as if that'll get rid of the thought of her. A huff of hot air escapes my nose before I sit back in the chair in the locker room. "You good bro? You haven't been all the way there lately." JD says from beside me. "I'm fine." A lie, a clear lie but I would rather slam my head into the wall than talk to him about it. A nod from him before he leaves the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts before I leave the room as well.

I fucked up and I know I did but does she really have to mess with my head about it? Not mine but she fucked me like she was. Not mine but she owns my thoughts like she is. Selfishly, I wasted her time to get where I wanted to be, but was it worth it if I had it all now and not her? I thought I wanted this championship... El Campeón but without her, it feels pointless. No, what's pointless is to be so hung up on her when she's made her choice. She wants to sit in some bar getting drunk then I guess that's what she gets to do. My jaw tenses before pushing through the curtain and entering the arena. Some would say I was more aggressive tonight than normal, I might agree because I picked up a quick win not bothering to even allow the ref to raise my hand before I stormed up the ramp, Carlito jogging after me.

"What was that about?" He asks, eyebrows raised to his hairline. All I can do is stare at him to avoid the emotional outburst fizzing at the tip of my tongue. "Look hermano you don't gotta talk to me about it but whatever it is you need to resolve it. And I'm not speaking to you as a member of the judgment day... I'm speaking to you as your friend". Once more my jaw ticks "She hates me" The fizzing rage shifts to sorrow. "She fucking hates me and I deserve it". My head hangs to my chest. "Oh... That's what this is about" Carlito rubs his temple. "I keep apologizing and she just... hates me". A long pause of silence makes me regret being vulnerable. "Show her you mean it" Finally he says "She doesn't believe you so show her you mean it".

-

I've been pressing her for weeks, text messages, flowers to her house, I don't know what the hell she wants from me. I've tried every was possible to prove myself to her over and over again and fuck i'm getting tired. "You look awful" Rhea says walking next to me. "You're such a ray of sunshine" I retort quickly. "What's up with you?" She asks, abruptly stopping mid stride. "Nothing". "You're a bloody liar". A deep sigh escapes me "I haven't heard from ... her... in weeks and I've tried everything" Saying her name feels like a criminal offense at this point. "Oh cause she doesn't believe you" Rhea shrugs. "I've said sorry in every way possible dude" Frustration seeps into my veins.

"Did you?" She raises an eyebrow before she walks away. Shit, did I? My match is a quick one, I'm distracted and I think everyone can tell. Back at my hotel I get into a shower so hot it fills the bathroom with a thick blanket of steam, I didn't bother going out with the boys. Water rushes down my body, the impact of the water stinging my skin. The water runs over my head, covering my in an embrace of hot water. Rhea's voice echoes in my head over and over again Did you? My head shoots up... No... I didn't. All she said she wanted from me was my time, that I never gave it to her. Fuck. I'm so damn stupid I still haven't been giving her the only thing she wanted. Quickly I wash and get out of the shower, grabbing my bags and fumbling out of the room. I need to get to her.

-

A three hour drive isn't so bad when you're determined. The sky is a sheet of darkness, stars filling the sky as I pull up in front of her house. The light is on... She's home. I can't help but to feel a tug in my chest where my heart is, like we're connects and I can't stay away. I wonder if she feels it too. I wonder if she feels the longing that I do, I wonder if I've consumed her thoughts the way she has mine. I wonder if she even will let me in. Maybe she'll slam the door in my face, if she did I deserve it. I don't deserve to ever be in her presence again but if I don't knock on this door right now I'll never forgive myself.

Slowly I reach my hand up to knock on the door, palms sweaty, jaw clenched. knock, knock, knock. The tv pauses and I swear my heart does too before the knob turns and the door open... there she is. Big t shirt and I swear there's nothing under. Is that my t shirt? "Luis.." She says eyes wide as if she's trying to convince herself that it's really me "It's two o'clock in the morning". My chest heaves, what the fuck am I even doing here? "I couldn't stay away" I mutter "I can't stop thinking about you I-" The rest of the words escape me. She opens the door wider, allowing me in. "Can we just... Spend time together?" I ask, turning to her.

A softness covers her face. "Please" She replies just above a whisper. We watch her show, somehow the gap between us is eventually closed. "Thank you" She whispers again. She feels like heaven, everything about her is beautiful. "I couldn't stop thinking about you either" She says, eyes not meeting mine "Everyday after that night as the bar I wished that you would somehow end up at my door. Everyday after that night I missed you more and more". My heart clinches again. "I love you" I blurt out "nd even if you never forgive me I don't think I'll ever stop loving you, or thinking about you, or regretting being such a shit boyfriend"

She's silent for a moment "I love you too... I've always loved you, that's why it hurt so bad when you wouldn't give me... This" She gestures wildly at the air. My hand cup her cheek moving her face so our eyes meet. Beautiful. Softly I push our lips together, initiating a passionate kiss. My pulse quickens and the desire to flip her on her back and have my way with her consumes me. "I'll never make the same mistake again" I breathe into her lips. "Prove it" Her voice laced with lust. Softly I lay her on her back, lifting her shirt... my shirt. I was right, there is nothing under here. Slowly I kiss her stomach leaving a trail of kisses down to her plump vagina.

Already soaking for me. My eyes lock on hers while my tongue trails circles around her clit, a soft moan creeps through her lips, something feral purrs inside of me at the sound of her soft voice. Softly I suck her swollen clit between my lips and I slide my fingers into her slowly. My body threatens to release now, but I won't allow it... Not yet. More than anything I want to make slow passionate love to her, more than that I want to feel her, hold her. My belt jingles as I fumble to get my pants down, she lay there watching, that lust coated look smeared across her face. Slowly I line the head of my member up with her warm entrance.

"I want to take my time" I grumble. "Take as long as you want" She replies. Slowly, painfully slowly I push myself into her. Air escapes my lungs at the feel of her. She felt amazing that night so many weeks ago but this, this feels differently. Her warmth surrounds my member while I continue pushing myself into her slowly, deeply. "God damn" My voice hoarse. Over and over again I slowly pull myself out, push myself back in, stroking her like i'll never see her again. Her body melts into mine, the tv in the background is but a muffle, the world around a blur. It's just me and her filling the room with moans and the wet noise coming from her dripping vagina. Wrapping her arms around the back of my neck she pulls me into a deep kiss. Not wild like they had always been before, but controlled and passionate.

It felt as though our souls danced while I deeply pushed myself into her. I palm her breast, her perfect fucking breast and suck it into my mouth. Nipping, sucking and licking it. I can't get close enough to her, can't have enough of her. I quicken my pace, making love to her feels like the best drug. Pressing down on her lower stomach I stroke harder, sending shockwaves through the room. "Oh my fucking god!" She gasps loudly, eyes shooting open. "You like that?" A smirk spreads across my face. "I love that" She moans. Harder, deeper my strokes become more sloppy. "Luis! Oh fuck!" She screams. "Say it again" I demand, slamming into her harder, our bodies clap together like thunder. "Luis!" She screams. Fuck! "Who am I?" I demand.

"Daddy!" She barely gets the word out. Fuck, she is going to be my undoing. "Whose pussy is this?" I growl, slamming into her even harder, my climax approaching. "Yours! Fuck! It's yours!" She screams, her body stiffens, vagina clinches around me. I press myself deep into her before filling her with my load. "Forever, it's mine forever" I say breathlessly.

I took the next two weeks off of work, Hunter was gracious enough not to ask why. We spent every second together. After not having her, I never want to go without her again. A mistake I will never repeat. Mine, she is mine... Forever.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 8

A/N: *Dead Dove: Do Not Eat* I probably should have added that tag a while ago. I apologize for not having done so up until this point. Major tw: depictions/references of alcoholism, trauma, abuse, PTSD, panic attacks. This chapter is a mess. I'm so sorry. It's like I bet myself how much darker can I get with each chapter, lmao. Proceed with caution.

Rating: Explicit (due to the themes, really. No smut this chapter.) Word count: 6k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, implied alcohol abuse, trauma, past abuse, PTSD, depictions of physical abuse, unhealthy relationship Summary: Astarion readies himself for the ball, then heads to retrieve Tav. A tumultuous heart-to-heart ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

‘She’s voicing doubts, my lord. How shall I proceed?’

He impatiently taps his nails against the wood of the dresser. With his other hand, Astarion brings a glass of wine to his lips. He’s chosen a mellow red for this evening; smooth going down with just the slightest bite at the back of the tongue.

‘Push forward and ignore them,’ he responds through the telepathic bond. ‘Continue getting her ready.’

There’s a brief pause before Magdalena’s response comes through.

‘As you wish, Lord Ancunín.’

Astarion severs the connection abruptly.

Taking a quick sip of wine, he places the glass on top of the dresser and sighs. Warmth blooms within his chest as crimson liquid travels down his esophagus. It's almost reminiscent of blood he's supped upon:

Her blood. The sweetest substance to have ever graced his poisoned tongue.

Astarion lifts the sleeves of his shirt and picks up a bottle of cologne on the dresser, uncorking its stopper. He tilts the bottle and dabs it gently on his left wrist. Placing the bottle back down on the bureau, Astarion rubs his wrists one over the other, spreading the scent evenly. It's his signature blend for over two centuries, the recipe little changed. He taps the mouth of the bottle lightly with the pads of his fingers, then brings them to the delicate skin behind his ears.

There's one thing that’s undeniable, even to him. He's nervous. Terribly, terribly nervous. He hasn't felt this out of control in months. Tav’s proximity is impacting him in ways he hadn't anticipated. It's intoxicating, suffocating. She's all he can think about.

How to keep her happy, wanting. To stay within her good graces.

She’s seen too much far too soon. Perhaps Astarion would have revealed everything to her in time, but certainly not at this point. Not when everything is still so fresh between them. And now that she's voicing doubts, he wants nothing more than to perform as much damage control as possible.

Her departure is simply not an option. Unless it's on agreeable terms.

Astarion is a horrid planner. It's a miracle he's stuck to this current one, though having to adjust his plan so early is distressing. It feels as though he's grasping at straws. Barely keeping his head above water. That isn't a place he enjoys being.

Tav will speak with Wyll tonight, and he's nervous. So terribly nervous of how Wyll will try souring his name. Slip a slow, creeping venom into Tav's mind, poisoning her thoughts. Astarion is nervous that all he's put into repairing the frayed bond he and Tav share will be undone by this single conversation.

He pulls down his sleeves and shrugs his shoulders, giving himself a look in the mirror. He's chosen a loose maroon dress shirt for the evening, a few buttons undone at the top and the hem tucked in. A pair of black dress slacks held fast by a black belt with a silver buckle, and brown leather shoes complete his ensemble. He draws a deep breath in, exhaling with a slight shake of his head.

It dawns on him that he isn't exactly sure what his end goal is. To charm Tav back into his arms, yes. But what else? Does he wish for more, or to keep this casual?

No.

The nonchalance of this affair stopped after the third night. 

When she held his face to hers–their foreheads pressed together as they shared the same air–Astarion knew. The shopkeeper below Tav's loft banged viciously on the ceiling, shouting muffled expletives through the floor. But Astarion was beyond caring. He sang as loud as Tav did, greedily drinking her moans as though the centuries-long hunger still consumed him.

This is very much a thing. A very real thing.

Feelings he'd hoped to have lost are involved, left over from before the ascension. He’s not happy to admit it, but it would be foolish to deny their existence.

The remnants of him. 

The sad, pitiful spawn. Groveling in the dirt, forced onto his back by the whim of another. How truly misguided his trust had been at the hour of his death. Astarion shakes his head free of the thought before it can warp further.

Yet, a sinking reality sets in.

That's who she wants, though… isn't it? 

The man he was? There's little chance Tav feels for him now. She may never again, not after all she's seen. 

This provokes another thought to come forward.

Did she ever want him beyond what his body could offer? He's almost sure of it, but most importantly…

Why does he care now?

There are times when he looks into her eyes that Astarion almost sees it. The classic look she gives only to him. The one that makes his knees falter and his heart race. The longing laced within her gaze. It makes him wish he could sequester her back to his chamber and have her sing his name, his praises, until the sun comes up.

Astarion would willingly be her protector. The fulfiller of all her wishes. He would make it abundantly clear how none of what he has could have been possible without her. How he wishes to share all of this with her. He will do anything, everything, to prove that to her.

Everything, aside from admitting one small thing. And as he gazes into the mirror, Astarion rolls his eyes and scoffs.

Love.

What a foolish concept.

He picks up a silver chain necklace from the bureau and fastens it around his neck. Rubies adorn the solid silver pendant of the necklace and Astarion adjusts it to hang between the open lapels of his shirt, against his bare chest. The metal is cool as it lays against his skin. It's only then that he realizes how flushed he is. 

How his heart jumps in his throat.

Astarion reaches for the glass of wine once more, stealing another sip. The sting on the back of his tongue soothes the ache. For now.

His dagger, Rhapsody, is the last item to prepare. Originally owned by a corrupt master, but taken as a spoil of war. It's dull now and essentially for show, but he cares not. Astarion stows a separate sharpened blade on his outer ankle at all times, hidden by the length of his trousers; a habit left over from his past life. He secures the dagger's holster around his left thigh, attaching it to his belt, then slips the blade within.

Tav will be on his right arm when they make their entrance. That's at least what he has planned.

Brushing a few stray hairs into place, Astarion gives himself a final look in the mirror. Satisfied, he chokes back the remainder of the wine he's been nursing all evening, slamming the glass down hard onto the dresser. 

A glimmer of light jumps in his periphery as his fist connects with the wood and Astarion looks. A golden ring with a turquoise gemstone sits within a clear case, nestled within a bed of velvet.

True Love’s Caress. 

The ring Tav gave to him, so long ago.

Astarion quickly opens the case, slipping the ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand, and heads out into the hall. As he walks down the long corridor toward Tav’s room, he nods absently at those he sees along the way.

His chest begins to burn, his mind growing clouded.

Why does he care if she stays? Does he really need her? Ultimately, no. But…

Astarion has unlimited wealth and resources. A plethora of lords and ladies would all but collapse at his feet for an opportunity to become his betrothed. Throw in the chance of eternal life, and that list is bound to grow exponentially.

He doesn't notice the speed in which he's barreling down the hall until he almost walks face first into a silver tray holding freshly cut fruit, carried by an unsuspecting servant. “M-my apologies, my lord!” the young woman gasps, clamoring for control over the tray as it sways in her hands.

Astarion doesn't recall ever seeing this one before. Magdalena is responsible for the staffing of the palace. Regardless, he raises a hand and gives the young woman a short bow in apology, continuing on his way.

His vision sways as the wine finally takes hold.

No, he doesn't necessarily need Tavaria. He’d go about his time just fine without her. But… would he enjoy it? Would he be satisfied?

Astarion stops dead in his tracks, clenching his fists hard enough for his nails to bite into the skin of his palms.

…Does he want for this?

No, he couldn't possibly. He's the vampire ascendant! The most powerful vampire lord to have ever lived. The waking dream of all his kind. He wants for nothing. Has no need of groveling in the dirt. The world is his playground, and he will take whatever it is he desires. It's what he's owed after two hundred years of shit.

Pure shit.

The gods turned their backs on him during his most desperate hour of need. They'll have little choice but to acknowledge him now.

No, Tav should be thanking him for being so generous as to give her a second chance. Another opportunity of having every decadence life has to offer handed to her. Wealth, power, pleasure. So much pleasure that she needn’t ask for it ever again. Astarion would see to that personally.

If she chooses wisely.

He straightens his posture and gives his head a quick shake, strengthening his resolve.

She will. One way or another, she will fall back into his arms.

Astarion knows she's afflicted with the same sickness he has. Tav’s heart gallops when he draws near. Her blood sings, her breath halts. He can almost hear the way her skin calls for the icy pierce of his fangs. Smell the desire that burns deep within her to be well and truly his.

She will succumb to his song. 

She will be his consort. 

They will spend eternity in each other's arms.

Though his resolve fades quickly as his feet finally bring him before Tav’s door. Nervous energy surges through him again. It fights for dominance against the sedating alcohol coursing through his body. And for a passing moment, he feels faint. 

Astarion clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, giving a quick surveillance of his surroundings. 

No one else is within this end of the manor. It’s only them.

With some trepidation, Astarion lifts a hand, placing three soft raps against the wooden door with the back of his knuckle, the ring around his finger catching his eye. 

And he waits.

His elven ears then pick up the faint sound of shuffling from behind the door. “Is that you, Magdalena?” comes Tav’s muffled voice.

“No, it's only me, darling,” Astarion replies with as much composure as he can muster. When he hears rustling within the bedroom, he quickly adds, “Take your time. There's no rush.” 

As he awaits for her to open the door, thoughts from earlier begin to resurface. 

Should she refuse his offer still, despite all he's done… What, then? What more is there to do? Not much, he feels. 

And at that point, when all other options have been exhausted…

Well… she’d be forcing his hand, then.

Wouldn't she?

The door suddenly opens, and the sight of her makes his breath grow cold within his chest. Tav is wearing the emerald dress he'd commissioned for her and the pair of golden shoes he'd sent. Her long, auburn hair cascades down her sun-freckled shoulders in loose, wavy ringlets. But what makes Astarion’s breath cease lay across her forehead.

Her soft, sweeping bangs have transported him back to the crash site of the Nautiloid, to when they first met. And every night thereafter, when she'd inevitably slink her way over to his tent to steal a word. Or several. 

How she'd style them differently day after day. Play with them if they were to broach an uncomfortable subject. The way she'd dip her head to hide behind them in an effort to play coy.

Astarion remembers how they'd cling to her sweat-soaked brow as she called his name over and over again from below him, rendering him completely and utterly helpless to resist her. How he'd brush them to the side to rest his head directly against hers. Placed gentle kisses to the top of her brow after they finished.

“Rather bold to cut your hair the night of an event, eh?” he remarks with a chuckle.

Tav shrugs in response. “Just felt like something I needed to do.” Her expression is flat as she steps out of the doorway, ushering him in.

As he steps into the bedroom, Astarion gives her a small smile, nervous energy peaking once more. He notices the tennis necklace he sent her clutched in her hand, and he winces. “Have you found everything to your liking?” he asks, curiously.

Tav shuts the bedroom door behind them, then walks to the vanity. Her back is to him as she says, “Oh, yes, everything is absolutely beautiful.” There's a small crack in her voice. 

Something is troubling her.

Astarion sighs, anticipating the turn the conversation is taking. “I get the feeling there's a ‘but’ coming, here,” he states exasperatedly.

Tav shakes her head, now turning toward him. “No, it's not that.” She looks at her hands, running the necklace between her fingers. “I… I wanted to talk candidly about what happened in the crypts.”

“I don't understand what more of a discussion could be had,” Astarion spits, defensively. He did what she asked. What more is there to say?

Her bottom lip trembles as she pulls it between her teeth. Tav places the bracelet down on the counter and draws in a deep breath. She then lifts her head to face him.

Astarion does not like where this is going.

“When I encouraged you to show those men mercy…” her voice trails off. She's seemingly lost in thought for moment before she continues, “...you killed them.” Tav shakes her head in disbelief, eyes blinking rapidly. “You killed them, Astarion.”

He furrows his brow in question. “Were you hoping for a different outcome?”

“No,” Tav says with another shake of her head. “No, I knew that's what you'd do.” Tav meets his eyes again with an intense gaze. “But I didn't quite understand why until after.”

…Oh. 

She caught that, did she? 

He shouldn't be so surprised. Tav always pieces together everything he doesn't wish to say. It's maddening, how he can never hide from her. Though, in a way… It's comforting. To have someone see him. 

The real him.

“Do you…” her voice fades again, but she takes a deep breath and pushes forward. “Do you still feel that way?” Tav asks, voice small. “About yourself?”

Astarion draws a large breath through his nose and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he doesn't speak. His mind scrambles for the appropriate words, alongside a fitting delivery. 

Once he finds it, Astarion says, “Not anymore, no. That feeling died when Cazador did.” The name feels like a shard of ice through his chest as it tumbles forward, but it's a momentary pain that fades as quickly as it comes.

An awkward silence hangs like thick fog about the air. They're still looking at one another, and Astarion notices a glossy sheen to Tav’s eyes.

“...What replaced it?” Tav asks in a voice still barely above a whisper.

He knows what replaced that feeling, but it's not something she needs to know right now.

Bitterness.

Bitterness is what replaced the feeling of hopelessness Astarion carried for two centuries. All of his anger. Spite. Unrest, for the poor card life had given him for so many years. How he screamed, and screamed, and screamed for someone, anyone to hear him. To pull him from his waking nightmare.

No one ever did.

Until her.

Tavaria was the only one who extended a hand to him. The only one who found him worth saving. Who listened to him. Gave even a sliver of a shit to see him.

And it dawns on him then that she truly did care for him. Found more worth to him beyond what his body could give her.

But it terrifies him to know that she sees everything. Astarion will never be able to hide for long, if they're together. She knows him too well–understands things about him that he doesn't quite get himself. He will never have full control of their dynamic. She will always be a step ahead of him, and he'll be dashing behind her to catch up. 

It will be a nightmare for him.

But, gods… How his heart still aches for her. Longs for her to hold him within her embrace.

“I'm not quite sure, my dear,” is Astarion's crafted reply. He speaks with ease, shifting his weight to the opposite hip. “I tend not to dwell on it much, these days.”

It's a lie, but one small enough to hopefully get her off his back. And it seems to work, at least for now. Tav grows quiet, dropping her eyes to the floor. Her hands work quickly again, fingers rubbing over one another.

Gesturing to the necklace on the vanity with a wave of his hand, Astarion says, “May I help you with that?” He outstretches a hand in her direction–an invitation for her to place the tennis necklace within his palm.

Tav blinks up at him. With a nod, she picks up the necklace and hands it to Astarion. She turns around to face the mirror, clasping her hands together over her abdomen.

He unhooks the necklace and steps behind her swiftly. Astarion gently sweeps her hair free off her shoulder, Tav reaching up to hold it out of the way for him. As her hair lifts, the smell of lavender and pine wafts about the air: two of the scents he had crafted just for her. Reminiscent of their first night together in the clearing within the forest.

Astarion's arms come up above her head, falling feather-light to lay the jewelry across her chest. He steals a glance of them both in the mirror. Light from a candle reflects off the diamond studded earrings he's given her.

And then, it suddenly hits him.

He does want this. Yearns for more. There's a twist deep within his chest as he fastens the jewelry around the column of her throat, reaching up to move her hair back in place. The backs of his hands glide smoothly against her shoulders as he drops his hands. Astarion moves his face to the softness of her hair and plants a kiss, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. The scent of her overwhelms his senses. His head spins as he closes his eyes, finding solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“...Astarion...”

He opens his eyes and finds Tav’s face again within the mirror, full with worry. With one hand she plays with the necklace, twisting it between her fingertips. “...Did you ever love me?” she asks, voice quivering.

The sound of her heart pounds in his ears. The rush of her blood is a quartet cascading toward a triumphant crescendo. It's so quick it can almost be mistaken for two distinct heartbeats as he beats against his eardrums. Astarion's heart then pounds in tandem with hers, head growing light. Heat creeps under his skin and his vision narrows.

Love.

He positively loathes the word. The feeling. The sentiment.

It makes his skin crawl. Hands claw at his neck. A knife carving deep into his back. The room grows silent and then he's slipping, far back into the recesses of his mind.

‘I write this poem of love for you, my son. For all my children.’

A high pitched scream rings loudly against the stone walls of the kennels. Godey stands watch, bones rattling as he comes forward to reinforce the shackles around Astarion's arms and legs.

Rhapsody drags across his back, slicing into delicate porcelain skin. Astarion feels rivulets of cool liquid running down his back, and when the scent of iron reaches his nose, he realizes it's his blood pouring onto the mattress below.

Cazador raises the blood-soaked blade to his face, swiping his tongue against the flat edge. He groans in satisfaction as the crimson essence fills his mouth, then sets the dagger to work once more.

Astarion screams as his flesh parts again, a new rune being carved.

‘With this, we will forever be connected,’ Cazador explains. ‘You will always be mine.’

Astarion steps back, dragging a hand across his face. He feels the ever-present demon that sleeps within threatening to surface. An overwhelming sense of dread grips him tight. “...You know how I feel about that word,” he insists, hoping desperately that she'll drop this conversation before it's too late.

Tav meets his gaze through the mirror. Astarion watches the movement of her throat as she swallows. “But did you?” She then turns her whole body to meet him directly. “Did he?”

He. Him. The man he used to be. Not the man who stands before her, now.

Astarion's lips curl into a dangerous smile, a snicker rumbling through his chest. “There it is,” he remarks with sarcasm. He raises a hand and points a single finger into the air, wagging it back and forth. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to bring him up again.” He's beginning to feel more like himself again; further from tipping over the edge.

Tav’s expression sours and she shrugs her shoulders. “Can you blame me, Astarion? At least I knew where I stood with him.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You feel akin to a stranger, now.”

Pain grips him as her words split wide through his chest, plunging him back down the path of what seems to be an inevitable crash. “I certainly am not, my dear, ” Astarion says. His voice is even despite the storm raging within. “I haven't been for quite some time.”

Then, he sees them: the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. 

Shit, he curses to himself. This is not what he wants–not what he needs. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, please don't cry–

“Then why do you seem so different?” Tav squeaks, trying to stave off her sobs. “Why can I no longer feel the warmth of your heart?”

Then, they fall. Hard. And the walls he's fought so hard to keep up collapse inward.

…Fuck.

Astarion can hardly stomach the thought of having hurt her, let alone see physical proof. Her makeup is ruined. Mascara runs down her cheeks. Tears cut streaks through her foundation. Tav covers her face with her hands and briskly turns away, choosing to stand near the door leading out onto the balcony.

Each choked sob from Tav sends a jolt of electric shooting across his chest. “Tavaria…” Astarion whispers. He approaches gently from behind, maintaining distance. “Come now, darling; you know that's not true. I’m right here, as I've always been.”

Control. He must regain control of this situation.

She plants her palms flat against the glass door and she sucks in a gasp. Her head hangs down between her shoulders. “You're not,” Tav argues. “This is not the man I know.” Astarion observes as she shakes her head. Turning to him, she dabs her eyes with the back of her hand. “This is not the man I fell in love with. Who loved me.”

“Tav–”

“This is a man who fears love. Operates off of obsession. Who is jealous,” she remarks angrily, voice rising. “You give me the illusion of freedom, Astarion, but this is hardly freedom.” Tav raises a hand and sweeps it across the room. “You've given me nothing but a gilded cage to fly about in!”

The sharp edge of her tongue cuts deep once more. But this time, a sudden flare of rage rises within and he rushes forward. “Do you think I would do this for anyone else?” Astarion stands face to face with her, nostrils flaring with heavy breath. “Share all of this with a common fool off the street?!”

“Then say it!” Tav roars back, entire body shaking. Tears still fall from her eyes, but Astarion can tell they're more from frustration than pain. “Fucking hells, Astarion. Just fucking say it already!”

Drawing in a breath, Astarion blinks, stepping back slightly. He's suddenly warm. Very, very warm. But a chil thenl shoots up his spine.

He… does love her. Loves this. 

Wants to hold her forever in this room, suspended in this moment for the rest of eternity. She's beautiful–so godsdamned beautiful–as she stares at him, bewildered. 

But he can't touch her. Not more than he already has. Anything more is sacrilege, tainted. He'll ruin it. Ruin her. Ruin everything.

Though… this is what she's asking of him…

Right?

And truth be told, Astarion wants to delve deeper. He longs to dig through her chest and curl alongside her heart, forever. Tav made her home so long ago within his. 

He wants her to come home–come back to him.

Astarion swallows thickly as he asks, “...What do you think we are?” He's doing his best to keep his voice even, despite feeling like his heart is in his mouth. If this is his chance to win her back, he'll take it. He'll finally show her his heart.

“Gods, Astarion; I don't know,” Tav answers, flustered. She throws her hands up. “Lovers, perhaps?”

A sharp pain grips his chest accompanied by a head rush. Astarion becomes acutely aware of just how fast his heart is beating. “And what do you want us to be?” he asks in a hushed tone.

Tav holds his gaze for a moment, then drops her focus to the floor. “Astarion…” She rests a hand over the emerald fabric of the dress, rubbing circular patterns into her stomach. “I… Gods, this is pointless,” Tav states abruptly, dashing toward the washroom door.

But as Tav passes, Astarion reaches swiftly to clasp a hand around her upper arm. The grip isn't tight enough to leave an impression, though it prevents her from continuing forward. 

“What do you want us to be, Tavaria?” Astarion reiterates, sternly. “I'm not letting go without an answer.” 

The adrenaline is setting in and his vision begins to narrow. Sound slowly fades from his ears, replaced by thunderous clashes of his heart against his ribcage. Tav lifts her face to address him. Astarion meets her gaze and his breath runs cold.

“...I want him,” Tav confesses. Her green eyes are glossy with tears threatening to spill over again, and there's a flush to her entire face. “Gods, I miss us, Astarion.”

Finally, the dam gives way again, alongside the last shreds of his resolve.

Astarion laughs haughtily, throwing his head back with a howl. She sheds tears for the sniveling coward he once was, and none for the man who stands beside her.

How silly of him to think he could bare anything to her.

“Tch,” Astarion scoffs, releasing his hold on her arm, “Of course you'd prefer the version of me that had no choice but to lay on his back should his master command it.”

Tav narrows her gaze and takes a few steps away from Astarion, wiping her tears once more with the back of a hand. “I don’t want to control you, Astarion,” she sniffles. “What have I done that proves I mean you harm?”

He then laughs again.

Enraged, Astarion surges forward. “Oh, my dear, you're guilty of the ultimate betrayal!” he chides. “You left me,” The words are gruff as they fall from his mouth, spoken through clenched teeth. He watches as Tav recoils further from him. 

“You wanted to kill me,” argues Tav with a tilt of her head. “We’ve already had his discussion, Astarion.”

Astarion scowls. “No, darling. I told you I only wished to deliver you unto undeath.” The storm begins to quell and he reaches out, holding her hands within his own. “And as I've stated before, I was only trying to give you what you wanted,” he says, voice dropping an octave.

‘Isn’t that what you want?’ Astarion recalls telling her. ‘To be mine? Forever?’

Turning her is the only way he can guarantee that they’ll be together forever. Make good on his promise to protect her. That he’ll never have to suffer the crushing loss of her.

Astarion's breath comes in quick, short pants as they exchange heated glances between the silence stretched before them.

Tav shakes her head, pulling her hands free from his grasp. “He would have never asked me to do that,” she infers. 

A heavy weight sits on Astarion’s chest and he sighs in disappointment. “You're wrong.”

He would have.

Then, and now still, he would. The moment he realized his skin smelled of her soaps more often than not is when this hunger took root. But he was too weak. Too fearful of what his attachment meant for her. 

She became all Astarion thought about: how his proximity to her made her a target, should Cazador come for him. How useless he would be without the tadpole if attacked in broad daylight. Her smile, her hair, the feeling of her pulse thrumming under his tongue while seated in his lap. He remembers how his chest ached when considering a path without her, as if his heart still beat.

Keeping her close to him, forever, is all he's ever longed for…

“He just lacked the ability to do so,” Astarion explains. “Lucky for us, he's no longer here.”

“He loved me,” Tav blurts out. “And that's more than I can say of you now.”

…but she still doesn't see it.

“Are you even capable of that now?” she asks in a contemptuous tone. “Or is this all I’ll ever get?”

“You are worth so much,” sneers Astarion. His face hovers above hers as he searches her eyes. “You’ve no idea.”

“Then tell me, Astarion.” Tav moves forward; Astarion instinctively backs away. “Tell me how much I mean to you.” His back hits the bedroom door and she pauses, leaving barely an inch of space between them. “Tell me how much you love me, Astarion. Please,” she pleads, voice breaking.

Astarion's chest heaves, and the demon creeps forward. The word is tainted, so heavily defiled. It's a strong poison that Astarion will never be able to suck out. It will leech into every part of what they have and slowly, surely, kill everything.

“I… I–” he stammers. Astarion wants to say it. It's right on the tip of his tongue, but it catches in his throat. His mind is loud, thoughts racing so quickly he can barely keep up with what they're saying. She's staring at him expectantly, and he has nothing to deliver.

He feels lost, as though his body is no longer his own. The scars on his back sting like they're freshly carved. There are shackles around his ankles and a hand around his neck. 

He's back in the kennels, oh gods he's back in the kennels, Godey maniacal laughter rings in his ears, he's trapped, he's trapped, he's trapped–

‘I do this out of love…’

Astarion can't breathe. 

He's being flayed, he's being impaled. He feels his control slipping as his thoughts become louder, shouting at him full-forced. The demon creeps forward and he can see its face. Astarion feels himself beginning to slip away. 

He can't say it. She can never know. But he has to fix this. He can fix this. How can he fix this?

…Oh.

Then suddenly, it comes to him: the urge to fuck it into her instead. 

Pick her up and whisk her onto the bed, because that's the language he knows. A language he trusts. He can thrust, and thrust and thrust until she cries his name, his praises into the night. 

Yes, everything would be better if he did just that.

He can show her how he feels. He won't have to say it. He can still stay safe, she'll never have to know. She doesn't need to know. He could just fuck her, over and over, as long as she wants. Forever, and ever, and ever–

But not right now. 

Later. 

Later he'll give himself to her, after he's had more to drink. That always makes this easier.

“The party is about to begin,” he manages to say. Astarion reaches behind himself to find the handle of the door. He clears his throat, then says, “We really should get going.”

Tav blinks, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, soberly. She gazes a moment too long at him before eventually moving away to the mirror, taking a quick glance at herself. She wipes a finger under each eye, ridding herself of the smeared mascara. “Give me a few moments and I'll be right out.”

There's a soft tremor in her voice and Astarion knows she's unhappy with him, but at this moment, all he cares about is avoiding this topic. They will eventually have this discussion again–he knows it’s inevitable. Yet for now, he can breathe again.

Astarion nods, giving a quick dip of his head in acknowledgement toward Tav. He twists the handle of the bedroom door just as she enters the washroom and steps outside, the door closing behind him with a soft ‘click.’ 

A muffled sob can then be heard from the opposite end of the door, and a pang of guilt grips his chest. 

Tavaria is crying. Again. All because he couldn't say three bloody words to her.

Astarion raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He's said them before in jest–way before she meant anything significant to him. It isn't like he's incapable… nor would he be lying, should he say them again. 

His head throbs behind his eyes–the drink from before beginning to fade–and he digs his fingers harder into his skin.

Even if he is upset over it, Astarion knows why she left him. He doesn't even truly disagree with it, because had he been told the reality of what being a vampire spawn was like, he may have just chosen actual death itself. But he would never subject her to even a fraction of what he endured. He would make the experience so pleasant for her, so very enjoyable.

And she's here now, isn't she? She hasn't run yet, despite all she's seen. Has invited him into her bed countless times over these last few months. She's never told him to leave.

Right now, Astarion hates himself. Hates the chokehold just thinking about love has over him. She deserves to be told how he feels. To hear him say it. She isn't Cazador. No, she's quite the opposite of him, actually.

The opening of the bedroom door pulls Astarion from his thoughts, and he steps away from the doorway. Tav appears as the door swings fully open, her makeup redone and her eyes somewhat puffy, but she puts on her best smile and she steps through the threshold.

Astarion's chest aches as he looks at her face. It's all for show, and he knows it. Returning her smile, Astarion then holds a folded arm out toward Tav. She graciously accepts his offering by slipping her arm within his, and they head toward the ballroom.

They look every bit like the perfect couple as they walk through the hall, but his chest feels hollow. They reach the top of the stairs and Astarion steps down first, offering his hand to Tav. He sees the trepidation in her eyes, but eventually she smiles and accepts his offer.

And when her hand slots perfectly into his, light gleaming off the turquoise gemstone of True Love’s Caress, the knife twists so deeply within his chest that it knocks the air clean from his lungs.

He truly is a godsdamned fool.

[untoldsoup]

Even if it's just out of spite keep living, you dead and silent is what they want, do not just give it to them. You've done so much, you've earned every breath you take and every friend you have. Death has not earned you, not yet.

Thank you. Tonight was a dark and scary night. I felt hopeless and scared. All the grief and fear I was compartmentalizing came to the surface. I've been shaking and crying for hours.

I'm afraid of the future for people like me. I'm afraid of what our country will do to us. I'm afraid of the kind of death they will give me if I don't make my choice first.

Thank you to everyone who sent Kind words. I didn't realize I impacted so many people's lives.

When I post art I just assume people read it and move on. My creations mean so much to me and I put my heart and soul in them.

I didn't know people re-read my comics. Or that it was someones comfort story (I saw the most wonderful tags on a reblog the other day).

I often get impostor syndrome. And feel like I'm a terrible artist and tricked ppl into thinking I'm good. I hate when I feel like that.

Thank you everyone for checking up on me. It means more than you know. I'm so worried and scared about the future. I'll try my best to keep the dark thoughts away.

[moodybluezzz]

Change of Heart - Choso Kamo x Reader

[First time writing Choso and hopefully it won't be the last 👉👈 Includes hurt/comfort fluff, mentions of pain and treating injuries, and light angst. Gender neutral Y/N. Word count: 2100]

This is it.

Your back hits the cold stone wall behind you as you try desperately to back away. You stare up at the man looming over you - he looks human enough on the surface, but he has to be a curse. From his hair, pulled into two spiked buns, to his white and purple robes, along with the strange mark across his face, his appearance is all too reminiscent of the other bizarre entities you've encountered throughout Shibuya in the past few hours. Not only that, but his cursed energy is strong and strangely familiar, as if you've felt his presence before.

“Who are you?” he demands in a low voice. You really can't afford to piss him off, so you have no choice but to take the honest route.

“My name is Y/N, I'm a jujutsu sorcerer.”

The man's eyes narrow. “Do you know Yuji Itadori?”

You gulp. Of course you do - you've been on a team with Itadori for a few months now. Either way, just about everyone knows him as the King of Curses’ vessel by now. Despite the implications of that title, it's never been a problem for you. Itadori is one of the best allies you've had, and a good person at heart. What business this man has with him, you have no idea. It certainly isn't the most confusing thing you've encountered tonight.

“Yes, I know him,” you admit.

“And what association do you have with him?”

“I'm… His teammate.”

The man steps toward you, his gaze holding strong. “Did you help him kill my brothers?”

Brothers? Can curses even have siblings?

That's when you realize why this man's cursed energy feels so familiar. It's almost identical to two curses you encountered on a previous mission with the others. However, you had no part in exterminating the curses - Itadori and Kugisaki had it handled.

“I met them, but…”

The man clenches his teeth. “It's just as I thought, then.” He steps toward you once again, his fists balled tightly at his sides. You tremble, your eyes locked on the figure towering over you. His gaze cuts straight through your soul. It holds more than just the hatred typical of curses - you can see the grief, and pain, in his eyes.

The mark on his face changes shape as he raises his hand, manifesting a swirling mass of red liquid. Blood?

You close your eyes, raising your arms and bracing for impact. “No, please, I didn't kill your brothers! I-I don't want to die!”

He stands still for a moment. The blood dissipates as he drops to one knee in front of you. You look up, surprised to find him only a few inches from your face.

You flinch, swatting at him desperately. “S-Stay back, curse!”

He scoffs, grabbing your wrists and holding them still, to your dismay. “Calm down. I'm not going to kill you.” He raises an eyebrow. “And what makes you assume I'm just another curse?”

You glance away, giving up your aggression. “Y-Your cursed energy, it's strong. And it's the same as the two curses I encountered before…”

His intense gaze falters, a bittersweet smile taking its place. “So you really did meet my brothers.” He lets go of you and shifts to sit in a more comfortable position, his legs now crossed. “I think I may have misjudged. My name is Choso. I'm part-curse, part-human. So were my brothers. It's… Complicated.”

Choso looks you up and down, taking note of your injuries. You stay still and silent, eyeing him cautiously. You've never heard of a half-human, half-curse, but it explains a lot. You can't help but let your curiosity be piqued.

“Y/N, you're badly injured. Let me help you.”

Your heart twists with a mix of emotions. Are you supposed to feel comforted or terrified?

“What? You're… Not going to hurt me?”

He sighs. “As I said, no, I'm not going to harm you. All I could think about was how my brothers must have felt the same way you do right now.”

Your heart sinks. You've never felt empathy for a “curse” before. Somehow, you get a feeling like he's more human than a lot of other people you've dealt with.

Choso stands up, offering you a hand. “Let's get you somewhere safe, so we can take care of these wounds. Can you stand?”

You lift yourself to your feet, only to feel a sharp pain shoot through your leg. You lose balance, and Choso hurries to your side, slipping his arm firmly around you.

“It's okay, I won't let you fall. There's a safe spot nearby. Just follow my lead.”

And so, you find yourself being carried along by the half-curse, your arms wrapped snugly around each other. Choso is surprisingly warm - a welcome contrast to the cold October air. You find yourself leaning into him as you walk, to which he doesn't appear to mind at all. You make your way through the rubble, trying not to look up at the now devastated Shibuya too often. After a few surprisingly quiet minutes, you make it to a building that appears mostly untouched by any attacks.

“I think this is a suitable spot,” Choso observes, leading you through the doorway. You look around at the interior - it appears to have been an apartment, though its inhabitants have certainly evacuated for good by now. Choso sets you down on the couch, its cushions covered with a thin layer of dust and debris from the shaken building. He walks into an adjoining room, shuffling around in a cabinet before returning with an armful of first-aid items.

“First we have to clean these wounds,” he states. You gulp, eyeing the bottle of peroxide in his hand. He sits on the couch, facing you, and sets the items by his side. “May I remove your clothes?”

Your face heats up. How can he ask a question like that with such an unbothered expression!?

“Well?” he adds, his face unchanging. “Your face is very red all of a sudden, are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, I'm fine! That's fine…”

He tilts his head curiously, finding your flustered demeanor to be entertaining in a way.

“Okay. I'm going to have to take off this shirt. I should only have to lift one of the legs of your pants, though.” He takes the bottom of your Jujutsu High uniform top in his hands, casually pulling it up and off of your body. You shiver in response to the cold air hitting your skin. He sets the article aside, before pulling up the leg of your pants just above your knee in a similar manner. Luckily, they're loosely fitted and don't have to be removed entirely. At least you're saved from that awkwardness.

Choso places a hand on your side, turning your body slightly so he can take a peek at your back. You stare down at the couch, trying not to let your nervousness get in the way.

He looks over your wounds thoughtfully. “You have some cuts on your back, but nothing severe. This gash on your knee is a bit worse, but you shouldn't need stitches.” He grabs the peroxide and a rag, pouring some of the clear liquid onto the cloth.

“I'll start with your leg.” He presses the cloth to your skin with a focused look, and you instinctively pull your leg back, hissing at the stinging sensation. He lifts his head, his expression surprisingly patient.

“You're going to have to stay still, okay?” He says, slowly guiding your leg back toward him. “This will only take a moment, I promise. Are you ready now?”

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation of the pain. He carefully places the rag back against your knee, holding your leg gently in place with his free hand. Every once in a while he glances up at your face, keeping careful track of your expressions. Your eyes follow Choso's hand as he moves the rag slowly across the wound, wiping away the blood. Finally, he sets the rag aside, checking over your knee once more before letting it go.

“That's much better,” he comments. “Now, your back. Could you turn around? It will be easier that way.”

You turn your back toward Choso, closing your eyes this time. Although the wounds on your back aren't as deep, they span across a larger area for sure. This one is going to be tough. Choso prepares another rag, bringing it slowly to your skin.

“A-AH-” you cover your mouth with one hand, strangling an exclamation of pain, and grip the couch tightly with your other. Choso continues this time, running the rag carefully along each cut. You bite your lip as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. Choso places his free hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing your skin and hushing you.

“It's okay. You're doing just fine… Perfect, perfect, we're almost done…”

You focus on his words, letting the tears fall down your cheeks as Choso finishes with your last wound. Before you know it, he's turning you back around to face him and pulling you close, his arms wrapped comfortingly around you. You open your eyes, finding yourself surrounded by the soft fabric of his outfit. You bring your hands between your chest and his body, holding onto the cloth as you exhale shakily.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he repeats, rubbing your back. You peek up, a caring look shining in the darkness of his eyes. He continues to hold you for a moment before reaching for the bandages. He backs slightly away from you, giving himself enough space to wrap your wounds with the same gentleness as before. Surprisingly, the pain has started to subside already.

“How does that feel?” he asks, sounding slightly proud of himself. You fold and unfold your leg, then turn your torso from side to side, finding that it doesn't hurt nearly as much as before.

“That's a lot better… Thank you, Choso,” you say shakily. Choso rests his hands on either side of your face, wiping the last of your tears away with his thumbs. He wants to say something but he doesn't know how. He parts his lips, only to hesitate and close them again, and looks thoughtfully into your eyes as though he'll find the answer there.

“Y/N…” he pauses, carefully considering his words. He rests his hands back on his lap. “For some reason… you make me feel something I haven't felt before. It's similar to how I felt toward my brothers, but… still, different.”

He takes your hands in his own, looking down at them contemplatively.

“I want to protect you, and keep you close, and… Do you know what I mean!?” He says, exasperated.

Love.

“I do.”

Your breath hitches as Choso grabs your face, pressing his lips frantically against your own. Your heart pounds as he holds you in a deep kiss, before pulling away just as quickly. The feeling lingers on your lips, and admittedly, it's a really good one.

“W-Was that okay? Did I do that right?” he pants, still close enough that you can feel his breath. His pale face is now tinted with a deep blush. “I'm sorry, I've never-”

“Yes, you did…” You cut off his overthinking, leaning in for another try. He lets out a small, surprised sound before melting into the kiss. This time it's longer, more confident, yet still as passionate as the last. Choso drapes his arms around your back once again, craving more of this warm feeling filling his heart. No matter how wrong everything outside these walls may be, everything feels right with you in his arms.

You let out a soft laugh as you pull away, catching your breath. Choso smiles, brushing his sharp bangs out of his face with a swipe of his hand. You remain in his embrace for a long moment, basking in his safe, comforting presence. But as you come down from the heat of the moment, something nags at you deep down.

“Choso, what are you going to do now?” you whisper, recalling your initial conversation. He takes a deep breath. His burning desire to get revenge for his brothers still remains… but he can't let go of this new feeling. He's certain of that.

“I'm going to go find Itadori.” he says firmly, standing from the couch. “But… I want you to come with me. I feel it's best if we sort this out together.”

You follow Choso back into the city, walking hand-in-hand through the darkness. With him by your side, this time it doesn't feel so scary.

[russellsppttemplates]

Making do (George Russell)

George moving to Monaco has a bigger impact than you anticipated

Note: english is not my first language. This is my attempt at getting back into writing, I hope this is half decent at least.

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: long distance relationship

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Did you have a big day today?", your friend, "Actually, let me rephrase that. How big was your day today?", she chuckled. "I finally handed in the last paperwork so HR can process my transfer from departments, so hopefully in a week or so everything will be sorted, like accesses and all that", you explained, "but it's been good, you know? I've worked a lot towards this and to finally get it, it means a lot", you said, hearing your phone beep with a notification from your boyfriend, "is it your man?", your friend asked, smiling knowingly.

"Yes, George wants to go and have dinner to celebrate", you blushed, "he just texted me the details of the reservation so I can get ready on time", you said, setting your phone down after quickly replying to him that you would be ready by the time he would pick you up back at home.

"Whenever you need to go, let me know, but for now, I have this gossip I want to tell you, you'll never believe it", she smiled, warming her hands in her cup of coffee as she told you a out the latest rumours she heard in her office.

When the time came, you both said goodbye as you made your way to your and George's shared apartment, leaving your shoes and coat on the hallway closet and heading straight to the shared bedroom, taking your clothes off so you could shower. While the dinner wasn't a fancy occasion, you still wanted to dress nice and look good since it was a celebration still. Picking the dress from your wardrobe, you fastened the delicate zipper and tied the belt, looking at your self in the mirror as you soothed out the wrinkles.

It didn't take long before you heard George arrive, the clicking of the lock on the door catching your attention as you walked to the hallway, "hey, darling", George greeted, grabbing your hand and making you do a little spin, whistling after kissing your lips, "you look gorgeous", he complimented, "are you ready to go?".

"I'll just freshen up in the bedroom and then we can get going then", George said, quickly styling his hair and spraying on some extra cologne, "even though I don't think we need this, I want to say thank you for doing this", you mumbled against his hand laced in yours, kissing his knuckles as you walked out, "you deserve to be celebrated everyday, Y/N".

.

The monegasque sun was shinning despite the cold breeze caressing your skin. You and George had gone out for a run before you both had work meetings, deciding to stop in a little café to have breakfast out of the house for a change.

"It's still a nice day today, maybe later tonight we can plan something, hm?", your boyfriend suggested while you sipped your juice, "That's a good idea, yes", you smiled, looking at the crescent buzz, the city becoming alive as more people got up and headed on with their days.

"You have something on your mind, I can tell", you held your hand out on the table, his fingers finding yours and playing with them, "I do, actually", George cleared his throat, "I've been thinking a lot about this recently, and with the meetings I had last week, it became a bit more obvious to me where I am standing on this. I've been waiting to tell you once I had a more set opinion and I knew how things would play out, and I obviously care about your thoughts, too. I've been thinking about moving here", he stated, his eyes looking for your immediate reaction, "and I'd like you to move here with me, too".

It had always been a conversation the minute things started getting more serious, so it wasn't a shock per se. Most of his colleagues either lived in Monaco or spent a good part of the year there. The question wether you'd be sble to join him, however, was not such a sure topic.

"Obviously, I don't want to rush your decision, even though I'd love to have you here with me, and there are a lot of hoops to go through, but it's something to think about", George added, squeezing your hand in his, "yes, something to think about definitely".

.

"I can't go". That's what George heard from you as you sat at the dinner table. On his way from the factory and after he had sorted a few errands down on the new apartment in the principality, your boyfriend picked up your favourite take-away, and now you had dropped your decision. "I just got a work promotion, my friends are here, my family is here, too. I can't just leave, at least for now", you explained. "And I love you, so much, George, but I can't go, I can't leave here", you gulped, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

"That's okay, darling. We'll make this work, right?", he nudged. He didn't want to lose you, not at this expense, not ever, but right now, this seemed to have triggered a new fear.

"We'll do our best", you tried, "it's either making this work or breaking up, right?". The sentence left your mouth in the most innocent and naive way possible, but the words resonated with you and George.

"Can you promise me something?", George asked and you nodded, "you'll always talk to me the minute anything feels off, and I'll do the same with you", he stated, getting up and making you get up too, pulling you flush against his chest, kissing the top of your head.

"Deal", you smiled, resting your chin on his chest, "but you'll have to let me help decorate".

.

"The apartment feels lonely, I have to admit", George said over FaceTime as you both had dinner, him in Monaco and you in London. It had become the only time in the schedule where you were able to speak to eachother that wasn't in text form.

"It's the same here", you admitted, "feels way too big without you here, but we're making do, right?", you smiled, rolling the spaghetti on your fork.

.

You were making do until you weren't, that's what you thought as you drove to the airport to pick your boyfriend up. He was flying in today for the first time in a month, and the butterflies in your stomach weren't all just anticipation to finally see him. You had promised eachother that you would tell the other when it wasn't working and when you felt like things needed a change, and tonight would be exactly that. To prove yourself that it was just the distance and not something else entirely.

George walked through the terminal with his small carry-on bag, the buzz of the families gathering their children in one place and people collecting their bags behind him as he walked as fast as he could without running into anyone. He missed you loads, and part of him wishes you missed him like that, too, despite not liking the idea that, like him, you had spent nights up thinking about your relationship or that your work meetings were also interrupted by nagging thoughts and doubts about how you were doing the long distance relationship.

It didn't take him long to see you amongst the crowd. The later flight meant a lot less people in the airport when you compared to other situations where you picked him up, making it easy for him to reach you, "hey, darling", he hugged you, "I've missed you so much", he whispered into your hair.

Inhaling his scent brought you to a calmer state of mind. George was home and his presence alone would always make you feel at home no matter what, and maybe that was hard to admit, but equally necessary, "I missed you too, handsome. How was your flight?", you asked, hugging his waist as you walked to the carpark, "it was good, not too bumpy".

The ride to the apartment was filled with comfortable conversatiom, George's hand on your thigh as you drove while you chatted about what you heard on the radio, parking the car in the garage and heading up.

"I didn't know if you had eaten enough on the plane, so in case you were hungry, I made some extra food for dinner", you announced, "it's in the fridge if you'd like", while you stored your coat away in the hallway closet.

"I'm good, thanks. I've been thinking about some cuddles though", he mumbled, kissing your forehead and circling your waist, "to the sofa?", he wondered, guiding you both to sit against the soft pillows.

The feeling of being in your boyfriend's embrace after such a long time must've triggered your emotions, soon enough bringing tears to your eyes, "darling, what's the matter? Is something hurting you?", George asked, his thumbs coming up to wipe your tears.

"I know we promised to tell eachother right away, but I also wanted to give it time", you hiccuped, "and it wasn't the best idea, because I feel like this", your lip trembled.

George rubbed your back now, hoping to get you to breathe a little slower and calmer, "what have you been wanting to tell me?", he asked.

"We said we would be honest, so this is me being honest. I don't know about you, but I'm not enjoying being away from you. I knew it wouldn't be good, but I didn't think it would be this bad. And it's not fair to ask you to move back here, nor it is fair for me to have to go to you, so this is a big big whole mess", you explained, looking at George's somewhat stunned expression.

"I have to admit that I don't like it either, but it's like you say, it's not fair to ask either of us to move, not like this anyway", he tiptoed around the subject. He wanted you to be with him so badly he has most likely considered all of the possibilities to solve this situation, and very few of them actually seemed doable.

"So what do we do?", you asked, afraid of the answer you'd get, remembering the small joke you made about breaking up a few weeks ago, "darling, I love you so much, but we need to sort this out", you yelped.

Shuffling in his seat, George looked at the situation clearly, "I want you to feel comfortable, Y/N, and if this situation isn't doing that for you, then it needs sorting out. If there is anything we can do to make it better, I'm in. Darling, I'm all in of it helps us", he pleaded.

"I need to think about all of these things, all of these situations", you said, getting up, "I'm sleeping in the spare bedroom, okay?", you checked with George, "I love you and I need to figure this out on my own", you tried, hoping he would understand.

Nodding, your boyfriend noted his understanding, "of course, whatever it is to help us, I meant it", he got up, his hand brushing your hair behind your ear, "I love you, Y/N".

Walking to the spare bedroom didn't feel as lonely as you thought it would, most likely because you had grown accustomed to sleeping on your own, but knowing George was on the other side of the wall helped. He had been understanding and supportive, and to know that he was giving you time to think this through without any judgement or pressure.

It was weird for some people, but making a list of pros and cons for situations like this helped you decide. The written words and the way you weighed them in according to the different criteria allowed you to think about it. You saw your future with George in it, that was a no brainer, so there had to be wiggle room. Because you had a good relationship with your boss, the later hours on the clock didn't keep you from sending her an e-mail, her answer being one of the confirmations you needed.

Grabbing your phone, you checked the last time your parents had been online, pressing dial when you saw they were still awake, "hey guys, I have something to ask you", you began, "how bad would it be if I spent a little less time here?".

.

George woke up alone like he had fallen asleep. After getting ready, he headed to the kitchen, hearing a small noise from the spare bedroom as he thought you were just getting up, almost recognising which step you were in your routine by the noises.

"Good morning", you said, catching your boyfriend's attention as he buttered some toast, "hey, darling, did you have a good sleep?", he asked. He wanted to know if you had made a decision or reached a conclusion, but asking upfront wasn't the smoothest idea, he thought.

"I did okay", you fumbled with your feet, not knowing how to approach the situation, "I got an email from Anna", you said, seeing George's puzzled expression, "I asked her if I could work remotely, pop to the office every now and again, but mostly remote, and she said yes", you explained further, seeing his smile.

"I'm not doing this out of obligation, I'm doing this for me and for you too in a way, but because I want us to be okay, I want us to be good", you grabbed his hands, "and I'll still spend some time here, but it will be sporadic".

"This is great, you have no idea how much this means to me", George hugged you, "you're incredible, Y/N Y/L/N, and I'll never stop saying that".

"Only one thing, though", you tapped his nose, "my parents demanded that, since we're moving, that they can visit and whenever we're back home, mum wants to have dinner", you shrugged your shoulders as your boyfriend laughed, "Oh, what a bother to have to eat your mum's delicious cooking and your father's cheesecake"

[m00nh1gh]

Hush

Hyunjin x reader

Hyunjin likes talking dirty to u

Contains: Dirty talk (Oh! So surprising!), teasing, public setting, degrading (sorry I can't help it).

Word count: 823.

"Love, I'm getting a little impatient..."

You didn't think much of it when your boyfriend put a hand on your upper thigh after having said that. After all, you were at a restaurant packed with customers. He certainly wouldn't do anything here.

"Can't I just at least touch you a little?"

You looked at his pouty face and couldn't help but scoff at this whole situation. His grip on your thigh was kind of hard and he kept looking down to your lips then back up to your eyes.

"Not here, people could see us," you gave him a quick kiss on the lips to make his pout disappear. He sighed rather dramatically, but he went back to eating his meal without another sexual sentence for a little while.

The night went on and you were talking cheerily with Hyunjin about everything and anything. You both didn't really want to go back home, so you made yourself comfortable at the table and kept conversing there.

"That dress looks so good on you," he remarked, taking a sip of his glass of wine.

"Thanks, I really like it too," you chuckled.

"I'd like it even better on the floor," he talked in a lower tone and your heart almost dropped to the floor.

Ah, there it was again.

"'Jin, not here"

"Why not? I know you like people watching you getting off to my dick... But I can also use my fingers on you tonight."

He took your chin with one hand and brought you closer to him, kissing you slowly and sloppily. You couldn't deny the way your core was burning, but were you really going to let him do this in public?

Well, maybe...

You felt him tug at the end of your short dress and you put a hand over his. You didn't really know if you were going to stop him, but right now you were only following his movements on your lower body. He pulled away and approached himself to your ear:

"I want to put on a show for them all to see."

You went all red to this and he went to kissing your neck. Your head turned around to make sure no one was watching and when you saw the last couple of people leaving the area you were in, you finally focused back to Hyunjin who was softly kissing and biting your sensitive skin.

"'Jin..."

He hummed in response and you pulled yourself closer to him, wanting to get more contact with him.

"I want it."

"What do you want, love?"

"Your fingers. I want you to use your fingers on me."

"Keep begging for me, I like it when you do it."

"Please, please finger me right now. I'm serious," you guided his hand to your clothed pussy, making him massage it to show him how much you wanted him.

"What happened to being polite? We're in a restaurant, you slut."

He lightly slapped your clit over your clothes and you jumped, surprised by the sudden impact. You hid your face on his shoulder as his hand subtly made its way under your dress to play with your panties. Putting them aside, then replacing them at their right place with his index finger as he pretended to be busy doing anything but teasing you under the table, while you were desperately trying to grind on his hand.

"Do you not see how stupidly desperate you look right now? I'm only teasing and you're already trying to make me finger fuck you."

You started kissing on his neck while he made sure no one was still around. As he saw even less people than you did, he finally tossed the panties aside and slid a finger along your wet lips.

"I wish I could taste it, too bad you were too impatient to wait back home."

"You're the one who started..."

"And who's the one getting what they want now?" You moaned at him touching your clit. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Show how much you want me, right now," he put your panties back to their place and massaged you over them.

You whined at this, trying to move your hips against his fingers but he only stopped you by removing his hand and pushing your hips back down on the seat.

"Hwang Hyunjin, I want you to make me cum right here, please... fuck!" You gasped when he slid his middle finger into you, covering your mouth with the back of your own hand. You spread your legs a little more to give him space and he brought one of them on his lap.

"You're such a good little slut. Just for me," he planted a soft kiss right under your jaw, still fingering you slowly and making you go crazy over him.

___

This was pretty short, don't know if I like it but I'm too tired to change anything lmfao

Also tysm for all the notes on my last post, I really appreciate it <3

[lockes-woods]

Kinktober '24 Day 15

Request: Mihawk x afab Reader (you can choose if you want it be female or gn, I'm fine with both). And I thought bondage, dom Mihawk and sub reader with impact play and sir kink. I thought Mihawk could take readers first anal experience as they were to shy to do it before? If that works for you? If that's too much just say so. (ﾉ▽ﾉ)

Requested By: @nocturnalrorobin

WARNING: Anal Sex, Oral (F! receiving), Tied Up, Spanking, Fingering, Sir Kink, Mirror Sex, Lingerie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You took a deep breath giving yourself a final once over before you left the bathroom. If your timing was right your lover should be descending down to your captain’s quarters now. You touched up your hair before smiling in the mirror. You were wearing red wine-colored baby doll lingerie. The cups of the bra part and your panties were opaque, while the rest of the outfit was sheer. You felt pretty, which didn’t happen very often in your line of work. As captain, your duties easily outweighed the importance of how you looked or how you felt about your appearance. You normally exclusively wore trousers and a button-up shirt with boots; it was your set default uniform of sorts so that you could focus your attention on more important things. Tonight was different though, it was special, you were going to try anal sex for the first time. It was one of the few first you had left when it came to sex, and you couldn’t think of anyone you’d rather share it with than Mihawk.

You perched yourself on the edge of your made bed. A small whine escaped you as you could feel the butt plug inside of you shift with you as you sat down. You bit your bottom lip as you impatiently waited for your love to arrive. You gave a cursory glance behind you to make sure everything was in place. The lengths of ropes were laid out on the side of the bed, along with a gag, a blindfold, and some high-quality earplugs. You were excited to see which combination of items he would choose to use on you. While there was a world where he used all of the items, it was not very likely.

Your attention snapped back to the door to your cabin as you heard the worn wooden flooring protest against the weight of the person on the other side. Despite knowing he was coming and having this whole scenario planned out you still felt like a deer in the headlights when he opened the door and firmly slammed it shut behind him, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached behind him to click the lock into place, before advancing towards you. You had to crane your neck back to maintain eye contact with his lovely gold eyes.  

“My what a pretty little package I have to unwrap,” he said breaking the silence as he gently cupped your face, stroking your jawline with his thumb.

“You did all this for me?” he asked, looking past you to your setup.

“Mhm, Always,” you hummed, unable to look away from his loving gaze. His lips quirked into a small smile before he bent down and settles on his knees between your legs and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. It was a languid and unrushed kiss. You could tell from his composure that he’d be taking his time with you tonight. He ran up and down your thighs with his calloused hands, you whined as he pulled back.

“As lovely as this is,” he started twirling the edge of your garment with his skilled fingers, “I’d love to see your bare. Is that alright with you love?”

“Please,” you whine. Mihawk smirked up at you, he quickly undid the latch between your breasts, before skimming his hands down your sides. Your top slipped off of you as you lifted your hips for Mihawk.  He hooked his thumbs around your panties, skillfully tugging them down.

“Perfect,” Mihawk sighed contently, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. He gently pressed on your inner knees to encourage you to spread out for him.

“Good girl,” he praised as the jewel on your butt plug came into view. With gentle hands he slowly eased the plug out, earning a sharp inhale from you once the last bit of the plug was outside of you.

“Everything alright?” he asked, only making you shiver as his hot breath stimulated your clit.

“Fuck, yes Sir~” you moaned as he circled your asshole absentmindedly with his right hand. He began to finger you to check how well you had prepped yourself earlier. He let out a satisfied hum, as he slipped the butt plug back in you. You could only whine as you felt the circle of muscles there stretch around its bulbous tip before, before it settled back inside of you. Mihawk then pressed up on your thighs, pulling you into another kiss he dominated. He gently pushed your shoulder back, until you were lying down. He broke the kiss as he fell back into his position between your thighs. You could feel the tickle of his facial hair as he began to kiss up your thighs, getting closer, and closer to your pussy.

“Sir?” you asked, “What are you-”

“While you’re prepped well, you’re still too tense,” Mihawk answered, “I’m going to make you cum and then check back,”

“Oh, O-Okay,” you respond, you can feel your face heat up as you feel Mihawk’s breath return to your pussy. While it wasn’t unheard of for Mihawk to eat you out, it was rare. He was more likely to only finger you when he was prepping your cunt for his cock.

“Fuck,” you moan as he licks a clean strip from your pussy up to your clit as he began to finger you with his left hand. You panted as his lips sealed around your clit. You knew it was over for you when he began to find a quick tempo while still curling his fingers against your front wall.

“F-Fuck, Sir, fuck, Sir please~” You moaned, on the cusp of your orgasm.

“Go ahead love, cum,” he encouraged, before going back to your clit. You shuddered, before clenching down hard on his fingers. Your thigh slammed against either side of his head, trying to keep him as close as you could to your cunt on a primal level. Your legs shook, as you came hard on his fingers and tongue. You fell limp against the bed as you came down from your high. Mihawk slowly eased his fingers out of your pussy before he once again pulled at the butt plug with his other hand. He hummed to himself now satisfied, as he placed the toy to the side.

“How are you doing love?” he asked as he crawled up onto the bed, hovering over your body.

“Okay,” you nodded, still a bit spacy from your orgasm. He quirked a small smile as he gazed down at you lovingly.

“Are you still okay to continue?” he asked, pushing your hair out of your face with the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” you nodded, mind beginning to clear.

“Okay, I’m going to begin trying you up darling,” Mihawk said, pressing a kiss to your brow. Mihawk slid off of you before he began to pull apart and unwind the red rope to your left. Once he was satisfied, he helped you into position. You were bent chest to the bed, the tops of your thighs pressed flush with your stomach, with your ass up in the air. Mihawk bean to artfully wind and tie the rope around your body. He entered an almost meditative state as he advanced his design. Once satisfied he pressed a kiss to the base of your spine, before slinking off the bed. You crinkle your brow with confusion, before realizing he’s moving your mirror so that it leans up against the door, directly in front of you. Your eyes widened, as you took in your restrained self. While the rope work was lovely, you’d never seen yourself in more of a submissive position. You were completely prone and at Mihawk’s disposal. You clenched around nothing as you had the realization of how you were at his mercy.

 You could only hear the noise of him disrobing, as he stood out of both your and the mirror’s sight. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him as reappeared nude behind you.

“Ready love?” he asked, pouring a generous amount of lube on his member and your asshole. You could only whine in response, as he lightly pressed the tip of his cock against your hole. Your eyes widened as he laid down a harsh smack to your ass. Your head jerked upward.

“Darling, I know you’re excited, but I want verbal responses. If you fail to do that, I’ll have to stop. Is that understood?” he asked

“Fuck, Yes Sir.” You said firmly.

“Good,” he praised as he began to shallowly thrust in and out. He fucked a bit more of his cock in your tight hole with each stroke. He moaned loud and unabashed the deeper he got. You both shared a groan as he bottomed out.

“Still doing okay love?” he asked, panting above you staying flush against you to give you more time to accumulate.

“F-Fuck, please Sir,” you begged, making eye contact through the mirror.

“Please, what?” he asked, holding eye contact. His small smirk was ever present on his face.

“Please fuck me,” You whined, desperation clear in your eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you love,” he responded cheekily.

“Fuck-Oh!” you yell as he suddenly started to thrust into you with a demanding rhythm.

“Fuck. Is that what you want baby? You want to cum on Sir’s cock?” he teased, the pace never relenting. You couldn’t help but moan as you were stuck tied up at his mercy. You were close, so fucking close. Mihawk could feel you getting tighter and tighter as you milked his cock.

“Go ahead darling, you earned it.” He moaned, “Such a good girl.”

You seized up the second he gave you permission, moaning shamelessly as he continued to fuck you. You were on the verge of overstimulation until he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip and thrusted into you shooting ropes of cum within you. You panted heavily as you came down. All you could see was the image of your fucked out expression looking back at you. Mihawk immediately started to untie you the second he came down from his high, placing gentle kisses below where each knot rested. He whipped up your excess wetness, before getting you to bed. You snuggled into his chest as he held you, chin resting on the crown of your head.

"I love you," you sigh, contently. 

"I love you too darling," he said pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

A/N: K I'm about a day and 1/2 behind currently, but I'm hoping to catch up soon. Thanks for taking the time to read ^-^ Stay tuned for Jealous! Shanks x AFAB! Reader (hopefully out later today).

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Like a Hostage | Prologue

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

“They hate me, don’t they?” you sigh in defeat, hesitant to look back at your boyfriend whose fingers have gently intertwined with yours. Standing outside his childhood home you hoped for tonight to end differently, preferably with less undertones of passive judgement. 

“They hate everyone, so I wouldn’t give it much thought,” Jungkook assures with a sly grin, wrapping his arm over your shoulders as the two of you walk down to his car. 

“But they’re your parents, Koo. Don’t you want them to like me?” you turn to face his lowered gaze, hands on his chest as your back presses against the door frame. 

“Trust me, y/n. I’ve been fighting for their love my whole life. So, no. I don’t really care what they think.” he snickers before noticing the pout on your lips. 

“And anyways, isn’t my love enough for you?” whispers of his voice touch your skin as he leans closer, broad shoulders towering over your form. 

“You know it is. But, it would be less nerve-racking if we had their blessings as well,” your furrowed gaze looks up at Jungkook’s honey-brown eyes that softened at the sight of your flushed cheeks. 

“Just give them some time, sweetpea. Okay?” he places a soft kiss on your forehead before tucking a few curls behind your ear. 

“Mmhm,” 

“Now please get in, I'm starving,” 

“What? Are you serious? We just ate,” you laugh from disbelief, eyes glued on the boy as he sprints to his seat. 

“Y/n, baby, you're too nice. My mother can't cook to save her life. Everything you saw on that table was bought and reheated an hour ago,” Jungkook huffs impatiently, turning on the engine before glancing back at your puzzled expression. 

“It wasn't that bad. I'm sure she tried her best, Koo. You gotta be more grateful,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, love. Now please buckle up,” he replied with a dimpled grin before finally driving off, his free hand intertwined with yours. 

To be honest, you never understood how someone could show disinterest in their parents. Growing up in foster care, you were deprived of every childhood memory. Reaching for your mother’s arms as you took your first steps, feeling the warmth of your father’s embrace as he comforted your tears after a boy broke your heart. None of that was ever real. Nothing more than a constant reminder of the void in your heart. The shattering pieces of your younger self who cried every night, carving the blame deeper into her tiny wrists for not being good enough. Not worth the trouble of being in your life. So you grew paranoid of being viewed as an inconvenience, craving that lack of parental love from anyone who has shown even a glimpse of affection. 

Meeting Jungkook saved you from your breaking point, the night you thought you would go to sleep forever. Sitting on the rails of the Han River Bridge, you thought about the people whose life would be impacted by the loss of yours. In the moment, it was like your mind went blank, consciousness completely obscured by the lack of significance you brought to the world. Unable to fold even one pathetic finger, you felt the tears run down your face as your body shivered in fear. Losing sight of how deep the water went, your breaths became irregular, chest heaving up from the rush of adrenaline in your system. Knowing that this would be your last jump, made it all go away. In the end, nothing ever matters because we all die anyway. Some of us just choose to push their luck and see the afterlife faster than others. 

Closing your eyes you whispered a silent goodbye to your parents, wherever and whoever they were. Thanking them for the opportunity to experience life, however shitty it turned out to be. And as you felt your fingers slowly let go of the metal pillars, you took in your last breath before finally finding peace. 

“Are you out of your mind?” a male voice pierces through your senseless state as you feel your arm being yanked back. 

“What the fuck man? Let go,” you snap, body dangling midair as his other arm latches onto you. 

“Hold on for fuck’s sake,” he growls in frustration, digging his fingers deeper into your blue-ish skin as you fight back the friction. 

“I don’t need your saving.” you cry out, unable to control the stream of mixed emotions. 

“I’m not doing this for you.” his gaze furrows, clenching his jaw as his hand cushions the back of your head before your back hits the cement pavement.  

It’s true. In the moment, he wasn’t saving you. While holding onto your dangling body, all he could see was the sadness in his sister’s hollow eyes. He could feel the fear that rushed through her veins as she jumped off of their apartment complex. Alone. Consumed by the darkness of the cold winter night. No one heard her screams, and no one rushed to ease the pain. Unable to swallow down his antidepressants, Jungkook decided to stay the night at his friend’s house in hopes of muting the sound of his parent’s endless fights. Clueless to the reality of it all, his selfish act of leaving behind the only person who shared his misery. His sweet girl, Jieun. Now, they only see each other in his nightmares. The ones in which he begs for her forgiveness, wishing he could hold her one last time. Hear the laughter coming out of her room as he walks down their shared corridor, only to find it buried with white sheets of dust. 

“I was so close …” you whispered under your breath, bloodshot eyes filled with tears. 

“What’s the point? The pain never ends,” he sighs, resting his head on one of the pillars with his arms around his knees. 

“I have no one else. Who do I live for now?” you cry out with a trembling chin.

“Live for me,” he whispers, tears running down his cheek as he pictures Jieun in the back of his mind.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Navia, Yae, Lisa, Furina, Lumine, Hu Tao, Xinyan, and Shenhe's S/O getting scared by a story

No one requested this, I just wanted to write this scenario after rewatching Marble Hornets and I am TERRIFIED of closing my eyes now. I also feel incredibly old mentioning Marble Hornets. Did you know that web series is almost 15 years old now?

Navia has watched many theatre productions, but nothing regarding horror.

She personally isn't affected and finds them entertaining! (Because she's already dealing with the horrors of her normal life)

Her S/O on the other hand...

(Navia) "Archons, S/O! You're shaking! Was the story that scary?"

(S/O) "N-No I'm not...!"

Navia honestly can't help but laugh, not at S/O's terror, but just how cute they looked!

Plus, it made them sleep even closer to her, so no complaints are gonna be made!

Navia wraps her arms around S/O tightly.

(Navia) "Don't worry, S/O! I'm sure my gun can stop whatever tries to grab you in the night!"

(S/O) "I told you I'm not afraid! P-Plus, I don't think guns can stop a ghost- Wait, why are you making it sound like something will come?!"

(Navia) "I'm just saying for them to hear!"

S/O rolled their eyes as Navia laughed at their reaction.

Navia finds the whole situation makes S/O even more adorable in her eyes.

(Yae) "My goodness, S/O. If you had a tail, it'd be shooting straight up right now."

Yae didn't realize that S/O would be that affected by a simple scary story.

She could hear their heart racing as they tried to battle mentally that there were no such things as ghosts and whatnot.

Yae is half tempted to tell them what's around Inazuma, but figured that S/O doesn't need to die of a heart attack.

Not when she can inflict that herself.

(Yae) "Well if you are so brave, would you like to stay overnight by yourself at the Shrine? I am told you can see many things-"

(S/O) "P-PLEASE DON'T!"

Yae's hand covers her mouth as her eyes close from laughter.

(Yae) "I jest, little one. I am not that cruel."

(S/O) "Ugh, I knew you were just gonna tease me about this..."

(Yae) "Rest assured I will not frighten you anymore than I am right now...More than likely anyway."

Surprisingly, Yae does have them close to her whenever they are in private, holding them and making sure they're comfortable.

It takes every fiber in her being not to startle them and hear S/O yelp.

The things one does for love, but it'd also be really funny.

At that point it's a 50/50 whether Yae would terrorize or comfort S/O.

Horror wasn't a genre Lisa normally reads in the Library, but she does see the appeal of why people liked it.

S/O on the other hand despised the story they read.

Not that it was terribly written. Evidently it was too well written, since S/O was sleeping with candles lit in their bedroom.

(Lisa) "Dear if you're so scared, why did you read it?"

(S/O) "W-Well, I...thought I'd look braver if I finished it."

Lisa giggled and held their hands.

(Lisa) "It certainly is making you cuter.~"

Out of curiousity, she did start reading the book they had picked up whenever they were in bed together.

She could see S/O's eyes widen at the book and trying to refocus their attention away.

Meanwhile, Lisa was analyzing the book and seeing what had gotten them so scared.

(Lisa) "Is it because the story is supernatural, S/O?"

(S/O) "I mean, you can fight monsters! What do you do against a teleporting entity?!"

Lisa chuckled at their panic, and made sure to have one arm holding them.

When they were sleeping, S/O held onto Lisa for dear life.

Something she had no problem with. Maybe she should get them to read scary stories more often.

(Furina) "Aaaaw, are you scared, S/O?"

Furina teased, making S/O pout.

(S/O) "I-It creeped me out a lot, alright?! Just don't rub it in my face."

(Furina) "Come now, S/O! I will not take lightly of your mental affliction from this story! In fact, I will read it tonight and show you that you have nothing to fear!"

ONE SCARY STORY LATER

Furina and S/O sat quietly on the bed, with an aquatic familliar emitting a bright light nd illuminating the room.

Even though it was time for bed.

(Furina) "..."

(S/O) "...It freaked you out too, didn't it?"

(Furina) "D-Do not be absurd! I simply just think that the room was too dark-"

The door suddenly creaked open, which made the two of them immediately hold each other in absolute terror.

(Furina) "H-Hey, S/O! Um...I think tonight is an amazing time to become closer as lovers by never letting go, do you not agree?"

(S/O) "Y-YUP!"

The two of them shivered the corner of their bed, essentially sleeping with one eye open, and a gaggle of hydro familiars guarding the door all night.

They could not sleep properly for nearly a week, but it did bring them closer.

In which that they did not leave each other alone for a single second the moment the lights when off due to being scared out their minds.

(Lumine) "I didn't know you liked scary stories, S/O."

(S/O) "I don't..."

Lumine raised an eyebrow at the book, then put it down on the bedroom drawer.

(Lumine) "So, why did you read it?"

(S/O) "I thought it'd be interesting to talk with you about a story! I know you've always told me about your adventures and...I wanted to tell you a story."

Lumine's heart melted, bringing in S/O for a kiss on the cheek.

(Lumine) "I appreciate it S/O. Anyways, what's it about?"

S/O gained a confidence boost after the kiss and began telling her what the story entailed.

Only to watch their reaction drain as they explained it, recalling the bits of horror and Lumine being able to tell what part exactly terrified them.

(Lumine) "Hah, I think that's enough S/O. Honestly, it's kind of freaking me out too-"

(Paimon) "Yeah, now's not the time for-"

(S/O) "AWUAAAGH!?"

S/O leapt from the side of their bed and into Lumine's arms after Paimon had suddenly appeared.

(Lumine) "WOAH!"

(Paimon) "ACK! S/O, it's just Paimon!"

(S/O) "D-DON'T DO THAT WHEN WE'RE TALKING ABOUT GHOSTS!"

(Lumine) "Huh...I guess Paimon is like one-"

(Paimon) "Paimon is very much alive!"

Lumine lovingly held S/O close to her chest, ensuring that they were safe.

She was the traveler, and she could take on ghosts!

Lumine did have to leave out the fact she actually fought ghosts in Tevyat, however.

Especially Tsurumi Island. Her entire adventure there would probably convince S/O to never leave the teapot ever again and stay glued to Tubby 24/7.

Hu Tao, being the gremlin she is, would love to scare S/O further.

(Hu Tao) "You're afraid of ghosts? I can introduce you to a few and dispel that notion!"

(S/O) "H-HU TAO, I SWEAR TO THE ARCHONS, I WILL-"

(Hu Tao) "Woah, woah, woah! No need to be like that! They just want to socialize!"

She absolutely loves seeing them trembling whenever she mentions the story. It was both cute and extremely amusing.

They tried to hide the fact that they were scared from her, but S/O was a terrible liar.

And Hu Tao wants to kick it into overdrive by cosplaying the monster that scared them.

But she was also sure that would result in her getting dumped, both figuratively and literally into the Harbor by S/O.

Shockingly, Hu Tao does employ self restraint if she recognizes that S/O was getting genuinely distressed by her pranks regarding the story.

Instead, she'll have to sadly deal with the very comfy and tight cuddles S/O gives to feel better.

How tragic.

(Xinyan) "You're scared a by a story, S/O? Sheesh, the heck was in that thing?"

Xinyan is a bit confused on how someone could get that terrified by a book.

But whatever, she can't judge.

Most people were afraid of her simply looking at them.

(Xinyan) "Hey, S/O! C'mere a sec! I got a nice song that'll blast all those scary thoughts away!"

Xinyan distracts S/O by playing her songs and just being in their vicinity more than normal.

Something she could tell they appreciated as they calmed down, especially in the dark.

Her hand grips around their arms strongly, giving them a reminder that she ain't afraid of no ghost!

And especially since it meant extra cuddles, Xinyan was willing to indulge them.

(S/O) "I hope this isn't too ridiculous, Xinyan-"

(XInyan) "Nonsense, S/O! This ain't that big'a deal. Besides I...think it's a bit cute."

(S/O) "What was that last part?"

(Xinyan) "A-Ah, don't worry 'bout it!"

Shenhe didn't like seeing S/O be afraid, regardless of the source.

Her focus becomes razor sharp and thinks S/O is being frightened by an actual ghost.

Upon realizing ghost-murder was not needed, Shenhe instead has S/O with her at all times.

(Shenhe) "If I may ask, why are you so afraid of a fictional story?"

(S/O) "It's...kind of hard to explain. Just the concepts in there terrify me..."

(Shenhe) "I do not fully get it, but I will do my best to make you not scared anymore."

While it is unfortunate S/O feels unease, it does bring her great comfort that S/O finds her mere presence comforting enough to not be afraid.

Maybe it was because she can perform exorcist arts, or because she was their lover.

Regardless of the reason, Shenhe will not falter for a single moment, always on alert for S/O's mood.

She seemed to distract them well, one of her methods proving highly effective, which was hugging them tightly.

That seemed to do the job everytime as she felt them relax into her hold.

Part of her wished it was an actual ghost so she could make them pay for making her S/O feel so scared.

If she could murder a ghost, she would.