#I've never been able to get something that good in my life

[sarcasticsparkles]

This brings me psychic damage in ways I could not possibly hope to describe. There are no words to properly convey the sheer frustration, so I am going to explain this from a perspective on the consequences of this.

My parents and I are my younger sister's English teachers.

The reason? Because her school developed such a problem with students using ChatGPT that they taught accordingly, in that they didn't teach at all. The rare time there was an attempt to properly teach, most students had no ability to think critically to the point being in a room with them was actively endangering the neurons of everyone around them. We needed to pull my sister out of English class because she simply was not learning despite her best efforts.

Being a teacher is not my field, but I have been writing since I was a preteen, and I am now an adult woman. Teaching a teenager to engage with media critically and write essays is not an easy task. The only thing maintaining my sanity is knowing my sister is a good kid and I've never had an issue of ChatGPT with her. But it has brought forward an interesting question a lot of students are faced with:

Why bother? What is the point of trying when the class moron with the broccoli hair and a singular braincell bouncing around in his head like a windows screensaver could get the same grade with the click of a button?

Removing my sister from a class of her peers was monumental in removing this argument, but not every student has family willing or able to aid them. It's a fascinating discussion and a depressing one.

When I was in school, there was an art to violating academic integrity. Some skill had to be learned to guarantee not being caught. There were obviously kids stupid enough to plagiarize an entire essay often from the first result on the first page of google. Or my favorite example of my classmate googling the answers to our trade school final exam on the school tablet, during the exam, with the google typing sound loudly on for all to hear. But the existence of those students was rarely harming anyone. If the assignment they cheated on was important to their future, they only harmed themselves, and if it was useless busywork, it's a victimless crime.

Furthermore, I've asked people what assignments they would cheat on, if any. Some people admitted to cheating on tests and such, as expected, but a lot of it was in situations where a teacher refused to respect their time. Meaningless busywork, designed for nothing more than to guarantee the student didn't sleep or have a life outside of school. If a teacher won't respect the students, why respect them by actually doing the pointless assignment?

(I need to clarify cheating on busywork means assignments like a math teacher giving a 26 question assignment each with multiple lettered sub-questions, none of which is going to appear on the test, and refusing to let students use a calculator. The type of assignment that in a creative setting would simply mean half-assing it.)

ChatGPT has not just blurred but outright decimated the line in the sand on what is busywork and what are assignments meant to help further the learning. Every assignment feels meaningless when it's common knowledge half the class spent 30 seconds on the work, if that. Every minute working on that important essay feels like time that could be spent on better things, and the question is raised why the teacher ever assigned it.

Why should a student waste hours of their time for something they know will mean nothing, and did mean nothing to so many who will get the same result as their hard work?

All ChatGPT has done is reduce critical thinking and writing ability on a massive scale, and destroy morale to create at all. There is something to be said in the context of the education system about failings that cause every aspect of learning to feel pointless in relation to the real world, but that has always been a problem, just as cheating has always been a problem. ChatGPT is a new ball game, and its effect on anyone it touches, even if indirectly, are catastrophic.

As a tidbit for any teacher or parent who may see this, the best way to confirm if ChatGPT was used in instances they don't accidentally leave in the "this was made by ChatGPT" blip is to ask the student to define the words in their essay. More often than not, they cannot pronounce or spell the word without a computer, let alone define it.

[baked-potatoes-rule]

Yellowjackets S3 Episode 8 SPOILERS AHEAD (Do not read if you haven't watched yet)

The amount of Jackie Taylor we are getting this season is just fantastic. Seeing her on screen is always delightful. But seeing her verbally roasting Shauna,just feels better and better every time.

This episode is rough for her.

She's dreaming of her dead best friend--whose death Shauna still feels responsible for-- reminding her how miserable her life ended up being. The one person who overshadowed her, who "bossed her around", who didn't care about anyone else but herself, is no longer around and yet, Shauna still keeps losing.

And once again we are reminded that they could have worked things out, had Shauna spoken up more often. The boob dress scene and now her, not liking being called that. Jackie always ends up looking confused and asking "why the hell didn't you say something?"

Lottie put her in charge and she still isn't in charge. She is being overlooked even when she gets chosen to be center stage. Natalie absolutely cooked her with one line here. Jackie is still on top, even when dead. Shauna just, cannot win. The group is still following Nat's lead and Melissa is laughing in her face.

And this is where I put most of the words I've spoken against Melissa, in my mouth.

She faked her death,she is alive,she is married AND she's happy?Oh and goes to church too! This is better than I could have imagined it.

Shauna is seething because how can Melissa get to be happy and have a normal life? It's always other people and never Shauna. And on top of that she didn't even love her. She had to go with it because Shauna scared the fuck out of her. Understandable. On one hand this is good because Melissa played her cards really well and I underestimated her by labeling her as a "lap dog". On the other hand it's really sad for Shauna, because despite everything she has done, i do believe she deserves the life she always dreamed of having. She pulled the short stick way too many times.

Melissa and Adam

Two people telling Shauna she keeps wanting to blow things up. It's a pattern with her. She never got to live the life she wanted so she keeps sabotaging herself over and over again. Put the guilt of everything they did out there and she doesn't even believe she deserves anything good. She did the same thing when she slept with Jeff behind Jackie's back.

Shauna has no control over her life. Blowing things up is her only way of feeling like she has any. Self sabotage feels good when you feel helpless and guilty.

The Yellowjackets

Lottie,Shauna and Taissa do not want to go back home.

Lottie's story line is starting to weigh very very heavy this season. She doesn't want to go home because she doesn't feel like she belongs there. This,the wilderness; this is home. She doesn't have to act a certain way to be perceived as normal here. She can be herself. Her true self. Because back home she is judged and she is told she is wrong. Something is wrong with her. Who wants to be put aside and be labeled as "damaged goods"? She has a purpose in the wilderness and she is seen as someone special. Loved and accepted unconditionally.

Taissa doesn't want to go back either. She tells Van they probably won't be able to be together when they go back. How much progress has the outside world made?Yes, to them, it feels like they have been here for too long. What happens when they go out there? Not only they have done things that will follow them for their entire lives, but they are also gay. Again, not accepted by society. Just like Lottie who has a mental illness and is ostracized because of it. But here Tai and Van can be together and be happy. Why would they want to leave?

Shauna doesn't believe in any "It". But why would she go back? She lost Jackie and she was the first one to initiate cannibalism. She lost her baby. It's not like she's going to Brown. She finally somewhat "found" herself here, although she's still kind of losing but it beats going home and being lost again.

Lost,traumatized and scanning groceries.

The division between their choices.

Natalie and the rest of the group want to go back home. Van wants to see her mom,Melissa wants to get a gym membership she won't even use, Akilah will see her nephews, Gen will do the fries thing. They just want to go back.

So why are Lottie,Taissa and Shauna refusing to? Does Van not feel guilty for what they've done?Yeah but she does tell Travis they did what they did to survive. Melissa talked about bad parts but she is far from bad herself. She did what she had to do to survive. Natalie killed Ben, but she did it because she had to keep her promise and she showed him mercy.

The three of them just don't feel like they belong anymore, or that they deserve a normal life. They're beyond broken.

But the rest of the group has hope.

The answer is,yes.

On the bright side...Misty found her glasses and baked potatoes,still rule ✨🥔✨

[cubur]

I’ve been seeing your art all around the internet and trying to find your page where you are active. I finally found your tumblr and was so happy until I saw the posts about your pet and how bad you are feeling. I just wanted to let you know that your art truly brings light into my life and even if you stop drawing it has forever impacted me. I wanted to say thank you and I hope you will return one day.

Hello！ Well, I probably haven't been around for 3 months. I've had the chance to read all the messages now… And I realize i've caused a lot of you to worry, so even though i can't answer each of you individually at this point, i thought you at least had the right to know what was going on.

Ok, when I lost my cat about 3 months ago, I lost many things along with it. I don't know if you guys noticed, but i'm not as active as i used to be. In fact, I can't even remember the last time i drew narusasu …it feels like i've forgotten how to. Honestly I never imagined this day would come… I mean… I don't know how this sounds to you guys, but i won't be able to be active on this account anymore even if i wanted to. I've been trying to hide it, but i've been having arguments with my family about my fan arts for the past year or so. No, not in the way you might think. It's just… maybe many of you won't understand, but my country is going through serious financial struggles, and unfortunately i no longer have the time to create art for free like i used to.

For over ten years, I've been making a living by drawing at my desk, creating things online, whether good or bad. But at some point it stopped making me happy, yes, and that's when I started drawing fanart. Believe or not, the sense of warmth and belonging I felt here was something i had never experienced anywhere else. Yes ofcourse I love Naruto and Sasuke, but the warmth I felt and the feeling of knowing that i wasn't alone was what truly brought me here. Some of you made me laugh, some of you made me cry, and some of you even made me really angry at times. But throughout my life, I've met very few people whom i truly felt close to, and one of them was someone i met thanks to this community. That's why I want to sincerely thank you all！If I've been fighting all this time, it's because I don't want to leave you all. But after a certain point, trying to manage both of my accounts actively caused me to spend extra energy mentally and even physically. So, in the end, I burned out.

Recently, every time I drew sns, i ended up arguing with my family, and it just made me feel like this was the place i should give up. Unfortunately, people can change when it comes to money and that's why I had to take a break.

If you ask where I am now and what I'm doing, i'm still doing one of the things i love, i mean drawing, but active and working on my other account, which is completely different from this one. I'm not planning on closing my account here yet, still have unfinished commissions, and just want to leave the door ajar in case i still have a chance to come back in the future. But still, if you were to ask my honest opinion, I would say don't get your hopes up too much…

No matter what, take care of yourselves guys！ Thank you！❤️

[illitten]

.

[maryellencarter]

"What is it about Pokemon specifically that you can't seem to get into?"

You know, I think that's what I'm kind of trying to figure out. It seems like it should be my jam. I didn't grow up gaming -- I'm the right age for the Pokemon phenomenon, give or take, but I was extremely sheltered and had never even picked up a video game controller until about four years ago. (I did get into Mass Effect on PC about twelve years ago, but for a long time that was the only video game I'd ever played.)

I mean, I'm an incurable completionist: I own every single purchasable furniture item in ACNH except one I haven't tracked down yet. I'm all about mathy combat: I calculate potential sneakstrike damage in my head to choose the optimal weapons in Breath of the Wild. I love adorable tiny creatures and evolving them into other slightly less adorable creatures: I have a complete Kanto dex in Pokemon Go, although my increasing mobility issues and the growing pay-to-break-even nature of the app have discouraged me from playing anymore.

But I've tried Let's Go Pikachu, Brilliant Diamond, Scarlet, and Violet, and I haven't gotten past the late midgame in any of them. Partly that's because they really try to force you to have a friend group that plays -- I actually resold my Let's Go cartridge because I was so upset when I found out Gengar was a trade evolution so I wouldn't be able to get one (Gengar is my favorite pokemon, it's so fat and happy and Halloween) -- but I don't think that's the whole reason?

I've been chewing on this for a while, and I'm thinking... it seems to me like a big part of it is that I mostly play games where the devs are more or less on your side. Prepare for the fight the way the game tells you, and it'll be challenging but you'll have good odds of winning. Pokemon has an almost soulsborne attitude where it expects you to go into the fights from about the third gym onwards and *lose* at least once, because there was some kind of clever gotcha with dual-typing or move coverage where they set you up to fail -- you brought a Psychic type to the Fighting gym like the door greeter said, and got owned by Dark moves or a Lucario that has only Steel-type weaknesses.

And that's... probably a good type of game to exist for children? Learning that you're not always going to have all the information, that you will fail, that you might have to step back and refine your plan based on new data and try again, those are all good things to practice. Even as an adult.

But the game never tells you, and the general cultural attitude around Pokemon never tells you, that that's the kind of game it is. You go into a soulsborne, you know from the tutorial area that your ass is there to get kicked. You go into Pokemon being told it's a fun cozy game you can beat while playing like a five-year-old who just picked the mons they liked the best, and the first couple gyms bear out that impression before they flip the script on you.

And I know a big part of the problem is that that is a lesson I could probably use, that it's okay to fail. I tend to be far too much of a perfectionist as well as a completionist. But because it's a game, and I'm aware it's a game that has designers making all these decisions, finding out each new way I've been set up to fail always feels like a slap in the face. I play games when I want something I can succeed at, because god knows the rest of my life isn't that.

So why do I keep coming back? Mainly because it is The franchise for collection completionists, I think. Even that gets annoying, with version exclusives and time-limited mythicals and what all manufactured FOMO, but it's so tempting.

I am kind of interested in learning how to play the older games on emulators, but I'm not sure where one starts with that. I have a gaming laptop that I'm sure could run an emulator, but every time I google it I suspect I'm going to have to finally give in and make a Reddit account in order to access the communities where they teach you about those things.

(A bunch of people have recommended I try Legends Arceus as a different sort of pokemon experience, and I really appreciate the suggestions! I've watched a bunch of Legends Arceus gameplay, and with all the respect in the world, I tend to wind up at "if I wanted to play Breath of the Wild, I'd just boot up Breath of the Wild". The influence is... very apparent. I don't even mean that as a slight -- literally every franchise has been trying to catch up to the ways BotW revolutionized what game worlds are expected to be! But if I'm going to fall in love with Pokemon, it's going to be for the things that make it the most itself? Whatever those are, which I think is what I'm really trying to figure out here.)

Tussling with yet another failed attempt to get into the pokeymans (I think rationally it's probably a genre that is Not For Me, like platformers, but that seems so fucking *stupid*), and I have Some Questions for People. Unfortunately I can only put one poll per post, so please be patient while I stack some reblogs.

[asgardian--angels]

things I wish I could relive for the first time again:

that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.

because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.

like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.

[deoidesign]

.

[asvidema]

i'll take a moment to thank, from the bottom of the heart, all the friends and the people i don't even follow for leaving tags on my art. special shoutouts to those who share thoughts about it and compliment my designs. you have no idea how much that means to me

[fabcreature]

right at the beginning of music school is actually a fantastic time to think "really when was the last time making music or working with music made me happy?"

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[ms-demeanor]

TBH another thing that irritates the living shit out of me is how many ADHD tools and guides are inaccessibly expensive.

I searched for ADHD organizational videos today and of the seven I opened up, three were ads (one for something QUITE expensive and unfortunately very useful-looking) and the other four were unbearably rigid in their approach to how to help with organization ("the only way to stay organized is to always put things where they belong immediately and never deviate from that" - you sound like my old GP when I introduced him to the concept of delayed sleep phase disorder. No there isn't only one solution, and no a solution that is going to require a high amount of effort for no visible reward forever isn't going to work).

I get that creators with ADHD have to make a living, and being an ADHDinfluencer is probably one of the better gigs someone with ADHD could land. But also.

Like?

Fuck you a little bit? Like at least a little bit. You're making sponcon about expensive tools for people who are like 20% less likely to be able to hold a full time job than a neurotypical.

Which is exactly why my website is free and it and all of my resources will always be 100% free.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: my mom and I had discussed end-of-life planning and pre-death fill-in-the-blanks tools for years before she died, but I never had the money to go out and order the books about it when I was talking to her about it. That's why I made the death book, and that's why the death book will always and forever cost zero dollars.

Same thing here. I've been searching for good ADHD tools for most of a decade and what I get on free sites is mostly a lot of inspiration porn, tools for neurotypical parents to manage their ADHD children, and ADHD adults feeling helpless. And when I wanted to read the book about managing your ADHD that everybody praised, it was thirty bucks that I didn't have and an 18-month waiting list at my library.

So I want to make sure that other people who feel like they're drowning have something to grab onto that I wish I'd had when I was there. You don't have thirty bucks or eighteen months to wait either, you need to figure out how to keep track of your important papers NOW because you're coping with a loss or a separation or a natural disaster.

(Though if I haven't written it yet you may be waiting 18 months sorry it's getting built but it's not moving fast)

[matd0]

HELLO HELOO i am. alive. ermm. ok so long story short i am very very tired and unable to do like. anything. :P oof.

here's a toby drawing i completely forgot??? that i did??? like months ago??? found it in my files while looking for any drawings I've actually finished recently and im pretty happy with it so I'm posting it here :''3

honestly i just haven't been happy with anything i've been drawing so only stuff i've done are studies because i want to improve but idk. i feel really self critical. yk how it is being an artist, never feeling happy with your skill level :p i'm working on it though, got pretty into traditional painting for a change? idk i'm trying new stuff to find inspiration. hopefully more art SOON (for sure this time) (idk if i can promise that)

okok health update:

been very very stressed out, basically. got bad again, getting better again?¿? got more help though, so i should be getting therapy maaaybe and help getting back into school, not sure, trying to make something work out. not looking at my phone has been helping

in other news; fall is awesome, love halloween !! birthday is coming up aswell, which is pretty cool 👍👍👍 been hanging out with friends again, which is very nice too. uuuhhhhh the silent hill 2 remake finally came out!!! and it's actually good!!! like really good!!! life has meaning again!!!!

TLDR: I am so very tired. but it will get better, for sure !! just need more time? maybe? in any case, i will be back to post more whenever i am able to. thank you for enjoying my art, it does mean the world to me.

[juustokaku]

Another load of Jealousy - Yunho x f!reader

Summary: Yunho isn't about to even entertain the idea of his girlfriend talking to another man. It doesn't matter how many loads of love, care, and cum it takes to make her remember that she is his and he is hers. Genre: smut (mdni!!!) Pairings: bf!Yunho x f!reader Tags/Warnings: SMUT MDNI, mean dom!yunho (kinda sweet after some time), sub!reader, fingering(?), penetration, unprotected sex, established relationship, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding kink, choking, bulge (lmk if something is missing, I have never done this) A/N: This is the 3rd smut I've ever written in my life... I haven't posted the first two since they were written a couple years ago and were bad, so I hope this is worth posting. The plot isn't anything great because this was mostly for trying to see what it's like to write smut and I didn't want to waste a good plot on this if this turned out bad LOLLL. So please, keep in mind that I've almost never written smut! Word count: 2 300 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If someone asked you if you loved Yunho, you’d answer ‘yes’ in a heartbeat. He was more than just a lover or a boyfriend; he was your worshipper, kissing the ground you walked on. And if someone asked you if you’d ever cheat on him, you’d give a firm ‘no’ and tell the person off. Although you wanted to make it clear to everyone you were Yunho’s girl because you loved him, it wasn’t the only reason to push people away. You’d be in big trouble if he started to consider the possibility of you holding affectionate feelings for anyone else than him. 

“Baby, what are you doing? ~” 

Despite Yunho’s needy tone and presence next to you on the couch, you couldn’t tear your gaze off of your phone. 

“Wait a second, Yuyu,” you murmured. 

He watched as your fingers tap-danced on the small screen, obviously writing a message to someone. Someone who was robbing him of your attention. Your eyes reflected the light coming from the phone screen but Yunho’s eyes shone with something else. He was getting frustrated. 

“Please, I’m lonely,” he whined, his hand creeping up on your thigh, trying to go unnoticed yet wanting desperately for you to pay attention to him. 

Still, you didn’t even glance at him. It was subtle but Yunho noticed how you tried to hide your phone screen, leaning away ever so slightly. 

The longer your attention was on the mysterious person you were talking to, the angrier Yunho became. 

You felt him squeeze your thigh, silently demanding you to finally look at him in the eyes. It was a final warning. Only when his long fingers dug onto your inner thigh, you turned to face him. 

“Who are you talking to?” 

Yunho’s icy voice shouldn’t have surprised you – this was nothing new, given his possessive nature. And like always, while it made you nervous, it also caused your pussy to clench around nothing. You couldn’t help but get horny when he looked like he’d devour you any second now. 

“Just work stuff,” you murmured, taking a glance at his hand. No matter how many times his beautiful fingers had been inside you, reaching the deepest, sweetest spots, you just couldn’t get enough. 

“At this hour? That’s bullshit.” 

While Yunho’s eyes were cold, they were undeniably burning with both fury and lust. You knew the look way too well just like he knew your body. 

“I’m friends with him so I feel comfortable texting him even in the evening. It’s just about a work project.” 

“Him?” Yunho’s eyes narrowed. 

You were too nervous to break eye contact with him, but you didn’t need to see to feel his hand hover over your core, so close but so far. Even though he was barely touching you, he was probably able to feel how your wetness seeped through your night shorts. 

“Please, Yunho... Don’t tease me,” you let out a quiet whine, hoping it’d persuade Yunho into touching you. 

Immediately, he pulled you roughly into a kiss. In a normal situation he would have kept you begging for him, but right now his desire and anger towards you were too much to handle for both of you. His lips claimed yours and showed no mercy or signs of going easy on you. You were enthusiastic to kiss him back, but his need to have you was even stronger. 

The way he started nearly biting on your lips would have soon left bruises, if you hadn’t pulled away. The both of you were breathing heavily after the intense moment, but Yunho wasted no time in trying to rest. 

“Who is that coworker? A friend you say?” 

You felt your pussy get wetter by his demanding words and you tried your best to give him an answer – one that would satisfy him enough yet encourage him to fuck you senseless. 

“We’re not close, but enough to be considered friends-! Yunho!..” 

He interrupted you with his fingers suddenly under your clothing, circling your clit. 

“What do you need friends for when I’m here? Don’t I give you all you need?” 

You squirmed around at the movements of Yunho’s skillful hands. It was hard not to feel even slightly embarrassed; you didn’t want him to know how aroused his possessiveness made you. 

“Y-You can’t do work projects for me... I need him.” 

Your choice of words pushed the wrong buttons in Yunho, and he took his hand out of your panties. He didn’t care when you whined at the loss of contact, just pure jealousy burning in his eyes. 

“You say you need him? Baby, I’m all you need,” his voice was low and dangerous, “There’s nothing and no-one else.” 

It didn’t take long for him to have dragged you into the bedroom, his fingers wrapped around your wrist in a bruising grip. You tried to savor every moment despite knowing there were more to come after this. 

The streetlights outside were the only source of light in your dim bedroom. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, but apparently Yunho saw well enough to push you onto the bed. Maybe he wouldn’t have cared anyways if he had pushed you accidentally on the floor. Whenever he got like this, satisfying his need to claim you was the top priority. 

“Strip.” 

You immediately started taking off your nightwear which you had just changed to after shower. Your hair was still damp and smelling like your shampoo. It was definite you’d have to take a shower again after this – preferably with Yunho. 

“You’re too slow,” he scolded. The way he started pulling your shorts and panties off was surprisingly gentle; even though he was mad at you, he was still your mere worshipper and saw you as his goddess. 

Finally, when you saw him properly, your breath caught in your throat. He wasn’t standing, just on his knees on the bed, but his height was still intimidating. You loved it though. You loved every moment of this, and your pussy throbbed with desire to have him fill you up to the brim. 

His chest was heaving with anticipation, and although seeing it bare always excited you, your eyes were fixated on that cock of his. 

“I-It’s bigger than I remembered...” 

“You’re going to take it nonetheless. You don’t deserve this after how you’ve acted but I need this now,” Yunho stated, his tone leaving no room for discussion. 

You felt like a prey, his next meal, as you watched him crawl closer on the bed and lay you down rather harshly. The intense eye contact just added to the arousal you felt leaking out of you. You needed him so bad, and your legs spread open automatically to give him way to your core that was aching for him. 

“You need a damn reminder every week of who you belong to. I don’t know if I want you to stop teasing me like that or not,” Yunho whispered, his right hand finding its way to your neck, “At least I get to fuck you like this.” 

He turned your gaze back up to him by gripping your neck, when you tried to look at his cock. You managed to see how its tip was covered in clear precum. It was as hard as it always was when you had moments like this, if not even harder. You wondered how it had ever managed to fit inside you with the impressive girth and length. 

“Look at me in the eyes. I want you to look at me clearly so you’ll remember my face every time you talk to another man.” 

You didn’t have time to process Yunho’s words. As he pushed his cock inside you, it was impossible to think about anything else than him. Although you were as wet as ever for him, it was still almost hard to take him in. No matter how many times he had made love to or fucked you, no matter how fast and rough or slow and romantic, he stretched you up nicely every time. 

“My girl. My baby,” Yunho muttered more to himself than to you. His hips had started moving some time ago already, but only now you were coming down back to Earth. 

His hand was on your neck like to use it to support himself, but the grip was still somewhat gentle. It tightened every time he thrusted in, and the lack of air just made you lose your mind in the pleasure even more. 

Your walls were slippery and starting to adjust to his size, so he slid inside with ease. It didn’t mean there was no delicious friction left though. 

“Who do you belong to? Him or me?” he growled into your ear. Although the pace of his hips had grown faster, he made sure to push deep inside you, drawing out every moan he could get from you. 

Your attempt to answer was cut off quickly as Yunho’s hands started squeezing your throat. It would have been hard to breathe even if you weren’t breathless already from having him ram your insides. 

“Answer me. A little choking shouldn’t shut you up like this.” 

Again, you tried to tell Yunho that you were only his to love, fuck, and take care of. But he held your throat tighter again, clearly teasing you. It was impossible to win this game, and you loved it that way. 

A mocking smirk spread on Yunho’s lips, “You don’t have to say it. I know you’re mine by the way I’m the only who ever gets to be balls deep inside you.” 

He released your neck and pressed his hand lightly on your lower stomach. It was no secret that your boyfriend’s cock was big, but the way you could see a clear bulge, the way your lower abdomen moved up and down with Yunho’s thrusts, made you clench down on him. 

“F-Fuck... You make it so hard to stay mad at you,” he groaned out. 

You watched his eyebrows furrow as if he was holding back. Finally, you had been able to catch your breath, although it was still difficult due to his relentless thrusts. 

“I love you. I’m yours, Yunho...” 

Your pleasured admission not only softened his heart a bit but made him even more lustful. He knew you were his. If you tried to leave him, he’d find a way to make you stay – even with force if necessary. But hearing you say out loud once again that you were his satisfied him. 

“I know. I know, my pretty girl, and I love you too,” his eyes met yours in a gentle way even. 

A loud moan slipped past your lips as Yunho’s fingers found your clit, finally continuing what he had started on the couch in the living room. Circling, pressing, and pinching on it – he did it all. Your sensitive skin tingled and almost felt like on fire. 

“W-Will you fill me up?” you grasped at the sheets under you, making them all rumpled and look unkempt. They were dirty anyways due to the sweating. 

Yunho moved your hands on his shoulders. There was nothing more that he wanted than to see your nail scrapes on his skin, a mark of who he belonged to. 

“I’ll fill you up, baby. My cum will be leaking out,” he looked at you before turning his eyes to his cock, slightly amused, “I’ll just fuck a new load tomorrow then. You’ll have my babies in no time.” 

His talk about breeding you brought you closer to your release, and he definitely noticed it by the way your pussy squeezed his thick cock. 

“Look at your pussy, how it’s clenching down on me. It likes to be bred, huh?” 

“Yunho, I-I'm close... so close,” you whimpered, gripping his shoulders like they were your savior. But you knew nothing could save you from the climax you were reaching quickly. 

Yunho smiled down at you a bit cockily, “Have I made clear who you belong to?” 

“Yes!” you whined, thighs trembling. 

“And who do you belong to, baby?” 

If you weren’t in such a state of mind-blowing pleasure, you could have teased him on purpose and said the name of your coworker. However, now that you were so close to coming, you couldn’t ruin this. 

“You! You, Yunho!..” 

A genuine, sweet smile tugged the corners of his lips slightly upwards. By looking at his furrowed eyebrows, it was clear he was holding back as well, near to orgasm but fighting back for your sake. 

And Yunho knew your body so well, that he recognized your sounds of enjoyment and body language, so that just when you reached the peak, he closed the distance between your lips. Your cries of pure pleasure were muffled by his mouth. 

His body shook and it didn’t take long for him to go over the edge, to let out a few stifled groans. Hot cum spurted out inside you, filling you just like Yunho had promised. 

“So, you’re going to block that man’s number, right?” Yunho mumbled, his head lying down on your chest. He could hear your heart beating rapidly after the intense session but eventually calming down to steady, slow beats. 

You chuckled, caressing his hair slightly damp from the sweat, “I can’t block my coworker’s number.” 

A surprised and disappointed whine fell past your lips as Yunho got up and pulled his now softened cock out of you. He looked down at your pussy, watching with glee how his fresh cum leaked out. There was a lot of it still inside you, but it wasn’t enough for him. Nothing was ever enough for him when it came to you. 

“I guess you can take another load then.” 

[neverendingford]

.

[calebverse]

caleb loves your scent. 

there’s just something so fresh, so sweet, and so you that got him addicted to it. he loves holding you close, so close, that he can pick up the smell of your skin and body wash. he would give you forehead kisses, taking the chance to place his nose by the crown of your hair for a whiff of your shampoo. the smell of your clothes helps him know you’re around him without even seeing you yet. he never misses the chance to tell you that you smelled good, amongst all the other praises he would say. and even when you would try to push him away when you say you’re all sweaty, he would still playfully tackle you just to catch your scent before reluctantly letting you go because you kept claiming you needed a shower. 

he is all-familiar to your fragrance, so imagine his surprise when he finds you after you got home from your work. 

he greets you with a hug, and then catches a new but oddly familiar scent on you. 

caleb lets loose of the hug but kept you in his arms. “new perfume, pipsqueak?” it smelled like leather with a hint of mint. it was thick, a complete opposite to the perfume you would usually go for. in a split second, he recognizes that it smelled like men’s perfume.

the thought of being you being close to another man to the point that whatever his perfume was rubbed off on you irked him. his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. 

you, however, were completely oblivious to the storm brewing in caleb's mind. you just smiled sheepishly. “it's yours, silly.”

“i was running late to work this morning, had to get dressed and put on my makeup quick. and then, conveniently,” you said with a roll of your eyes, “i found out that my perfume just ran out. can't get even a few sprays in anymore. but i saw your cologne, and i didn’t want to walk out without having anything on me. i only sprayed a little bit. one spray behind each ear, each wrist, and two sprays under my shirt.” 

caleb let out a breath he was holding. thank god it was his cologne and not anyone else’s. how was he not able to recognize it in the first whiff? 

and then it was as if a switch was flipped inside of caleb. you smell like him. you walked around, went about your day, carrying his scent. unconsciously carrying a claim he had on you. unknowingly letting people know that you were his, that a piece of him was on you. he wondered if you knew. he wondered if people asked about it. how did you answer? did you tell them it was his scent all over you?

while his favorite scent will always be yours, this came a close second. it all appeared so… territorial. and it pleased even the darker sides of his mind. suddenly, the idea of holding you close to him you start smelling like him, or the vision of him leaning in, kissing every part of your skin with the scent of his cologne was appealing.

“i see,” he said, clearing his throat. his hands made their way to your waist, and he tightened his grip three times. “don't worry pipsqueak, you can use it until you buy another bottle of perfume.”

“really?” you chuckled. “to be fair, i might have to research the brand and see if they have anything i could try. your cologne is great because it lasted the whole day. it's like i have you with me all the time.”

the statement was said in a tone that was cheery and playful, but the thought of it was so intimate in caleb’s mind. he couldn’t help but kiss your lips in short, consecutive pecks, eliciting a giggle from you. then he let his head rest on your neck, his nose pressed to the corner where your ear meets your jaw. 

“you smell nice.” caleb mumbled into your skin. 

“i smell like you.”

“exactly.” he replied. “and i don’t mind one bit.”

a/n: aaaaa it's been a while since i wrote an actual fic (this is a drabble to be honest) but this is me dipping slowly into it again! i've recently got hooked into the world of love and deepspace and we have this 6'2 colonel mf to blame. no complaints though.

anyways, this was slightly inspired by a real life experience and my first thought was 'damn that sounds like something caleb would do.' so here it is!

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.