#It's how you write it and that's all that matters

[lnfours]

close to you | l.n

summary: chemical override, ultraviolet, you could be mine tonight ; or having a crush is mind boggling, soul crushing and confusing, but also so exciting at the same time.

warnings: inspired by close to you by gracie abrams, friends to lovers (bc it’s my brand), pining, all the feels, reader is childhood best friends with pietra, fluff, and some language here and there

jordans notes: hi everyone! long time no see (😅) i’m slowly getting back into writing, school has been kicking my ass. i don’t think this is my best work, but i really wanted to get something out for you guys since ive been gone so long! i promise there’s more to come than just this! i hope you all are well!! sending you all my love 🤍

masterlist | listen to the playlist

before you met him, you didn’t think about the color green too often. it was one of those colors you didn’t necessarily love or hate, it was just kind of… there.

to you, it was just one of those colors where shades of it were prettier than the actual color itself. or a color you only really liked during the fall. like how, typically, people only liked the color blue during the summer.

that was until you met him.

the boy with those big, beautiful, slightly blue but slightly green, water-colored eyes. now you love the color green. obsessed over it. thought about it every second of every day. it was crazy how a simple opinion could change in a matter of seconds, all because of those stupidly pretty eyes.

You lie awake on your back, staring at the ceiling. surely it wasn’t normal to obsess over someone this much, right? especially over someone you weren’t even sure would ever feel the same.

sure, you had crushes before, and had your fair share of falling quickly and all at once. it wasn’t an unusual feeling to you, no stranger to catching feelings rather quickly.

but this time around, everything was different. everything felt more intense, more mind-boggling and confusing and pulse rising. the feeling so foreign that sometimes you wish you had never met him so you wouldn’t have fallen so hard so sudden, but deep down you were so glad that you had.

it was the little things that made you wonder what it was like to be loved by him. the subtle glances in your direction, the gentle but lingering touches. you had thought you were going crazy, reading too much into things in the beginning. over-analyzing every little thing that made your body light up with excitement.

until pietra confirmed your suspicions.

“he’s totally into you,” she said, leaning closer to your ear as you watched him from across the room, his head tilted back, nose scrunched and eyes half shut as he laughed about something max had said, which was likely something stupid, “like, one hundred percent, down bad, into you.”

you tilted your head at the blonde, “you think so?”

she scoffed, “more like know so,”

“who told you?”

“no one has to tell me anything,” she said, “i can just tell.”

you rolled your eyes at her, “p, i’ve told you a million times, he’s not into me.”

but she was right. he was one hundred percent, undoubtedly, down. fucking. bad.

ever since the moment he met you at that stupid pub with max and his group of friends, all he wanted to do was get to know you. he didn’t want it to seem obvious when he asked max about you, but he knew no matter what he did it was going to seem obvious. just from the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the night sky, he was no where near subtle.

he hated to admit it, but he had even done some lowkey instagram stalking through one of his private accounts. he had seen all the pictures of you and pietra, a life long friendship explained to him in front of his own eyes.

and every time his fingers would swipe through your account, all he could think about was how beautiful you were. how your eyes sparkled every time you smiled for the camera, how happy you looked when you genuinely laughed, and how he wished to be the reason behind the gorgeous sound forever.

he wasn’t trying to make it obvious tonight, not wanting to make it well known that he had his eyes on you for a while. but he had lost track at the amount of times you had caught him looking at you, and he swore he had even caught you looking at him first a handful of times.

so when everyone in the house decided that it was the end of the night and started filing through the door, he took it upon himself to make his way over to you. you were talking with pietra, a smile on your face as you giggled about something she had said. the brazilian woman’s eyes landed on him, to which she looked back at you and said something before you turned to look in his direction.

he smiled when your eyes met his, “hey, did you need a ride home?”

your heart threatened to leap out of your chest, “uhm, i was just gonna call an uber, you don’t have to-“

“no, no,” he said, shaking his head, “i insist, really. it’s not a big deal.”

how could you argue with him? those pretty green eyes, that smile, the face. you simply couldn’t. it was impossible. you couldn’t see the look pietra was giving you, but knowing her, you knew it was a look that said ‘go with him’.

and do you did, the cool, crisp autumn air in london suddenly making you wish you had brought a jacket. you had wished you planned for the nightly breeze, wishing you had opted for a long-sleeved shirt for the night instead of the spaghetti strap tank top you had chosen.

as you walked to the car that was parked down the street, he noticed you shivering. he saw the way you hugged yourself, your hair moving with the breeze. his curls danced in the wind and he knew if he was slightly cold, you were definitely freezing.

he tugged off the hoodie before passing it to you, the sound of the doors to the mclaren echoing before he turned to you.

“here,” he said, “it’s a little windy out, i know you’re probably freezing.”

your stomach did backflips as you took the soft black material from his hands, “oh, are you sure? aren’t you cold?”

he sent you a shrug, “i’ll live,”

there was no use arguing with him, so instead you sent him another smile in appreciation before tugging the sweatshirt over your head. it was already warm from hugging his body, and you couldn't help the way the smell of his cologne lingered in the soft material. you had to keep yourself from burying yourself in it, the feeling of being close to him without actually being close to him sending butterflies to your stomach.

the car ride was filled with comfortable silence, music softly playing in the background. he stole occasional looks over at your figure as you looked out the window, the neck of his hoodie pulled up to your face as you watched the street lights pass by. you looked beautiful in the dim light, he couldn’t help himself.

he thought about taking the long way to your house. a simple but effective way to be able to spend more time with you. however, the thought of you being confused and questioning his actions was enough for him to stay straight at the stop light instead of taking a right for the longer way.

he tried not to look disappointed when he reached your house, parking in front of it. he wondered if your roommates were home, if you’d tell them about the fact that he drove you home.

he turned the engine off, unclicking his seatbelt, “i’ll walk you up.”

you nodded, the both of you getting out of the car and walking through the dewy grass up to the wooden door. you fished for your keys in your purse, putting them into the lock before turning to look at him, “thanks for the ride,”

“anytime,” he smiled. he meant it. and you knew he meant it. he’d come get you at anytime of the day, wether it was early in the morning or late at night, he was always going to show up.

you stood there, eyes searching his face. he was so pretty to you, the brown curls that were slowly growing into a mullet to the sparkling eyes that you loved so much. the dimples in his cheeks that appeared whenever he smiled, the slight facial hair he had managed to grow, but your favorite part was the moles and freckles that covered his skin. the ones he had once complained about, but you loved the way they scattered his skin.

you dreamt of kissing each and every single one of them.

“hey, lando! long time no see!”

you both averted your attention, neither of you hearing the door open behind you. in the doorway stood your dark haired roommate, faith.

“hey,” he smiled softly, trying once again to not look disappointed from the way your moment was interrupted.

“we’re having drinks and watching movies if you wanted to join,” she smiled, ignoring the look you were sending her way.

“oh, uhm,” he started, not sure how to answer, “it’s getting kinda late, i dunno-“

“you can crash in y/n’s room, im sure she wouldn’t mind.”

what was that supposed to mean?

you looked over at him, “you don’t have to stay-“

“he’s been gone for weeks, he’s legally obligated,” she said, reaching from the doorway and grabbing both of your arms, “c’mon, liv is making martinis.”

you sighed heavily and he laughed softly at your protest that went unnoticed by her. your other roommate, olivia, stood in the kitchen.

“look who i found!” faith exclaimed excitedly.

“oh, hey guys! just in time,” she smiled, “it’s martini and movie friday!”

lando leaned over to you as the other two talked, “they do this every friday?”

you sighed again, nodding, “unfortunately,” you turned to your roommates, “we’re gonna head up to my room, actually,”

you led lando to the stairs, ignoring the playful teasing from the girls in the kitchen, “oooh!!”

“up to your room, huh?”

you shook your head, opening your bedroom door and letting him in before closing it, “‘m sorry for them, they’re… how do i put this?”

“a lot?” he asked, a smile playing at his lips.

“yeah, we can put it that way.”

he chuckled, sitting down on the bed as you put your things down. he looked around your bedroom, not much had changed since the last time he had been in it. the fairy lights dimly lit up the room, photos littered the walls. the desk that sat in the corner of the room kept your makeup bag and brushes, a mirror sitting in the middle.

he looked at your nightstand, a picture of you, him, max and pietra sitting on the wooden surface. it was a picture from miami, smiles on all of your faces. you stood in the middle, arm wrapped around his middle as you smiled for the camera, his trophy in the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your middle.

“i’m gonna change,” you said, “i might have a pair of your sweatpants somewhere if you wanted to change.”

he nodded, “yeah, that’d be great.”

you turned back to the dresser, opening drawers in search for the pair of sweatpants he leant you one day. the same day he picked you up from the failed date. the one that left you crying outside, swearing up and down that you’d never find love. despite it being in front of you this entire time.

finally finding the black material, you handed them to him, “i meant to give them back, but i just haven’t seen you,”

he shook his head. you could’ve kept them forever and he wouldn’t have minded one bit, “it’s alright,”

you grabbed your pajama bottoms from the foot of the bed, “be right back.”

he changed into the sweatpants while you were gone, still looking around your room. he smiled at the picture of you and your roommates, clearly taken at a party. you wore the prettiest smile he had ever seen, dressed in a black off the shoulder top. it was from the same night he realized he liked you in more than just a friendly way.

the door opening brought him back to reality, his eyes landing on your figure and how you were still wearing the black hoodie he had given you earlier. it brought a small smile to his face.

you noticed his eyes on you, looking down at the black hoodie, “i swear i’ll give it back once i wash it.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head, “it’s okay. it looks better on you anyways.”

you smiled, fighting the heat that was rising your cheeks but it was no use. he joined you on the bed, watching as you flipped through different things on netflix.

“you don’t have to stay, y’know,” you said, looking over at him, “if you have better things to do..”

“i don’t,” he said, turning his head to look your way, “in all honesty, there’s no where else i’d rather be.”

you sucked in a breath, your eyes dancing across his face once again. it was hard for you not to stare, not when he looked so pretty like this. back pressed against your headboard, hair slightly messy, and he looked so cozy. it made you want to wrap yourself around him, lay your head on his chest.

he did the same, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every single feature, every single imperfection that he thought was still perfect. the same ones you’d argue about, but he still always found adorable.

his voice broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you, “do you ever have something to say but can’t find the words to say it?”

your furrowed your eyebrows, “like?”

he licked his lips, his attention now fixed on his hands as he fiddled with the ring on his middle finger. you never thought he’d be the type to get shy, almost embarrassed as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“like, i dunno,” he mumbled, “i just.. i don’t know how to put it, but ever since the moment we met, i’ve found myself just.. thinking about you. thinking about what it’d be like to cross this weird, thin, little line we’ve drawn. if we both just said ‘fuck it’ and dove head first into whatever uncharted territory we’re tiptoeing around.”

his eyes met yours again as he let out a nervous breath. you hadn’t realized you had been holding yours, shock clearly written on your face which made him shake his head.

“never mind, it’s dumb-“

“lando,”

“- i knew i shouldn’t have listened to what max was going on about-“

you rolled your eyes as he kept blabbering away, talking nonsense. your body moving before your brain could comprehend what you were about to do, only catching up when your hands met his jaw and you were suddenly catching yourself a mere few inches from his face.

it was too late now, no going back.

you pulled his face closer to yours, his blabbering coming to a halt when you pressed your lips to his. his brain short circuited, you pulling away before he had the chance to kiss you back.

“‘m sorry,” you immediately apologized, “i don’t know why i did-“

it was his turn to cut you off now, grabbing your chin and pulling you back to his lips. his thumb traced along your jaw, his pointer finger sitting underneath your chin.

you kissed him back after a second of surprise, letting his free hand reach down to grab your hip, pulling you on top of his lap. your hands threaded through his curls, nails scratching his scalp.

when you both finally pulled away, all you could do was smile. giggles and chuckles echoing through the room as you both sat breathless, his nose bumping yours as he tucked a piece of stray hair away from your face.

“so we’re in agreement then, huh?” he asked.

“isn’t that obvious?” you smiled and he shook his head, letting out another boyish laugh.

“how long have you.. y’know, had feelings for me, i guess?”

“since the minute i saw you,” he confessed, “you were the most beautiful girl in the room, a smile that would make everyone stop and stare. it’s always been you, i’ve just been too scared to tell you.”

you smiled again, heart fluttering in your chest. all the dreams and wishes you spent with him on your mind, it was all finally paying off, “it’s always been you for me, too. i thought i had been way too obvious, but clearly i wasn’t obvious enough.”

“we were both too oblivious,” he said, moving more hair from your face, “but it’s okay, we’re here now.”

you were convinced your smile was never going to be wiped off your face, “kiss me again,”

“with pleasure,” he mumbled, lips finding yours once more as you melted into him.

[moonstruckme]

Hellooooo my favorite catlover/writer

I got another pop up idea this morning (happens way too often)

But first of all ! Don’t wear yourself out ! You write a lot and it’s amazing ! But prioritize yourself first. Don’t let requests put a pression on you ❤️

I know how it feels

Anyways

I’m not a morning person like most of the population except SOCIOPATHS.

And I imagined what it would feel like having the emt!marauders watching you up since they have to go to work early. You know like kisses, shoulders massages, soothing words as they try to calm your rise and everything…

If you don’t like it that’s ok! Don’t write it.

Love you, rest well. (Drink water)

Thanks for your request babe! Hope you're resting well and drinking water too <3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 654 words

You stir when you feel Remus shifting underneath you. He reaches over to shut off his alarm, hand coming back to rest over your head placatingly. The appeasement doesn’t last long; when he goes to move out from under you, you make a soft whining sound. 

“Dove.” His voice is husky with sleep, but there’s fondness to it. It makes you want him to stay even more. 

The mattress creaks at the other end of the bed as James gets up. Sirius grumbles, scooting closer to you and shoving his face into your neck in rebellion. 

“Don’t let them take me,” he mumbles pitifully. 

“Baby.” Remus sounds more exasperated and also more amused now that both you and Sirius are half atop him. You’re not sure which one of you he’s talking to, but it hardly matters. “Come on.” His lips touch down on your head. “You can sleep, but we have to get ready.” 

The bathroom light turns on. Both you and Sirius moan tormentedly. 

James’ laugh is too loud for the early hour; you’ll never understand how he wakes so quickly. “Need some help, love?” 

“Please,” Remus replies. 

Sirius makes a half-asleep sound of protest as he’s dragged away from you, James speaking to him in a low, amused voice. 

“Alright,” Remus murmurs, kissing your head again, “my turn.” 

He eases your head off of his chest, setting it gently on the pillow before getting out of bed. You mourn the warmth of his spot next to you. 

James is ready the fastest, back to press kisses to your pouty lips and soothe his big hands over your shoulders. “Do you want me to make you something for breakfast, lovie? If you get up now I’ll whip you up a fancy coffee.” 

“James,” Remus chides from the bathroom, “let her sleep.” 

James sighs but bends to mush loving kisses into your neck, murmuring nonsense at you all the while. 

“I know you don’t like the bathroom light on, but if you think about it, we’re the ones who have to endure it. Sirius is in there halfway to a temper tantrum because his hair won’t behave, and you’re here all warm and cozy in bed. You look terribly cute like this, do you know? It’s really cruel of you, it ought to be illegal, and if Sirius were awake enough to form a thought he’d agree with me.” His kisses turn ticklish, and James chuckles when you wriggle. “Really! I mean it, you don’t know how lucky you are getting to stay here in bed and looking so adorable. Remus is about to drive us to work, and Sirius is going to insist on laying down in the backseat and moaning about how much he misses you all the while, it’s terrible. I ought to take a picture of you to console him.” 

“Don’t,” you mumble. You find one of James’ hands with your own, dragging it underneath your pillow for safekeeping. 

James laughs again, and another chuckle joins him as Sirius comes out of the bathroom. 

“What’re you doing to her, you relentless pest? At least one of us should be allowed to sleep.” 

James makes a soft grunting sound as the bed dips. You don’t have to open your eyes to know Sirius has draped himself over his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

“Don’t worry, gorgeous, I’ll get him away from you,” Sirius promises. “Jamie, I require one of your fancy coffees.” 

“Me too,” says Remus from the bathroom. 

James succumbs to the weight of peer pressure and goes, and a short while later the bathroom light shuts off. Remus crouches by the bed, kissing you softly. 

“Sleep well,” he says, brushing some hair away from your face. “We’ll see you after our shift, dovey, okay?” 

You mumble out a response, already falling asleep again in the returned darkness of the bedroom. 

Remus’ thumb skims fondly over your cheek. “Love you too, sweetheart.” 

[tjwritesfanfics]

Stupid (Spencer Reid)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: You wanted his attention. Now you had it.

Rating: Mature 18+ only

Warnings: Public sexiness, Reid is a meanie and uses a bullet vibrator, oral (m receiving), degrading, public sex, unprotected sex (guys plz be safe), Reid curses (it is a warning so don't even)

Words: 1.2k

Main Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

AN: This story is mainly for @reidgif I hope you like it!

The buzzing sounds was satisfying to Spencer’s ears. Though not as much as your whimpers and quiet moans.

His fingers play with the feel of the remote of the bullet vibrator in his hand, eyes glued to the case file that he was reviewing.

“Spencer…”

“I am not moving. I told you earlier when you decided to so desperately get my attention and be a brat in front of the others, that you were going to be punished.” His dark eyes flicked from the report to where you were standing by the suspect board. “Now you need to keep working or we will never get to go back to the hotel.”

You let out a sob but turned back to the white board and lifted your hand to shakily write something on it. You knew that when you dragged Spencer on a “lunch break” only to want to eat him.

“Oh fuck,” Spencer moaned, his hands gripping your hair as he guided your head up and down his cock, “you are going to be in so much trouble later, you fucking inpatient slut.”

All you could do was moan around him, not caring at the moment what was coming later. All you wanted was him. To feel him. The taste of him on your tongue.

Your eyes met his, teary and cheeks hollowing out, propelling him towards his climax until he came in your mouth, giving you the “lunch” you wanted.

Now here you were, in a (thankfully) empty precinct, underwear sitting on the table and a bullet vibrator inside you going at a slow steady pace. 

There would be times you would get used to the slow vibration, thinking you could work peacefully, but Spencer was attuned to you and would crank the dial higher, dropping you to your knees in a moaning mess, the pulsing pushing your close and closer to a high you so desperately wanted, one you had been denied for an hour now, only for him to quickly turn it back to the dull buzz.

“I think he is specifically targeting women with blonde hair.” You were able to squeak out something, surprised with yourself that you were able to make it through the sentence without losing yourself.

Spencer let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver up your spine since he was much closer then he was before. When did he get up?

“I can’t believe this has rendered you this stupid,” His finger bumps up the vibration once, a whimper escaping your throat, “since that was something we already knew. Anyone with eyes could tell that they are all blondes.”

“B but-”

“Don’t you even finish that sentence.” Spencer rolled his eyes, stepping back from you and started moving some of the papers from the conference table. “I don’t want to hear it from a crybaby like you. You are so lucky you are so cute because if I had known how stupid you were, I would have just done this myself.”

You knew he didn’t mean the words he was saying, but right now you almost did believe him. You were so horny and wet that it didn’t matter about the case, as horrible as that may seem.

“I might as well get something out of being here with you. Get over here and bend over.”

If you were in your right mind, you would have been embarrassed with how fast you complied with his order. The coolness of the conference table feels amazing against the flush of your skin.

Spencer let out a cruel laugh at your eagerness, but didn’t say anything. No, instead he cracked the bullet up as far as it could go.

A scream ripped from you, the feeling a blessing and a curse, driving you physically up the conference table and sensually closer to your end. Your legs shaking and the only thing holding you up was Spencer’s hand on your lower back, his gentle touch contrasting with the harshness of his actions and words.

“God look at you. Crying from how good that feels huh? Isn’t this what you wanted? My attention? Well guess what you fucking slut,” He leaned in close, his weight pressing you into the table, his sent filling your head, “You have it.”

Whines and cries fill the room, the best thing Spencer has ever heard as you finally are forced to let go of the tension coiling in your gut. Curses flying past your lips as well as his name.

If anyone just so happened to come into the precinct now, they would know exactly what was happening and who was making you feel this good.

Spencer pulled the bullet out of your cunt by the string, throwing it behind him and not even bothering to turn it off. Slumping against the table, bliss completely deafening you to the sound of Spencer undoing his belt.

Next thing you knew your leg was being lifted up to rest on the table and the blunt head of his cock was pressing into you, one swift thrust filling you to the brim.

“Oh shit!” You cry, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks.

Spencer groaned, his lips coming to kiss the back of your neck and up to your ear, his facial hair lightly tickling you. “You are so wet. Feels so good.”

That was the nicest thing he has said to you all day.

Drawing back just enough for his tip to be the only thing inside, you could feel his smirk and knew that the one kind word was the only thing you were getting out of him tonight. He snapped his hips, driving completely into you again.

He repeated this over and over, harsher with each thrust he drove into you. It was so good that all you could do was moan and drool against the table.

His laugh filled the room alongside the other sounds. “Look at you! So cockstupid that you would let me do absolutely anything I wanted. Who’s pussy is this?”

When you didn’t, couldn’t, answer him, Spencer gripped your hair, tugging you back to him and the new angle had him hitting that spot that made you see spots.

“Answer me. Come on. I know you can do it. Who’s. Pussy. Is this?” He accentuated every word with a deep thrust into you.

“Yours! Spencer, all yours!”

“Good girl.”

His thrusts continued assaulting you, pressing and pushing you into the table and into him. All you could feel was Spencer. All you could care about at the moment was Spencer.

“Oh shit.” He cursed, his blunt nails digging into your hips as he cums, painting your walls white.

Spencer stilled for a moment. You whimper and wiggle your hips for him, silently begging him to continue since you were so close. But you should have seen this next part coming. Didn’t make it any less horrible when he pulled out of you and stuffed himself back into his pants.

“No!” You cry. “Please please Spencer!”

“I’m tired and going back to the hotel. You coming?”

He smirked and you glowered at his double entendre. “Yes I am.”

“Not without me, my stupid girl.”

With that Spencer grabbed your panties, showing you that he was not even going to let you put them back on, and strode out of the conference room.

“Brats don’t get to cum. Maybe you will learn.”

(Banners by cafekitsune)

[sage-nebula]

This has been spinning around in my head since I watched season 2 arc 1, and I can't refrain from putting it down to post anymore.

In season 1, Jayce and Viktor get into a fight when Viktor evades the blockade to go speak to Singed in Zaun. During their fight, Jayce snaps at Viktor that he didn't know that Viktor's friend was from the undercity, and when Viktor asks why that matters, Jayce says the above: [people from the undercity] are dangerous (earlier he had also said, "there are people down there who seem hell-bent on destroying us!"). That's when Viktor grows cold, reminding Jayce that he is from the undercity, and even after Jayce apologizes, Viktor knocks his hand away, choosing to stand up on his own.

In season 2, chembarons hired by Ambessa (though no one knows that at the time) attack the memorial for the dead council members. In the aftermath, Caitlyn calls them animals. Notably, Vi shows no reaction at all to this; she doesn't so much as flinch at Caitlyn's word choice. Instead, while she does downplay what happened to an extent ("they wanted the spectacle, they're trying to scare you"), what's notable is that she separates herself from the people of Zaun. This is especially notable when she tells Caitlyn to call off the invasion, because of the risk it poses for those not from Zaun:

"Down there, you'll be on their terms."

Viktor seems to have pride in the fact that he is from Zaun. He has love for his home. As difficult as life was there, as much as the pollution led to his illness and disability, he has no shame that he's from Zaun and he still sees value and has love for the people there. This is why, when Jayce writes the Zaunites off as "dangerous", Viktor grows cold. He is no different from them, in his mind; if they're dangerous, then so is he.

Vi is . . . different.

In season 1 arc 1, Vi expresses to Vander that she has bought into and believes that those in Piltover are more than those in Zaun:

Now, here, Vi is still grouping herself in with the rest of Zaun. But there is a level of self-hatred (and hatred for one's home) that we don't see in Viktor. Viktor doesn't see himself as lesser than those in Piltover. He doesn't see the Zaunites as lesser than those in Piltover. Vi, however, does. She states this as if it is a fact. And while she loved her family, and has parts of Zaun that she likes (e.g. Jericho's food), it's worth noting that at the end of season 1 episode 1, she isn't telling Powder that they'll liberate Zaun, or fight for Zaun, or anything like that. Instead?

"This city's gonna respect us." This city. Not our city. Here is the first moment we see in which Vi puts some separation between herself and the rest of Zaun. She wants to make them respect her (and Powder). Even if she's less than those in Piltover, she still sees an opportunity for herself to be above those in Zaun.

All of this is to say that, when she has no reaction to Caitlyn calling Zaunites "animals", when she refers to them as "they," when she refers to Zaun as "their terms" . . . ultimately, it isn't too surprising. Vi represents a type of person who does exist in marginalized groups: the self-hating type, who hate others in their group for "drawing aggression" or "negative attention."

Think about queer people, for instance, who hate those who are flamboyant or open about who they are and who they love. The ones who think, "If we just assimilate more, be less of a bother, be less obnoxious, then the queerphobes will accept us." Obviously, other queer people find this type of person extremely frustrating, sometimes even infuriating, because we know that it doesn't matter what we do or how we act; bigots will never accept us.

But what we should understand, and extend compassion for, is that self-hating marginalized people are that way because it's a defense mechanism -- a survival mechanism, really. They can't square why bigots hate them, so they reach for any kind of explanation they can find, even if that explanation ultimately blames others in their own group and does more harm than good. Not to mention that hating yourself for who you are is often a result of long-term, systemic abuse -- the exact same kind of abuse that comes from living under an oppressive regime that murdered your parents and will assault you at any given opportunity, even for something as petty as your little sister miming shooting them with finger guns.

Vi says that she, "grew up knowing [she] was less than them." This is extraordinarily damaging to the psyche, and Vi's self-hatred -- and the extension of that hatred toward Zaun, not wanting to save them but wanting to make them respect her -- is a trauma response to that. One that Viktor, obviously, doesn't share (and neither does Ekko, or Jinx) -- but everyone reacts to trauma differently.

The point is, we saw shades of this already in Vi's childhood; her statement that she's less than topsiders, but that she wants those in the undercity to respect her. So when Caitlyn calls the Zaunites animals, Vi doesn't flinch. She agrees. And she speaks of them as separate from her, because Caitlyn has already designated her as one of the good ones (reinforced to her by what Maddie told her Caitlyn said right before the memorial), and because, well, those who attacked the memorial did do something horrible. And maybe if they wouldn't do that, and maybe if Jinx hadn't blown up the council building -- maybe if they were better behaved -- then the enforcers wouldn't have to invade and do what they were about to do, now would they? Those in Zaun -- or at least those in Zaun who decided to strike against Piltover -- brought it on themselves, so Vi isn't with them. She's with Caitlyn, and is okay with referring to them as animals.

It's interesting to think about.

[theunanimouscoward]

Hon, and I say this with all the love in my heart; you read the fucking summary.

It tells you what it's about. Then you check the tags. The tags will drop key hints about what happens (ships, potential triggers or hard "no"s, special AU's that you may be looking for or wanting to avoid, etc.)

And if all of it sounds interesting you read it! That's it! And if you get in and don't like it you use the back button! That's it!

Also hits:kudos ratio is a terrible way to "guage" if the actual story is any good. Anytime someone reloads the page or misclicks or comes back to reread/read new chapters it counts as a hit. Like that's just the raw number of how many times it's been opened and nothing else. It doesn't denote "good" or "bad". At best you could take it to mean they write good descriptions so a lot of people have clicked on the story. So it doesn't actually say anything about the story itself.

If a story is new then this kind of rule kills you ever giving it a chance. Check the description. There are more than a few gems I've read over the years that have had pretty low kudos and hits - either because they were new or because they weren't what other people were wanting to read. That didn't make them bad. It just made them niche.

I'd advise knowing what you're in the mood for and searching for that instead as well; if you want a coffee shop AU and try reading anything but that it doesn't matter how decent the ratio is. Or even how good the story actually is; you're probably not going to like it by virtue of it not being what you want to read.

Another AO3 thing I’m curious about, how do yall decide if something is good enough to read? Usually I follow a rule of 1 kudos for every 10 hits. One because it’s easy math and two it’s yet to fail me. Thoughts? Do you just go for it and pray it’s good?

[burrowdarling]

Dress

Summary: Joe begs you to join him at an event, where a dress leads to a confession of feelings. Based off of the song "Dress" by Taylor Swift

Pairings: Joe Burrow x best friend to lover!reader

Warnings: implied smut, pining, best friends to lovers

Note: Hi! I hope you're all doing okay, I know this week has been tough and long. I hope this can bring some kind of joy during a hard time. This is my first time writing based off of a song. I would love to turn this into some kind of mini series or maybe interconnected standalones. Let me know your thoughts or song suggestions, I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 1.9K

“Pleaseeee come with me, you owe me a favor, remember? It’ll be fun I promise”. Joe begged from his spot on the couch.

Joe had invited you out to one of the team dinner gatherings as his date, insisting that you had to come with him or he would be “too bored to function”. You tried not to place too much weight on the “date” part of the deal, knowing it would be more as friends than anything. He was putting on the whole theatrics, pouting with puppy dog eyes.

“You want me to come to the dinner that you’ve been complaining will be ‘so boring’ so I have to suffer too? I don’t hardly see how that’s comparable to the favor you did for me by taking out my recycling for me that you offered to do” you questioned, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as he’s been making it out to be.

“Hey, in my defense it was a lot of boxes to carry okay? You can be my source of entertainment, I won’t be able to survive without that” he explained, falling more into the dramatics as he dropped down onto the couch behind him to really solidify his point, exhaling a big sigh as he did so. 

“I hardly doubt that Joseph, you’re being so dramatic” you said with your arms folded over your chest, not going to fold to his pleading that easy. Turning away from him as you sat across from him.

“I guess you won’t know unless you come with me then, huh” Joe said with a small pout on his lips, knowing it was the surefire way to win you over. In reality, he didn't have to even try. While Joe was your best friend, you’ve had feelings for him for a while now that have only grown with time the closer you two have gotten. Meeting back at LSU, you had so many memories together that have only made your friendship what it is today.

“C’mon, what else will it take for you to agree to go? I’ll do anything Y/N.”

Your heart rate picked up at his comment, needing to will yourself back to reality that there are so many other mundane things he could do to sweeten the deal for you. Thank god you had your back turned, able to give yourself a second to breathe. In all honesty, you would go just to spend more time with him, it was always fun to make him work for it though.

“Fine, but I won’t have anything to wear so you’re fronting my cost for a new dress” you stated turning yourself back towards him, sticking out your hand to signify the offer.

“You could’ve just asked that from the beginning. Deal” Joe agreed, returning your gesture and shaking on the deal.

_______________________________________________

It was finally the day of the dinner, taking the day to get yourself ready with an everything shower and full skincare routine. You made a day of it, pampering yourself after you had gone out to get the perfect dress. It complimented the color of Joe’s suit perfectly, while accentuating all of your favorite parts of yourself. It wasn’t anything too elaborate, but it made you feel confident and that’s what matters. You may or may not have also thought about Joe when picking it out, what he would think about when he saw you in it. You quickly shook the resurfacing thoughts from your mind as you slipped it on, careful not to mess up your look.

While you were applying the finishing touches to your look, your mind wandered to thoughts about yours and Joe’s friendship. You had met during one of his first classes when he transferred to LSU, asking you for directions to his next class. It happened that you were going the same way, offering to show him and the rest was history. On paper, you both were opposites, but that’s almost why you complimented each other so well. You matched one another's energy and could read the other like a book. It almost felt as if you didn't need to speak the thought out loud at times, able to tell what the other was thinking.

You and Joe had been there for each other all throughout college, being a support system and lifeline in the hard times as well as the biggest cheerleader for the highest highs. Through every breakup, Joe was always there to pick up the pieces he didn’t break, comforting you while giving you the praise he felt you deserved. Another thing you wrote off as him just being your best friend. No one wanted to see their best friend sad, so it was natural to want to cheer them up, right?

You were drawn out of your thoughts to the sound of your front door closing, signaling Joe had arrived.

“Hey Y/N, you ready to go?” he called from your living room, making his way through your apartment.

“Just a minute, I’m finishing up and we can head out” you called back, hearing his footsteps get closer as you spoke.

There was a sudden pause as the sound of Joe approaching got closer, turning to see him stopped in your doorway. He leaned his body up against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You look absolutely amazing, I love that we have a matching thing going on” Joe said as he looked you up and down, his gaze taking you in.

 It all felt like too much, turning your attention back to the mirror in front of you.

When you were leaving your apartment to get into his car, Joe placed a gentle hand around your waist to keep you steady in your heels as you walked across the pavement parking lot. Your skin felt like it was ablaze under his touch, finding yourself craving more of it as his hand dropped to get the door for you.

“Thanks” you mumbled, trying to regain your composure back as the night was just beginning.

_______________________________________________

The night drew on, Joe not letting you far out of his reach as he spoke with his teammates and other guests that were there. It felt as if you had a pull to one another, a sense of palpable tension between you in the air. Joe seemed to be a lot touchier than usual, tending to keep you close when one of his teammates would get a bit too close for what must have been his liking. It all felt like too good to be true, that he must have really wanted you near him

There was only what you could describe as a Joe shaped indentation in your life, making any man incomparable to the standard he set for you without even knowing. So many guys in the past few years have tried to take their shot with you, but you never let any of them get too feeling like they were missing something that you were looking for. Even the ones that did ended up breaking your heart, leaving you feeling a deeper hollow pit than before them. 

He was so close to you at the table, you could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off of his body that was clad so nicely in his suit, his arm slung protectively over the back of your chair as if he was staking his claim over you. It was taking so much willpower to not just lean over and say the most unspeakable things to him. To finally confess everything you’ve been feeling, wondering if he felt the same or if it would be a waste of time and ruin everything you created together.

In this moment, it felt like just the two were the only ones despite the room being so crowded with other guests. You leaned over, placing a delicate hand on Joe's thigh to test his reaction. You felt his muscles tense beneath your touch, close enough to hear his breath hitch in his throat. All signs were pointing in the right direction.

“Y/N” Joe said, his voice labored and breathy.

The way he says your name, stopping you in your tracks, short circuiting your mind for a moment. That was the kind of power he had over you, the ability to completely send your senses into overdrive without even realizing he was doing so. You tried your best to shut your mind off, taking the opportunity to tell him while you had the courage to do so.

“I don’t want you like a best friend” you spoke, voice keeping composure while trying to keep yourself from backing out.

Joe’s eyes closed as his head subtly dropped back against his chair. A quiet groan coming from his throat online loud enough for your ears only.

You leaned closer to his ear, keeping your body language as natural as possible with everything you’re feeling. Noticing how he was reacting to your words and proximity.

“I only bought this dress so you could take it off” your confidence shifting with a hint of seduction in your voice, sealing your fate to ending your friendship or starting a new chapter.

That seemed like the last straw for his own composure, not being able to contain his own building desire. Joe turned to look towards you, his gaze darkening from your confession, your grip tightening on his thigh as he tried to process the moment.

Without speaking, Joe stood from the table of his teammates and began gathering his things as he silently gestured for you to do the same. 

“I think we’re gonna get going guys, Y/N isn’t feeling too well so I’m gonna bring her home” Joe said casually, holding out a hand for you to take.

Everyone said their goodbyes and wished you well. The minute you were out of the vicinity from everyone, Joe heaved you over his shoulder and began to hustle towards the car.

“JOE” you yelped followed by a light chuckle, caught off guard by his actions.

He didn’t reply until he got you to the car, dropping you carefully to your feet and pressed your back against the car door.

He leaned close to your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine as he spoke “you have no idea how long I've wanted you. First, I'm gonna get you home and we're gonna get you out of this dress so I can do all of the things I’ve only ever dreamt of doing to you. Then we can talk about where we want to go from here, but I sure as shit don’t want to go back to just being friends. Does that work for you, sweetheart?” 

You didn’t trust your voice in that moment, not knowing if words would come out if you tried and opted for a firm nod.

He backed away from the car, bringing you towards him so he could open the door for you.

“Get in mamas and buckle up, because once we get home, you’re in for a ride” closing the door before you could give him a response.

You were about to be in for a night you didn’t expect, but one that would change everything for the best.

Thank you so much for reading, please send in any requests or comments. I hope you enjoyed!

[robinsfilm]

ROUGE IN HIS HANDS

PARING: jason todd ✗ fem!reader ;

SYNOPSIS: jason 'n reader dance at a gala (result from voting) ;

RATING: smut with fluff ;

WARNINGS: clothed sex, p in v, oral fem receiving, oral sex, reader and jay have an obvious oral fixation in this, cum eating, public sex, switch characters, mutual orgasm ;

WORD COUNT: 3.3k ;

NOTES: i went off with this one. i don't usually write fics this long, but i don't know what came over me. wrote 14 pages and half of it is smut. during the writing process i had in mind a jason and reader who have been partners for a long time now, so sex is something they've explored, so he's more open in this specific work.

✹ ꕀ MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION & AO3.

THE SILVER BEAMS OF MOONLIGHT POUR THROUGH THE GLASS WALL, COVERING THE ROOM WITH AN OTHERWORLDLY HUE. Cool and polished, the marble wall gleams under the light, its smooth surface marbles with veins of smoky silver and hints of gold. Tonight, Wayne Enterprises is holding its annual charity gala at Gotham Museum of Antiquities—complete with an elegant venue; eye-catching décor and displays; unending speeches and presentations along with slow, dramatic waltz and special VIP rooms.

Tonight, Jason leans on that polished marble wall—with his own polished black-tie suit. The ink-black velvet suit makes him blend in with the rest of the crowd. He’s done well with avoiding the rest of the mingling Gotham elite, choosing to hide away in some dark corner. Jason watches the ivory-colored champagne in his hand as he tilts the glass from one side to another—a game, if you will. A game to pass the time.

He looks down at the opulent watch on his wrist. It was a gift given to him by Dick. No matter how much Jason said no—or complained, by his brother's words—he didn’t want the ridiculously costly accessory. Though, Dick persisted—just as he did with Jason attending this gala.

Jason glared at the numbers on the watch’s dial. The Roman numeral IX stares back at him as if it’s mocking the man. Jason fidgets with the collar of his alabaster button up shirt—too tight around his neck. His foot restlessly taps against the shining surface of the floor beneath. Jason folds his arms across his chest as he retreats deeper into the corner.

Time couldn’t move slower, he thinks.

He hears a singsong voice call out to him as light steps echo closer— “How long are you going to stand there like a statue?”

The raven hair and ocean-like blue eyes of Dick are unmistakably familiar, even the teasing and lighthearted tone of his voice is engraved in Jason’s mind. Dick takes his place next to his little brother, leaning against the tall marble wall. His smug grin danced across his face. Dick playfully nudges Jason, prompting an answer out of him.

“Until this tedious, faux gala—I mean, important social occasion—ends. I don’t know how you survive here.” Jason groans, head falling back against the cool surface of the wall.

Dick lets a soft chuckle escape, “—Well,—” he clicks his tongue, “—It helps when you have a pretty thing by your side.”

Jason picks up on the tone of Dick’s voice and the suggestion. He can’t help but roll his eyes at his brother’s oh-so creative idea. The thought lingers in his mind for a minute—you, in some fancy outfit, perfectly suited for you, thin fabric hugging your plush and petal soft skin in all the right places.

His hand tightens around the champagne glass. Dick laughs again, satisfied with Jason’s reaction.

“Just wait until you see it in front of your own eyes.” Dick makes sure to emphasize the final words as he motions Jason to look across the dance floor.

There you stand, on the edge of the dance floor. The golden filigree of the ivory floor glows beneath your feet. The crystal chandelier casts a shimmering light upon your dewy skin. The rouge-colored velvet fabric flows across your frame like waves in a calm sea. Your hair meticulously detailed and styled drifts down from your neck and lightly touches your bare shoulders. A rose-gold pendant rests in the dip of your chest.

Your piercing eyes scan the crowd, searching across the mingling elite for a certain someone. Their dim glow reaches Jason even from the distance between you two—it turns luminous when you spot him.

He almost chokes on his breath.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Dick smirks as he pats Jason on the shoulder. He moves before Jason can give him a nudge of his own and disappears into the crowd.

Your heels clink across the ivory floor as you approach him. Jason can swear he can feel and hear the champagne glass crack under his tightened grip. The drink is left forgotten as he leaves it on a nearby table. Jason meets up with you. Suddenly the suffocating air of the gala dissipates.

“Thought I’d find you moping in some far away corner.” You giggle softly.

“Well,”—Jason takes your hand in his—palm face down as he places a gentle kiss on top of it. His lips linger on you as he holds eye contact, the aqua hue of his eyes are like a siren’s call, beckoning you closer—“everything has changed since you’ve arrived.”

Jason’s warm touch lights a fire on your skin’s surface. You take a second to break out of your sweet reverie. “For the better, I hope?”

“Of course it’s for the better. Without you this entire ordeal would be rather boring.” He muses.

“You think all galas hosted by your father are boring, but with enough persuasion, you always show up.”

“Enough persuasion, huh?”, he laughs, “you think I’m so easily persuaded?”

You gather the courage to step even closer to him. The slight bob of his Adam's apple gives you all the confidence you need.

Your eyes dart across his frame. The ink-black suit sits on his body like it was made for him specifically. The heat spreads throughout, settling deep into the crooks of your body. Does he even know how he looks right now? A sculpted statue of a Greek god, made meticulously by a renowned artist, stands in front of you.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes off him, your mind too busy and occupied with wondering what other details of the statue hide behind the black velvet fabric. Jason notices this too, proved by the flustered cough that leaves him and the slight pink tint on his cheeks.

You gaze into his eyes again, “Aren’t I proof of that? A few sweet words from me and you’re at my beck and call.”

Jason chuckles, “You’re the only one. Count yourself lucky, you minx.”

A sly grin dances across your face, “Oh, I am very fortunate. Though, I’d like to test your weakness for me one more time.”

“What do you have planned?” He lets out a faux groan, eyes following your lips every move.

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

You stammer, the confidence you felt a few moments ago slowly leaving your body, “It’s a gala, right? I’m your partner and I thought we could dance? Only if you’d like of course! It’s not mandatory to dance, I just-”

Jason takes your hands in his own, “—I want to.”

“To dance? With me?”

“Who else?” He laughs, the sound akin to honey. You want to taste his sweet oh-so desperately on your tongue.

“O-Okay.” You lead him to the dance floor.

The ivory floor contrasts with the colors of your clothing. The lights across the room dance on you both, bathing in the warm, golden hue of the glow. Jason’s eyes shine like aquamarine crystals under the sunlight on a coast near the sea, touched gently by the seafoam. The two of you move and sweep through the crowd on the dance floor akin to the soft, rhythmic ebb of a river. It’s not precise, nor perfect. It reminds you of the cracks between broken pieces dipped and stitched back together with gold.

Your hand in Jason’s feels incredibly right, as if it was always meant to rest in the safety of his touch. Your cheeks graze as you attempt to hide yourself in the crook of his neck. A single whisper breaks you out of your trance.

“Don’t hide yourself, please. I want to see you—all of you.”

The words escape from the tip of your tongue, “you can, if you’d have me.”

Your suggestion rings in Jason’s ears. The surprise on his face is proven by the widening of his eyes and the slight part of his lips. His grip on your hands slightly strengthens, careful not to hurt you.

“Fuck.” He groans, the sound going straight to your core. The music slowly ends as he starts leading you towards an empty hallway. “I t-think they have rooms for the VIP’s here.”

There’s excitement in your every step. The more you walk, the more impatience eats at you.

“Jay-” You whine out, “Please-”

“Shh,” He smiles, “patience, and maybe you’ll be rewarded.”

Jason spots an unoccupied room near the two of you. In a few seconds he has you ushered into the privacy of its walls.

Now it’s just the two of you. The air feels hot and intoxicating. It doesn’t take long for the both of your lips to meet. The feel of his lips against yours is so familiar it strikes an aching feeling deep in your heart. Your cherry lipstick gets smeared more and more with every move of your lips. You finally let go of the strings of worry pulling at you and melt into his hold.

His hands travel from your hips to your waist and lay flat against your spine, bringing you closer as if the two of you will embrace each other as one. Every touch lights a fire on your skin. You suck on his bottom lip as your hands move from his face to the back of his neck, luring him closer as his tongue explores every corner of your mouth.

You whimper against Jason’s mouth. The wet kiss finally breaks. He sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes pierce into your own. The look of them makes you quiver in his hold.

Jason’s fingers graze your swollen lips, parting them. Your tongue reaches out on instinct, searching for his skin—his taste. He chuckles followed by a quiet hiss.

“Needy thing.” He moves closer, making you take a few steps back before reaching the bed. “Did you plan this?” He softly lowers you on the bed, hands trailing down to your hips, teasing the slit in the fabric hugging your plum skin.

You shamelessly drag your hands down his chest, clawing to reach his skin underneath the layers of clothes. “Please, Jay-” Your body aches for him, every part of you calls out to him, yearning for his touch, his kiss, his—

“Did you think about this?” He asks, his voice low as he reaches down to whisper in your ear, his lips teasingly close to you. “I know I did.” You can see his flushed skin and slightly tangled hair. He looks so beautiful, intoxicatingly so.

You let out a whine as he kisses the skin connecting your jaw and neck. He nibbles down on the skin, pleasure and the slight bite of pain mixing into each other oh-so well. It lights embers in your body as in his. He takes in the captivating smell of your lingering perfume, making him wish he could drown in it.

His tongue on your neck trails down to your chest, leaving blossoming marks in its wake. They feel electrifying, sending bolts of lighting down your body, straight into your core. Your thighs press together, searching for friction.

He chuckles, looking up at you, “Shh—” He hikes the fabric above your waist, “—let me take care of you.”

Jason sinks to his knees. His lips dance across your thighs, leaving wet kisses in its wake. Your hips shake, body too sensitive from previous touches. Your hand covers your mouth to muffle the whimpers escaping from it. His hand reaches up to yours, ripping it from your mouth.

“I want to hear you—every sound. Just lose control, love. You look angelic like this—under me, spread and so giving, ruffled hair and needy whines—such a pretty mess.” He purrs.

“Jay—” You shudder when his lips graze across your clothed pussy, “—Oh my god.”

Jason chuckles against you, the sound vibrating from your pussy to the rest of your body. He hooks the fabric of your soaked panties on his finger, moving them aside. You bite back a moan at the cool air touching you. Tears well up in your eyes, ruining your mascara.

“Look at you, dripping from me. Did I make you wait for it, baby? Let me make it up to you, yea?”

“Yes, yes, please, Jay—Mh!” The moan hitches in your throat as Jason's lips kiss your folds, his tongue teasing the entrance. “Feels good, Jay…”

He pushes your thighs above, placing them on his shoulders. His hands grip around your hips, trapping them in place. You arch your back as his tongue delves in your cunt. Your breath quivers as he sucks down on your clit. His tongue flicks along it, sending bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“Fuck, right there—don’t stop!”

Jason’s digits rise and part your folds as he inserts one inside you. The moans bounce across the room as he works you towards your climax, as if you’re an instrument that he knows every string of, which one to pull, graze, shake, and grip.

The pleasure builds up, spreading slowly throughout your body. Your climax hangs as if it’s a thin thread about to snap. You shake and cry out for Jason—the one currently working you up to the oh-so satisfying cut of that string.

Your noises feel him with a confidence he doesn’t feel anywhere else. It’s enthralling—the fact he can make you feel so good. He’ll carry you to your climax because that’s what his darling deserves for giving him such a good present—dressing up for him, being so giving—his sweet darling.

The shaking of your thighs grows more intense, just like the moans escaping your mouth. He adds another digit, curling deep inside your cunt. His touch reaches you just in the right places, making you feel dizzy from it all.

“‘m close, baby,” you whine, “god, yes-”

The thread tithers on the edge. Every curl of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushes you closer to that very edge. Your breath gets caught in your mouth, only a strangled moan leaving when your climax hits. You can feel his satisfied grin on your pussy lips. Your chest rises with every bolt of pleasure. His tongue doesn’t let it go. He laps up your cum leaking from your cunt, savoring the taste.

Jason’s fingers delicately dance across your folds, cum collecting on them. He raises his hand for you to see. The moonlight reflects off of the shiny white liquid on the tips of his fingers. Your walls clench at the sight, eyes widening and head falling back against the bed. He laughs again.

“C’mon, be good—clean them.”

He rises from his position climbing on top of you again. His head tilts as his hand moves closer to you. You shudder as the smell of your own climax reaches you. You open your mouth, tongue searching for a taste. He settles the fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his digits. The striking taste of your slick and cum spreads your mouth. His eyes never break contact with yours, the stare is too intense. You squirm against his body.

Jason’s breath gets caught in his throat. “Fuck—god—pretty girl, good job, just like that.”

His praise makes your hips buck into his own. You want to pleasure him too. The bulge in his pants proves his arousal and need. Your hand slowly trails down his clothed body, searching for any sign of refusal. When he gives you a shaky nod with a crooked smile, you take that as approval.

You take this chance to switch positions. Lowering him down onto the bed you move to straddle his hips. The fabric of his pants grazes your bare pussy, the sensitivity making you shake. Your hands move to his bulge again, palming him over his clothes. He sighs with pleasure, hands clutching the sheets underneath him.

You coo at his reaction, “My pretty boy.”

He whines, the sound coming out as a quiet plea. His hands leave the sheets and grip your hips—surely leaving bruises decorating your flush body. Jason’s hair’s akin to a halo, the moonlight seeping through the window faintly covers him in a faint glow, making him look heavenly. The sight makes you groan.

“Let me take care of you now.”

Your hands move to unzip his pants and free his clothed cock. The flushed red tip leaks of precum.

Jason rasps, “darling, touch me, please.”

“Shh, don’t worry—” You lean down to press a chaste kiss on his forehead, “—I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

You raise your hips as you settle your hands on his chest, hands digging into his disheveled clothes. The tip of his cock kisses your cunt as you align yourself. You sink down onto him, his entire length slowly disappearing into your warmth. Your velvety walls hug his cock.

He shudders with pleasure, “—Fuck, baby- tryna milk me dry, ah-”

You try to settle onto a rhythm. His hands—still on your hips—help you along with the pace, pulling them down onto his cock. The sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin spread throughout the room, bouncing across wall to wall. His hands reach up to your chest, grazing your nipples. Jason chuckles as your eyes widen and thighs shake with every touch.

Both of your moans mix into each other—the sound downright shameless but akin to ambrosia. The similar thread coils for Jason. His breaths become shaky, as your rhythm changes and pace becomes messy. Jason’s hands trail down from your chest to your hips, hanging on.

“Don’t stop, baby- please.”

He bites down onto his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to muffle his sounds. The coil threatens to unfold any second. Jason’s back arches with every desperate thrust, his hips coming to meet you in the middle, chasing that high. His climax reaches closer and closer.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask with a shaky voice.

He barely makes out your words in his hazy mind, “Of course, god-”

Both of your lips crash together as Jason’s climax hits him. He whines into your mouth, hands flying up to grip any piece of you he can—waist, spine, neck—he settles on cradling your face. Breaking from the kiss, his red and flushed lips tremble from ecstasy.

“How are you feeling?” You mumble into the crook of his neck, snuggling closer.

Jason wraps his arms around your frame, hiding his face in your hair, taking in your smell. “I’m feeling amazing- christ.”

You giggle in response. Moving from his neck you place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you—like I’m crazy in love.”

“I love you too, baby.”

You settle against his chest. Your eyes scan the room, taking notice of the messy sheets and the smell of sex spreading throughout the entire place. You suddenly remember the promise you made to his family about making him step out of his shell when it comes to these galas. Plan successfully failed?

The two of you slowly shuffle off the bed. Adjusting your clothing is fairly easy, the hair is more of a problem. Your make-up is a mess, too.

You tut, “Jay…”

“I think you look beautiful.” He moves closer to place a chaste kiss on your lips, his tongue slipping out to taste the smeared cherry lipstick.

“Crap, are we just going to leave the room and return to the gala like this?”

Jason lets out a laugh, seeing him lighthearted and content like this spreads a warmth in your heart.

“Well, I’m sure you’re a sight for the eyes, but I don’t want to share. We’re sneaking out.”

“I miss home. I don’t like these galas.” you whine.

“Me too. But I did like this one.” He smirks as his hands smooth out the back of your dress.

You snort, “Good. Maybe next time you’ll get lucky again.” You button his suit.

“I’ll hold you to that.” His hands try to settle your hair in a more presentable state. “We’ll get there and I’ll set up a warm bath for the two of us. After that we can finally rest.”

“I love you. I wanted to say that again.”

Jason smiles, eyes moving across your face, “—Me too, darling.”

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[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 🫂

[elsa-fogen]

Yep. Yeah. That's me. Almost all of it, except, i sleep well (if i manage to fall asleep) Reblogging because maybe some of you didn't know (i also didn't know)

Story time!

Too long don't read: used to sleep on private math lessons because i hate math; it takes hours for me to fall asleep WHEN I SUPPOSED TO, and my sister does it in 3-5 minutes.

I was studying at university and we had MATH there I've always had problems with it. since 5th grade i think (well, i hated math before too but real problems started there) when i changed schools and the new class was behind what I've already studied and i didn't pay attention, until i realized that at some point I was behind. I said "welp, i guess it's to late to try, so fuck it"

So at university we had this very high level math and i just couldn't understand a thing (and we had an awful teacher who was saying evvvvery time something like "yall getting expelled, we're all gonna die") so i decided "if i don't understand, fuck it then, i will not even try" and started skipping math classes.

But i STILL had to pass an exam, we were getting 3 tries and if you fail you're getting expelled. I failed first two what a surprise (i don't know how i managed to pass it after all, i can't remember SHIT, only that i is fucking non-existing number which is square root of -1. Why on earth would you need it i have NO fucking clue.

So i had personal teachers who tried to make me understand at least something to pass the exam. And there was one i remember very well, i even remember that we paid her 10$ per hour (for us that was quite a lot). And i remember her because i was SLEEPING. I just COULDN'T keep my eyes opened. She explains something about deviding by zero and my brain draws the fucking universe collapsing in front of my eyes. She gives me some task, I'm trying to write something and I'm falling asleep and DREAMING about writing, then ahe wakes me up and i see that i didn't write SHIT. It all ended when in the middle of lesson she just kicked me out.

And, what a miracle, I'm leaving her apartments and suddenly, all the sleepiness just wanishes! I'm walking home, thinking about some another AU of mine, roleplaying it with myself in my head, full of energy again.

That's not the only case of this, but it's the strongest i ever felt. But that like happens all the time, EVEN WHEN MY MOM OR MY GRANNY COMES TO ME AND START TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING I'M NOT INTERESTED, IM YAWNING AND FEEL URGE TO FALL ASLEEP. But the moment they leave, It goes away! I was calling it work allergy LMAO

I was diagnosed with adhd in my early childhood (there was also something about epilepsy, but it's ok now so it doesn't matter), not long ago i brought this fact back into my active memory (thanks to Jaiden animations ADHD video for that xD) i kinda used to myself by now and now I'm trying to catch and analyse all moments of adhd kicking in. I know my own tricks and buttons, how to make myself do the thing or just how to force myself into doing something. Because i know if i start, I'll probably lock in and won't get up until it's done (well, if i have at least a tiny bit of interest in that thing, or else i won't), and i hate it when someone interrupts me in the middle of the process. No mom, i can't come right now, i can't finish it later, because i either spend few more hours forcing myself to go back to the task or just forget about it.

But i didn't know that this sleepiness was a legit symptom! I just thought that it's exaderated boredom, that's it, had a joke name for it. That's... Funny to know that this thing is actually also adhd moment.

Also, about sleeping. I have problems falling asleep. I may lie in the bed for hours without even my phone, just rotating my stories in my head, and when i don't have a story to think about, this is just the name of my current hyperfixation with different tones and in different random dialogues that doesn't even make sense. I have no idea how to fall asleep, except when i didn't sleep for like 48 hours (EVEN THEN IT MIGHT BE A PROBLEM AND I START THINKING OF THAT CREEPY PRION SICKNESS AND SCARE MYSELF AGAIN). And my mom told me that it have always been like that with me. She and my dad had the whole ritual to make me fall asleep. Dad would hold me in his arms, his head with me covered with a blanket that i could only see his face (or else I would look everywhere and never fall asleep), and rock me for HOURS while i was SCREAMING and CRYING the whole time like i was tortured. But when I'd finally fall asleep, they could be as loud as usual and didn't have to whisper, because wake me up is a whole different story. And my mom was SHOCKED when all it took to make my sister fall asleep was just pet her back for 3-5 minutes.

I don't think of myself as... Sick or ill. That's how i was all my life, i don't know anything else. That's not a sickness to me, that's just part of my personality. Maybe sometimes some parts of it bite me in the ass and make my life harder, but i don't know other life. That's the only one I've got, and i guess I'm fine with that (tho now that i think about it, i need to pay more attention to how i write the characters, and don't make them all ADHDshers LOL i need to study neurotypical people under a microscope 🔬🔍)

bro im gonna CRY i didnt know this 🥺

[buddiebeginz]

I'm sure you've seen by now that the b/t shippers are attacking the show, Ryan, Chad Lowe, and Oliver most of all. Calling him a liar, biphobic, etc. We know he's seen some of this because he even put up an apology on his insta at one point. The thing is Oliver shouldn't have to apologize. He's done nothing wrong and he's only really getting attacked because a part of fandom is bitter their ship didn't work out.

Oliver has tried hard to always speak carefully about the lgbtq community. He's portrayed Buck with so much love and care. You can tell just in how he talks about Buck and his journey that portraying Buck as authentically as possible matters to Oliver.

Oliver deserves to know that so so many of us appreciate all the work he's put into Buck and the show. I think one way we could show him that is if we could come together and donate to an lgbtq charity in his name. I think even more than writing grateful comments online actually helping people in a community he cares about and in his honor would mean so much more.

Please reblog this to spread the info around and dm me if you have any ideas and want to help put something together.

Thanks :)

[goldfades]

❝ 𝐚𝐟𝐜 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐬, burrow. ❞

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you give joe his own celebration after winning.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | NSFW! minors pls dni. plot w/ smut, messy head sesh (joe receiving), cigar mentions, praise and um... nothing else? pretty self indulgent.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | if you guys enjoy this i might just write more for joe 🫣 if you guys have any requests, my inbox is open rn!

The crowd is electric, buzzing with that rare, palpable energy that comes only when an entire city feels the taste of victory on its tongue.

The stadium lights are still blazing, casting a golden glow over the field, and you can see Joe, helmet off, hair slightly mussed from the game. He looks different tonight—not the quiet, calculating Joe who keeps everything just below the surface. This version of him stands tall, eyes sharp, taking it all in with a sly, almost cocky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You’re swept up in the energy as he walks towards you, chest out, shoulders loose, like he owns the night. His usual restraint is nowhere to be found; every bit of him is reveling in this moment, and it’s as if he knows exactly how everyone is looking at him, yourself included.

The cheers and the chanting blur together, and you feel your pulse match the beat of the stadium around you. He's coming closer, that rare glint in his eye—the kind that says he knows he's good, and tonight, he’s not hiding it. He reaches you, and before you can even say anything, his hands find your hips, pulling you in with a confidence that’s both unexpected and thrilling.

Joe isn’t usually one for public displays, especially after a game when he’s all focus and steady composure, but tonight is different. Tonight, he’s every bit the champion and you can see it in the way he looks at you, like he’s not just savoring the win but the whole world in his hands.

Without a second thought, he cups your face, his touch warm and firm, and his lips crash into yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. The kiss is fierce, almost possessive, and your heart skips a beat as you realize he doesn’t care that everyone’s watching—that someone, somewhere, probably has their phone out recording this very moment. He’s completely wrapped up in you, and for this one fleeting moment, you’re the only thing that exists.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a smudge of your lipstick on his lips, unmistakable and bold, and he’s got that cocky grin again, wider this time, unbothered by the smear of color. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away a trace of lipstick, his eyes sparking with that rare, unabashed pride.

"Guess I’m taking home two trophies tonight," he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

His hand stays on your hips, grounding you as you’re both swept up in the exhilaration of the night. The crowd, the lights, the whole stadium could disappear, and it still wouldn’t matter. Joe doesn’t care about anything else—he’s made that clear.

━━━━━

The club pulses with energy, dark and sleek, lit by flashes of neon lights and thrumming to the bass-heavy beat of music that vibrates up through the floor. The exclusive afterparty is alive with players, coaches, friends, and the lucky few who managed an invite, and you can feel the buzz of victory in the air. It’s thick with the thrill of the win, the endless energy of a city that hasn’t been able to stop talking about Joe and the team since last year’s championship.

Joe’s beside you, his hand never leaving your back as he navigates through the crowd, and he’s still got that spark in his eyes. There’s a looseness to him tonight—a magnetic energy that draws everyone in. He’s in his element, basking in it, tossing back easy laughs with his teammates, tossing friendly jabs at anyone who dares question the next championship he has in mind. Every time someone congratulates him, he pulls you closer, and even though he usually keeps things more private, tonight feels like a night for breaking his own rules.

You’re holding onto his arm, laughing along with him, when his teammate Sam catches sight of the lipstick stain that still lingers faintly on Joe’s mouth.

He raises a brow, grinning wide, and elbows Joe. "Looks like the MVP’s got more than a trophy tonight," Sam jokes, his voice teasing but warm.

Joe doesn’t even bother to wipe it off. Instead, he smirks, pulling you closer with a shrug that radiates easy confidence. "Best accessory, don’t you think?" he says, voice low but loud enough to carry over the music, and his arm slides around your waist, holding you against him like he doesn’t plan on letting go.

You laugh, leaning into him as he glances down at you, that cocky spark in his eyes making your pulse race. Joe has always been cool, confident, but tonight there’s something different about him—a unrestrained pride that makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something unforgettable.

“Careful,” you tease, looking up at him, your voice playful. “Keep that attitude up, and they’re going to start thinking you’re actually enjoying the attention.”

He chuckles, a low sound that only you can hear. “Guess I might be, just a little,” he admits, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “It’s not every day you get to win back-to-back championships. Gotta let myself enjoy it for once, right?”

Before you can answer, Ja’Marr sidles up beside him, grinning from ear to ear. He’s got that same victorious look in his eyes and you can tell he’s been looking forward to this moment just as much as Joe has. Reaching into his pocket, Ja’Marr pulls out a fat cigar, extending it to Joe with a knowing smirk.

“Time for a victory smoke, QB,” Ja’Marr says, his voice light but laced with pride. “You earned it.”

Joe takes the cigar, turning it over in his hands as if considering it, then lets out a low, appreciative laugh. He glances at you with a grin. “Guess we’re going all out tonight, huh?”

You nod, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and his hand finds your waist again as he turns back to Ja’Marr. “Thanks, man,” Joe says, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Ja’Marr shakes his head, feigning modesty. “Nah, tonight’s all you, bro. I just happened to be along for the ride.” He steps back, lifting his own glass in a toast, and the whole crew around you does the same, echoing the sentiment as they raise their drinks.

“To Joey,” Ja’Marr calls, his voice carrying over the music. “And to running this city two years straight!”

The crowd roars in agreement, and Joe raises the cigar in salute before flashing that unrestrained smile again, lighting it up with a satisfied exhale. He takes a slow, deliberate drag, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips as he relaxes back against the booth, pulling you close beside him.

“You know,” he says, glancing at you with a grin that’s both relaxed and intoxicatingly self-assured, “could get used to this whole king-of-the-city thing. But only if you’re here with me.”

“Think I could make that work,” you reply, smiling as you tuck yourself against him, his arm solid and warm around you.

Joe leans back in the booth, his arm still looped around you, his blue eyes sharp and unmistakably bold as he exhales a long, lazy stream of smoke. There’s a cocky tilt to his mouth, something magnetic that holds your gaze, and when he catches you staring, that grin only deepens.

“You look a little too comfortable holding court like this,” you say, smirking, leaning into him just enough that your knee brushes his.

He gives you a look that makes your stomach flip, tilting his head as he takes another drag from the cigar, never breaking eye contact. “I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, just loud enough for you to hear over the noise.

The way he says it, like he owns the moment—and maybe you, too—sends a thrill down your spine. You lift your chin, refusing to look away, feeling the tension spark like electricity between you.

“You sure you can handle the attention?” you challenge, arching a brow. “I don’t remember you being one for the spotlight.”

“Oh, I can handle it,” he replies, voice dripping with confidence. He leans in, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his lips a mere breath away from yours. “Question is, can you?”

His eyes are dark, daring, and you feel his hand press against your waist, fingers brushing the bare skin where your shirt rides up slightly. The club is hot, noisy, and every beat of the music seems to pulse between you, building the tension.

Before you can answer, he leans in even closer, his mouth hovering by your ear. “Because from where I’m sitting,” he murmurs, “you’re looking at me like you’re ready to break a few of my rules tonight.”

━━━━━

And that's how you ended up back at the hotel, on your knees, looking up at Joe like he was the only thing that mattered. The room is quiet now, a stark contrast to the pulsing energy of the club, but the silence makes everything feel sharper, more charged. The dim lights cast a soft glow over him, highlighting the confidence that radiates off him with every breath, every small movement.

He’s standing there, looking down at you, his eyes dark, studying you with that intensity that makes your heart race. There’s a cocky, satisfied smile playing at the corner of his lips—a hint of pride that you can’t help but want to unravel. You can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his breathing steady, controlled, even though you know he’s feeling every second of this as much as you are.

Joe’s hand lingers on your face, tilting your chin up just a bit more as he watches you, his eyes tracing every detail like he wants to commit it to memory.

Your hands worked on his belt as he let out a quiet groan and he doesn’t stop you, lets you take control for a moment, and the way his breath catches in his chest makes something inside you stir. He’s always the confident one, the one who stays in control, but tonight, in this space, everything feels different. It’s like he’s giving you the freedom to move, to touch, to test just how far you can push him.

“God,” he mutters, his hand sliding from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers curling just lightly around it, like he’s marking his place, claiming it without saying a word. His thumb gently strokes over your skin, sending a pulse of heat through you as you finish loosening his belt.

The moment the buckle comes free, you pull him closer, your fingers tracing his waistband as you look up at him, your lips just a breath away from where he needed you most. His chest rises and falls rapidly now, a sign that you’re getting to him, that the tension is starting to break.

He leans down slightly, his breath hot against your ear, voice low and rough. “You know, you could make me forget the whole damn night with just a single move.”

You smile, a slow, teasing thing, as you drag your hands down to his bulge, feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten in anticipation. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a dare, but you don’t rush, taking your time, letting every moment hang between you like a promise. The way he’s watching you, waiting for your next move, only makes the tension between you more intense.

Joe’s gaze darkens even more, the intensity turning almost possessive as his hand sliding into your hair again, gently pulling you up to meet his lips in a kiss that’s every bit as hungry and desperate as it is passionate. He’s pulling you closer and you can feel the weight of him, the heat of his body, as he presses you back on the floor.

“You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he breathes against your lips, his voice low, full of need. The way he says it, like he can’t hold back, makes you ache with want. He falls back on a chair behind him, his eyes full of need. You know exactly what he wants as he spreads his thighs.

“Come on, baby. Give me what I want,” he urges breathlessly as you find your way in between his thighs.

Your hands slide back to his thighs, fingers brushing against the hard lines of his body, and you can feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes.

You finally pull off his underpants, freeing his hardened length. He lets out a breath as his hand pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Joe doesn't wait any longer, he pushes you downward until your lips meet his warm tip.

“Taking your time, huh?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire, a hint of impatience flickering in his eyes as he watches every movement you make. There’s a slight smirk on his lips, but it fades quickly as you press a little closer, opening your mouth to finally take him.

He lets out a guttural groan as his grip tightens in your hair. The taste of him is intoxicating, you couldn't help but let out a sound of your own. Your lips wrap around his thick cock effortlessly, taking him slowly.

Joe wasn't in the slow mood, though. His grip in your hair didn't loosen as he began moving your head in his own accord, your muffled moans egging him on. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag as your fingers scratched his thigh instinctively.

“That's it, baby,” he groaned breathlessly. “Take my cock, just like that.”

Your jaw was already sore, your chin was dripping with a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum but somehow you still relished in this. Your eyes were watering as you tried to keep them open, watching Joe's every expression and hearing every sound. Every praise that left his mouth spurred you on, your mouth sliding up and down his wet cock.

And despite the mess you've made, Joe still thought you were the sexiest woman alive. He couldn't look at you any longer, because he swore he would just cum at the mere sight. You slipped off his cock, your tongue flicking his tip as you caught your breath. You slowly took him back in, humming at the feeling of being so full.

His hand tightened in your hair as his head fell back on the chair, his mouth slightly open as he groaned. “Oh fuck, yeah. Keep going,” he grunted. “Gonna cum, fuck.”

Before you could even react, his cum filled your mouth as you moaned around his cock. You tried your best to swallow all of it before you slipped off, your chest rising up and down. Looking up at Joe, he wore a fucked-out expression, all his previous cockiness had softened into something raw and unguarded.

His head is tilted back against the chair, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he tries to catch his breath, his gaze finding yours with a look that’s equal parts amazement and satisfaction. The flicker of dim hotel light casts shadows across his face, highlighting his features in a way that makes him look almost softer, stripped down to just Joe, without the bravado and the public image.

He lets out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair, which is now mussed and a little wild. “Think you just ruined me,” he murmurs, voice still thick, a slight rasp lingering from the exertion.

His hand reaches down, fingers grazing your shoulder before sliding up to brush against your cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he takes in every inch of you with that slightly dazed, contented gaze.

You smile, a satisfied warmth spreading through you as you sit back, watching him collect himself, looking at him in this quiet, vulnerable moment. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could,” you reply, voice raspy with an edge of pride. You know the effect you’ve had on him, and the thrill of it lingers in the air between you, sparking like the last remnants of a fire.

Joe chuckles, his fingers trailing lightly along your jaw, then down to your chin, where he tilts your face up to meet his eyes fully. “Oh, trust me,” he says, his gaze darkening again, though now softened with something deeper, “you’ve got me right where you want me.” He leans forward, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost tender kiss that lingers longer than you expect, as if he wants to savor the moment. He could taste himself on your tongue, making his ego skyrocket.

For a minute, neither of you speaks. There’s just the sound of your breaths mingling, his other hand slips up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and he gives you this look that makes your heart race all over again, even after everything that just happened.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[dirty-dirty-muggle]

Okay I’ve been thinking about this because I recently came back to HP fandom after being away for nearly a decade and things aren’t how they used to be. Now, I’ve been in HP fandom spaces since the early 00s (yes, i’m old) and it’s weird to me coming back how much pro/anti stuff there is and how much division there seems to be around different characters and ships. I find it incredibly sad and disheartening.

I don’t remember any of this occurring when I left fandom or before, and it honestly feels completely counter to what I believe fan spaces are supposed to be, which is for sharing love and excitement. What I remember of the majority of HP fandom of old is people liked what they liked, shared what they loved, and ignored what they didn’t. If they were discussing not liking something, it was presented as personal opinion or an essay for open discussion, not a denigrating attack against anyone who thinks or likes differently. If you commented negatively on someone’s fanwork, or harassed someone for their fave character or ship, or went on lengthy anti-tirades, you were considered an asshole or a weirdo.

At the end of the day, we are talking about FANTASY. Why does it matter if someone loves a character or ship you don’t? Fandom is about fiction and that means it’s intended to be somewhere we can explore things we can’t irl, to enjoy things just for the sake of enjoying them. Fandom is supposed to be a safe, communal space.

It’s a sad reflection of the world at large, in my opinion, and hoo-boy do I wish more people would self-reflect why other people enjoying things they don’t makes them feel insecure and why they feel the need to be so hateful and angry—and then go get some therapy. The world isn’t black and white, and one of the best parts about fandom spaces is how diverse they are, because it means you can always find someone else who loves what you love.

So please, go love your favourite characters and ships, and let others do the same. We’re all better off for it.

(And if you would like a much smarter and more in depth explanation of “it’s fantasy and fiction so let people like and write what they want” along with a brilliant discussion on fantasy and sex more generally, I leave you with this video essay by Contrapoints on Twilight.)

Uh- are you aware of the meaning of proship?

Proship has never meant anything except a combination of three ideas:

Ship and let ship (your ships don't harm me and vice-versa) and YKINMK (your kink is not my kink, and that's okay; my kink stories don't harm you and vice-versa)

Harassment over fiction is not acceptable

Censorship of fiction is not acceptable either

Any other definitions are made by antis, not proshippers, and are an attempt at revisionism to justify harassment based on false claims.

[sulumuns-dootah]

Can I request a headcanon of whb king (plus any other characters you want) reacting to gn mc avoiding them for as long as she can because mc got dared to by some random demon

WHB kings' reaction to MC avoiding them because of a dare

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! This was so fun to write since each king had a completelly different reaction ^^ Sorry for the long wait though t-t

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oh, Satan doesn't like this at all

The moment he notices your suspiciously long absence, he's on the prowl

Where are you and why tf are you avoiding him?

He'll even send out Amy and his group to look for you and bring you to him

Hopefully he'll during his search find out about the dare

At least hopefully for you

Poor demon who dared you will find himself homeless after Satan in his demon form destroys his place

Once that's dealt with, the next time you go outisde, you come face to face with Satan, leaning back against his bike

"Talked to that mf. The dare's called off :)"

    ༺☆༻

Mammon notices that you haven't been around him much, but he just chalks it up to you being busy

He's okay with it, knowing that eventually you'll come back to him anyway

Besides, if you needed something, you'd surely call him

After finding out that it's a dare, he's also curious how long you'll be able to keep away from him

If he ever gets worried about you, he'll just send one of his nobles to check up on you

Once you're back to him, he's taking you out for a dinner to congratulate you on how long you lasted

    ༺☆༻

Leviathan knew from the beginning thanks to Foras

You don't even get to leave the Hades castle so it's easier for you to avoid him when you get a message from the devil who dared you that the dare is off

It doesn't take a genius to realise that the poor demon had been visited by His Majesty himself and forced to end your dare early

Most likely, if you video-called with him, he'll be gasping for air, hung by a noose

The next time you see Leviathan, he acts like nothing happened, but you can feel his piercing stare when you're not looking at him

He's most likely not sure how to punish you yet...

But once he does...

Oh boy, now comes the moment to avoid him for the sole sake of your survival

    ༺☆༻

Funny :)

You think you can avoid Beel? :)

I mean, technically you could do that by hanging around in the Abyssos castle, but even then you can't exactly avoid Beel

If Beel wants to see you, he'll come and see you

Doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing

Even if it means that he'll have to sneak through his own castle to escape Bael's wrath

And even more so, if he finds out about the dare...

Oops, he just reminded he meant to take you to this place and booked it in advance and can't cancel it

Sorry, guess you'll have to spend the whole month with him :)

I guess the rule with Beel is that the more you want him, the less he'll be around

(True story with my pulls for his cards tbh T-T)

    ༺☆༻

Belphie would probably realise that it's been a while since you were there when he woke up, but eh...

Maybe you're just busy doing your work

No sweat

That is until Beleth accidentally slips up about the dare

Oh?

Now that is something different

Prepare to start dreaming about him every night

That'll eventually make you come back...

And if not, don't worry...

Belphie's ability can bring you back anytime, so enjoy your time away from him before he decides this little game is over

    ༺☆༻

Keeping away from Asmo is honestly your day-to-day task, so I don't think there's much difference

That is until you realize that it's time for another annual king meeting

The real challenge becomes coming up with a good reason to excuse yourself from it

And all the nobles are helping you at this point

Sure, you could just not go, but Asmo might then leave the meeting to come and see you since he was so excited to meet you after so long

In the end Leviathan coems to save the day and hides you inside his coffin for as long as the need be

Phew

You're safe for another year

    ༺☆༻

To Lucifer, not seeing you for a long time is a good thing

It just means you're healthy and safe

But he does eventually start to miss you

And then Gamigin talks a bit too much and mentions that you've been avoiding Paradise Lost because of a dare

So whenever you need medical assistance one of the nobles has to do a house call

...

A house call?

That sounds unsanitary

Who even knows what germs and bacteria you might catch

Lucifer better make his way over to you for a surprise visit to make sure you're doing well

And no apples can save you from this doctor

[capquinn]

All your dad! Quinn works are absolutely perfect and adorable 🥹🥹 I can’t stop smiling and blushing thinking about all these scenarios you’re writing!!

I would love more dad pieces if you want to take on Quinn with a newborn during the season and he’s somehow effortlessly balancing the team responsibilities and being such a supportive and helping husband/bf with this next big chapter in life becoming parents!! 💙

Since his daughter was born, Quinn has been balancing life as team captain and new father with quiet commitment. Morning practices lead into nights spent rocking her to sleep, and he moves between both worlds with a steady, natural ease.

Every morning starts the same way, often before the sun has even risen, with the soft cry of his daughter stirring him awake. It’s a sound he’s learned to recognise instantly, one that pulls him from sleep without a second thought. Almost automatically, Quinn shifts in bed, reaching out to gently touch your side to silently tell you he’s up before slipping out from under the covers.

The bassinet sits close by, tucked into the corner of your shared room, and he moves towards it quietly, careful not to make too much noise. With a practiced gentleness, he scoops her up, cradling her tiny body against his chest. She fusses for a moment, little hands reaching out, but Quinn has grown accustomed to her needs, the small patterns that calm her.

He begins to sway slowly, his hand moving in soft, rhythmic circles across her back, his voice barely a whisper as he murmurs, “Shh… Daddy’s here. You’re alright.”

In these early morning hours, he feels the weight of fatherhood settle around him. There’s something about these moments, the stillness of the room, the soft hum of the early dawn, that prepares him for the day ahead. It’s not just his responsibility; it’s his privilege, a role he’s embraced completely.

When he hears you stir, sometimes catching you watching him from the bed, he’ll glance over, offering a soft smile, one that says he’s got this, that you can rest a little longer.

Later, as the day begins, Quinn makes a point to carve out time just for the three of you, finding moments of calm amid the morning routine. You settle on the sofa together, coffee in hand, your legs stretched out over his lap, while he cradles your daughter in one arm, his other hand absently tracing soft patterns over your leg. His touch is tender, his fingers moving in slow, familiar circles as he watches his daughter doze, her tiny hand curled around his thumb.

Every now and then, he glances at you, his gaze soft, as if savouring these few minutes of quiet family time before he needs to head out.

“It’s wild how much I miss this when I’m gone,” he murmurs, eyes lingering on her peaceful face, a hint of awe in his voice.

His fingers keep moving over your leg, each touch a quiet reminder of his presence, of his love for this small world you’ve created together.

And when it’s time to head out, he leans in close, brushing his lips softly against your forehead as you linger in the kitchen, then kisses the back of his daughter’s tiny hand, holding onto the warmth of home to carry with him into the day ahead.

After games, no matter how late or how worn out he is, Quinn’s first thought when he gets home is you. He steps through the door, eyes scanning the room, immediately looking for ways he can pick up where you left off. If he sees a pile of dishes in the sink, he rolls up his sleeves and quietly starts rinsing them, his movements calm and methodical, wanting to ease your load without disrupting the peace of the evening.

He’ll take over without a word if your daughter stirs, lifting her from the bassinet with a practiced gentleness. Even on nights when exhaustion is etched into his face, he holds her close, rocking her back and forth, whispering softly until she settles. Sometimes, he’ll glance over at you and give you a tired but reassuring smile, quietly telling you to rest while he handles it.

If he notices the little signs that you’ve had a long day too — a few things out of place, a half-empty cup of cold tea — he’ll gently steer you toward the sofa or the bedroom, encouraging you to take a moment for yourself.

“Go relax, get some rest,” he’ll say softly, a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll finish up here.”

There’s a steady dedication in his tone, a quiet promise that even in his most tired moments, he’s here to make things easier for you both.

And when he finally settles down beside you, it’s with a content sigh, an arm slipping around your shoulders as he pulls you close. These small, thoughtful gestures aren’t anything grand, but they add up, each one a reminder that he’s as much a partner as he is a father, fully present and endlessly devoted.

When Quinn is away, he settles into a familiar routine, making time every day to call, fitting in quick video chats and messages between team meetings and practices. Each call follows a comforting rhythm: he’ll ask about how you’re doing, listen to every little detail about his daughter, then share a bit about his own day, just to keep you both close, even from a distance. He’s always careful to call in the evenings too, timing it so he can catch her right before bedtime, watching on the screen as you rock her to sleep, his voice soft as he murmurs, “Goodnight, Bug. Love you,” knowing she can’t understand the words yet but hoping, somehow, she feels them.

But that routine didn’t come naturally at first. He remembers that first road trip, only a few weeks after she was born, and the way he’d delayed packing his bags, lingering at home as long as he could. He’d held her close that night, pressing a soft kiss to her head as he whispered, “I’ve gotta go to work for a little bit but I’ll be back soon,” his voice thick with the weight of those words. He felt the quiet ache of missing her even before he left, and though he tried to hide it, he’d caught your eyes welling up too, both of you navigating the bittersweet moment. Not quite ready for your tiny bubble to burst just yet.

From that trip onward, little rituals began to form, small gestures to bridge the distance. The night before each trip, Quinn spends extra time with her, rocking her a little longer, talking to her in a low, steady voice as if building a memory they can both hold onto. And when he leaves in the early morning hours, he always pauses at her bassinet, taking a quiet moment to brush his fingers over her tiny hand, his heart heavy with both pride and longing.

“Be back soon, Bug,” he’d whisper, careful not to wake her.

As he adjusts to life on the road with a family at home waiting for him, he finds ways to stay connected. Each morning, he starts his day with a message to you — a quick good morning, checking in to see how the night had been, letting you know he’s thinking of you and counting down the hours until he’s back by your side. He’ll send photos that capture pieces of his day he knows you’ll enjoy — a sunset over the city from his hotel room, a perfectly plated dinner from team meals, or the view from the bus on the way to the arena. And, just for you, he’ll sometimes snap a quick mirror picture in his suit, straightening his tie with a half-smile, even though he’s not a fan of selfies.

But a quiet gesture that started on the very first trip away is the flowers. He hated the idea of leaving you both so soon, with your daughter only weeks old, so he’d arranged for a bouquet to arrive that evening — a way of saying, “thinking of you both. Wish I was there.” From then on, every time he leaves for a road trip, a bunch of flowers shows up at your door in the early evening, right as the light softens, filling the room with the warmth he wishes he could bring himself. Sometimes it’s simple wildflowers, other times roses or soft-petaled lilies. Each bouquet is different, but the card is always the same:

For my girls. I’ll be back soon. Love, Q

On nights when your daughter is restless, the two of you fall into a rhythm, tag-teaming through the long hours. You take turns, each of you catching snippets of sleep between the cries and the soothing. Tonight, it’s technically your turn, but when her soft whimpers start up less than an hour after Quinn last got her back to sleep, he stirs, already aware of how worn out you are.

As he feels you begin to shift out of bed with a tired sigh, he rolls over, gently smoothing a hand over your waist to stop you.

“I’ll get her,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with sleep, but his touch warm and comforting.

Before you can protest, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, a quiet reassurance that he’s got it handled, really.

Then, without another word, he slips out of bed and pads softly across the room to her bassinet, leaning down to scoop her up, his hand resting gently on her back as he begins to sway. You watch him from where you lay, heart swelling with gratitude as he settles into the familiar rhythm of rocking her, his figure shadowed in the dim light. And as he hums softly, you can feel the weight lift just a bit, knowing he’s right there beside you, sharing every sleepless moment, every soft whisper, every ounce of love that fills these quiet hours.

Fatherhood may be new, but the way he carries it makes it look like it’s always been a part of him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[hxney-lemcn]

Cuddling Headcanons — Jade & Floyd Leech x gn! reader

tw: none.

a/n: I know I already wrote affection headcanons for all the NRC students, but I had a dream about hugging Floyd and needed to write about cuddling the eel.

wc: 1k

Master List

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Jade Leech

❥Jade is a bit stiff when it comes to physical affection. Your hugs are met with light pats to the back. Just give him some time and start with small things. Jade, unlike his brother, isn’t as well versed in expressing his emotions so openly. He’ll try for you though, but only in private, he’s not comfortable with being vulnerable by himself, let alone in front of others.

❥Expresses his affection more subtly than Floyd, whether that be giving you gifts or helping you with any troubles. If you really want to hold on to him he’s more open to gentlemanly shows of affection like linking elbows or kissing the back of your hand. He’s amused at your want for affection and can’t help but give in even if it’s just slightly (also enjoys showing you off in a way that isn’t overly affectionate).

❥When you’re alone? He’s more open to any hugging you have in mind. Over time the awkward pats on your back will turn into a firm hug. You’re very lucky, he doesn’t even hug his brother like this. Like Floyd, his body temperature depends on his environment, so he won’t be warm per say, but he is tall and his hugs make you feel shielded from the rest of the world. He will tease you about how affectionate you are (even if you aren’t super affectionate), calls you clingy but makes no move to let go. 

❥Cuddling is another thing Jade has to get used to. So, so stiff at first. Over time he gets used to it, understanding how you want him to hold you or if you want to hold him (he finds the second option much more amusing). It’s not something he’ll crave, but he also enjoys the warmth you provide (both physically and emotionally). It’s in these moments that he finds himself willing to be just a bit more vulnerable with you, kissing your temple softly and tracing your features with his eyes. Finds it amusing and heartwarming that you’re willing to be so vulnerable in front of a predator like him.

❥Mornings are so domestic. Jade will typically wake first, go through his morning routine and wake you after. If he’s feeling a bit extra he’ll make you breakfast in bed, revealing just how sappy he actually was deep down. On the rare occasion you wake up before/with Jade, he finds the way you both walk around each other, doing your separate routine’s to be his favorite moment. How well you both know each other, and are comfortable you are with the other. It doesn’t fail to warm his heart. He’ll be hesitant if you ask to do his hair, he has a very specific routine to make himself look professional…but your puppy dog eyes do work on him no matter how much he argues otherwise.

❥Even Jade’s sleepwear is classy, you almost feel hesitant to touch it…almost. Unlike Floyd’s pajamas (which are baggy on him, can’t imagine how baggy they’d be on you), Jade’s are silky and smooth…also very baggy on you. He can’t help the predatory smile that tugs on his lips when he sees you in them, perhaps even he can feel a bit of cute aggression. But he doesn’t squeeze you, instead he admires you when you give him a twirl, flapping the sleeves that engulf your hands. He doesn’t mind sharing with you, not as long as you keep this view between the two of you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Floyd Leech

❥Let me just say this out front, hugging Floyd is so comfy. He may not be super warm (moray eels are ectotherms which means their body temps depend on their environment), but the way he holds you so snuggly more than makes up for that. If you’re touch starved he’ll be your best bud. An excuse to squeeze someone? Sign him up. A willing victim to his shenanigans is welcome in his book (although he finds himself a bit downtrodden that you don’t run away from him anymore, he liked the chase).

❥Loves love loves touching you. Whenever he sees you he just gets the urge to squeeze you, but not like his normal squeezes where he wants the person to pop. No, he wants to squeeze you because of the fluttery feeling he gets in his chest. Cute aggression to the max. He doesn’t just hug you though, he likes to swing your intertwined hands or carries you around (depends how he’s feeling). 

❥Cuddling with him is a one way ticket to being stuck for hours. He loves draping himself over you like a weighted blanket. Maybe not fully laying on top of you, but you lay side by side facing each other and he’s got an arm and leg splayed over you. Floyd basically cocoons you in his hold, basking in the warmth both you and the blankets provided him. Loves love loves feeling you snuggle into him, he gets all happy and squeezes you just a bit tighter.

❥In the morning you never know what mood Floyd will be in. Some days he’s extra sleepy and will try and get you to stay with him (it’s hard to say no with him nuzzling his face into your messy hair), other days he’s bouncing off the wall, wanting you to get up early with him and start the day off with a bang. No matter what he’ll be asking you to help him with his morning routine, specifically fixing his hair. He has such a terrible bedhead that it never fails to amuse you. Floyd just loves to feel your hands in his hair, so who better to style it than you? 

❥Steal his clothes. Do it. Okay maybe I want to steal his sleepwear ‘cus it looks so comfy. His reaction depends on how he’s feeling. If he’s in a happier mood he’ll coo and tease you for stealing his clothes, makes him wanna wrap you up and keep you all to himself. If he's in a pissed mood, he won’t take too kindly. He was already having a bad day and now you’re wearing the exact hoodie he wanted to throw on. It might seem like he’s being a drama queen but if you’ve been looking forward to something (especially when you’re having a bad day) and someone took it you wouldn’t be too happy either. So don’t fight him, let him take the hoodie (and steal a different one).

[no-passaran]

Studies in many countries have found that needing glasses or having the wrong prescription (usually that means wearing old glasses when eyesight has worsened over time) is one of the main causes for school failure. A study by Spain's General Council of Optometrists concluded that 30% of school failure is due to this. I don't know how accurate the number is since it's a study by an organisation with monetary interest in the matter, but regardless of how accurate the exact number is, there's no doubt that it's a problem. I had it myself for some time when I was in high school, and when I finally got glasses and could see the blackboard, school suddenly became so much easier (I could accurately write down notes and didn't spend so long trying to figure out what it says that I didn't have time to write down all the relevant information, thus I could study for exams with all the information needed, and without all the headache given by the effort). School would become so much easier to so many people with the simple change of getting glasses.

Other countries and age groups have found the same. According to Johns Hopkins University (USA):

The American Academy of Ophthalmology estimates that 80 percent of all learning during a child's first 12 years comes through the eyes. Now consider that 10 percent of preschoolers and 25 percent of kids in grades K through six have vision deficiencies, according to the American Public Health Association. Furthermore, many youngsters are misdiagnosed with learning disabilities when they actually have an undetected vision problem.

A study conducted with over 3,000 students in China found that providing free glasses to school children significantly improved their performance in mathematics. They found that whether the children group was given free glasses had an even bigger impact on the child's results than how much education their parents have or family wealth.

This is a problem for all people, because it can be difficult to detect that you see worse than you're supposed to (unless it was a quick deterioration or you have compared your sight with others, you're used to how you see so you often assume that's the normal way to see). It's even worse in the case of children, because they might be less aware of eye problems and in some cases adults don't react when they are told by the child or when they see the clues that the child doesn't see well enough. But, above all, it's also a class issue that is way worse in "third world countries", rural areas, and poor families who can't afford the glasses or a visit to the eye doctor.

Poor vision is the most common impairment affecting school aged children in the developing world, comprising 48% of all disability among children aged 5 to 9 years in the India census of 2001. (source)

Myopia is on the rise, it has even been called the 21st century pandemic. Same way as some countries already provide a free dentist visit in schools, it would be very useful if schools also had an eye doctor come in to make sure all children are checked. Of course, adding eye doctors to the free universal healthcare system is also very important to ensure everyone can get the treatment they need.

Going back to OP's point, none of this means that people who wear glasses in "1st world countries" should be necessarily considered disabled, but bad eye sight can definitely be a disability and have consequences, and there are things we can do to make it better. I wish I could have had these things when I was in high school!

Made the mistake of bringing up that needing glasses is a disability on tiktok and people got real mad.

“You can fix it with glasses” yeah, cuz they’re a disability aid? But like, I still have to pay 160 bucks to use my own fucking eyes?

Like, by definition, if your eyes do not work without aid, you have a disability to see.

Having a disability doesn’t automatically put you in what people consider the “disabled” category, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is in fact, a disability.