#Please someone also do something with this

[hazelrose3637]

Reblogging as a reminder that while, yes, we shouldn't hate anybody...

The problem isn't that the left hates men. If you just came from the alt-right, and there are people who aren't nice to you, that's a normal reaction. And it's not because you're a man, or white, or any other "immutable trait."

It's because they don't know why you suddenly decided to switch. Do you actually see the error of your ways? Are you working to undo everything the alt-right has done? Or is it more surface-level?

And while it's great you aren't directly part of the alt-right anymore, that doesn't mean biases go away overnight. Keep learning, keep talking, and keep working to dismantle all those biases you have and the systems in place that keep them there.

Don't just say you support the left. Prove it. So many people are hurting and scared, and they're not suddenly going to give someone a chance because he just switched sides.

Men aren't the scum of the earth. No one is, regardless of any "immutable traits." But a lot of people judge actions.

So, TL;DR, if someone doesn't suddenly call you a friend, that's ok. Maybe you need to give them more time, or maybe you'll never be friends, but you at least can be allies. And please, whatever you decide to do, be mindful of your actions. They define your character.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[minnies-puppydoll]

hi!! i really really REALLY love your works so far like USHDNSKSKJZZBNS THEY ARE SO GOOD AND FIT THEM AND JUST THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR HARD WORK

uhm, so uh, i would like to order a skz reaction when they are needy, please. like when they are so desperate and just yearn to fuck or be fucked i dont mind. thank you so much!! 🫶

OT8 HCS:

*~When they’re needy~*

pairing: ot8 x reader

tags: cum, toys, anal, sounding, begging, degredation, praise :3

thank you for ordering!! do you need a recipt?🐶

smut below the cut<3

Chris:

• gets so flirty.

• like he’s usually flirtatious, but when he actually wants it to go somewhere he so extremely smooth with it.

• but it also turns into dirty talk real fast. he’ll spill filthy things into your ears or messages.

• or he’ll send you quick little texts like:

you should come over ha ha..not unless u want too <3

• dick pic sender!! his big, leaky cock twitches under the exposure of his camera, he bites his lip as he snaps the picture. he giggles despite feeling dirty, because a part of him likes being teased.

• he ends up getting himself more worked up on accident. he doesn’t want to jerk off or anything because he wants to save his cum for you. but, he can’t resist touching himself, so he’ll just tease his cock so bad.

• you may come home and see your sexy boyfriend laid out on the couch red-faced and breathing heavy with the bottom of his shirt between his teeth. he’ll run his fingers along his red, dripping cock lightly, whining and squirming his hips at the torture.

• he thinks you’re cute, so he likes to touch you up and tease you.

• honestly is a bit shy to say outright the he “wants to have sex” so he’ll play with you until you’re begging to fuck. (depends on his mood)

• or sometimes he’ll let his actions speak louder, by kissing you as soon as you walk through the door, pressing his hard cock onto your thigh so you can feel how much he thought of you.

“mmh..yeah, feel that? feel me? been like this all day, teasing my cock just for you. its my turn to feel you, hm?”

Minho:

• can’t focus on shit.

• he sees horniness as an annoying ache. he’s so distracted easily, he’s daydreaming about sex, and he’s uncomfortable, he just wants to relieve the desire burning his core.

• so sensitive too, especially when he’s daydreaming. someone touches his shoulder and he’s flinching, if someone whispers something in his ear he’s shuddering.

• he used to be too proud to say he’s horny. but you could see through his curt, sarcastic attitude by how clingy he would get around YOU. the only one that could fix it.

• so because of his attitude, he used to just spam text you a bunch of things for attention. it’s like as soon as he’s horny, he’s laying himself over you like a cat.

• but now, he’s way more comfortable, maybe even too comfortable.

• he’ll just send you a selfie with a dumbass filter and text:

come to the bathroom and suck me off🐰

• like bro what💀 it always works though..

• doesn’t send dick pics. even if he’s away he’ll just facetime you if you wanna see his dick so bad. he’ll pour lube down his cock and jerk himself off so slowly, always shows his blissed out face too.

• when he’s finally got his hands on you, he’s too focused on getting himself off to say anything to you really. but, if you keep him waiting long enough, you’ll hear his frustration.

“can we fuck? like right now? ….please. ill eat you out. i know you can’t say no to something like that.”

Changbin:

• if he’s at the studio, you won’t even notice. you can only tell by the impatient bouncing of his leg and his nervous lip bites.

• once he has you alone, he’s placing a soft hold on your waist, nuzzling your noses and whispering such cute things that equally make you giggle and want to bite on his lips.

• his foreplay consists of soft grabs and sweet kisses that get deeper and deeper until he’s got you straddling him, not breaking the intimate makeout session you’re sharing.

• very comfortable telling you when he’s horny, even if pink still hues his cheeks a little.

• very cute about dick pics. he doesn’t send them unless you tell him to, and the first time he did, he was so excited and aroused. he looked around from his phone, seeing if anyone noticed the flushed expression he had in his face.

• he snuck to the bathroom and sprung his thick cock out of his boxers, he fumbled with the camera for a while, not really knowing how to take a picture of it?

• he snaps a cute picture of his short cock leaking a thin string of precum on his finger. the picture and situation turned him on so much he was begging you to let him jerk off.

• when you aren’t home, he’s usually patient, but you can’t ignore things forever..

• you guys own a few toys, so he’ll pick a few from the drawer that he hasn’t tried yet and play with his cock until you get home.

• it’ll be a pretty picture when you do too. he’ll be on his hands and knees, lightly fucking a small, pink buttplug in and out of his ass, begging for you too finish him off.

“ahn- welcome home, sweet girl… mphh..need your soft pussy on my cock. please please- fuck me with this in?”

Hyunjin:

• stares at you alot.

• he’ll look up at you with such a sweet, loving gaze, analyzing every part of you like a nostalgic toy.

• he loooves frotting. he’ll show you how needy he is for you by rubbing his sweet hard-on along your clothed tummy till his precum stains his pants. its like he’s magnetically drawn to you when he’s hard.

• comfortable telling you when he’s horny. he’ll tell you when you guys are alone/able to, so you don’t feel pressured to make time for his desires, especially when you’re busy or having fun.

• sends way more bulge pics than dick pics. some of his long, hard cock in his sweatpants, maybe his pretty hand gripping the length of it.

• sends vids too, he’ll send you one of him teasing his cockhead with a thick paintbrush of his, begging you to come home and do it instead.

• when you aren’t home, he’ll jerk himself through the silk of his pajama pants, stopping when he’s close to cumming. or he’ll roll his hips into mattress, pretending it’s your wet pussy.

• and when you do get home, he’s meeting you at the door. his hair is messy and he’s somewhat panting. he’ll step closer to you till his lips rest in your hair, and his hips are the only part of him you can promenantly see.

• he’ll pull his sensitive cock out from his cozy pants, jerking himself off right in front of your eyes, his tip pressing onto your shirt. his breath will hitch and he’ll hide his face in your hair, moaning in realization that he’s finally gonna cum.

• it squirts onto your sweatshirt, pumping out of his cock with small, audible thuds. his cum seeps messily into clothes, as he wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck.

“mm- fuck…so fucking turned on right now..you see what you do to me? oh god..g’nna cum- gonna fucking cum..”

Han:

• act suprised, he’s pathetic.

• literally dissasociated. he wants you so bad he doesn’t even care about whats happening if it isn’t related to you.

• if you aren’t home, he’ll lay in bed, gripping the sheets around him and even stripping down because of how hot his body gets when he thinks about you.

• no indescribable force could keep this man from jerking off. babe as soon as he gets home and shuts the door behind him, he’s leaning on that shit and quickly unzipping his cock free.

• he’ll be still setting down his bag while he’s twitching and jerking from stroking his cock. as soon as he’s done, he plops down on the bed and continues to jerk himself off till he cums for the first time that day.

• oh he sends dick pics. but weirdly only when he’s in public or at work, never at home. you can’t count how many pictures of his hard cock he’s sent from bathrooms, practice rooms, dressing rooms and even in this hoe’s car.

• when you are home, he’s holding your hands and begging for you to have some type of sex with him. he doesn’t card if your pegging, he’s fucking, he’s domming, or he’s subbing or whatever, he just needs to feel you on him.

• if you say anything other than yes immediately, he’s dropping to his knees and looking up at you, saying such useless, pathetic words in hopes to get himself fucked.

“please! please please- i’ll be such a good boy…just need it. need it so bad it hurts. i’ll take whatever you give me..”

Felix:

• so clingy and desperate.

• but, he’s so happy he has someone to fuck so he doesn’t have to suffer alone.

• biggest pleaser. he’ll pull you into a deep hug, reaching a hand down to toy with your clothed clit, eating up every noise you make.

• he likes clear communication so he’ll just text you and ask when you are returning home.

• his dick pics are usually tame. pictures of him pulling up his sweater so you can see his freckled abs and leaky cock. or he sends videos of his long cock squirting in the company bathrooms, you can only hear the cute splashing sounds and his whiny little gasps, trying to stay quiet.

• but, when he feels really turned on, he might even send little slutty videos of his cute cock humping his pillow till he shoots cum all over the fabric, or maybe one of him sounding his cock slit till his eyes roll back from a dry prostate orgasm.

• felix is a WHORE. so u guys do in fact have large toy drawer☺️

• when you aren’t home he either fucks his ass with one of your old dildos, or humps some other object of yours. though it’s softer than it sounds, he just loves you!

• coming home is the best. on the bed, he’ll be sat up on his knees, holding your shoulders and kissing you messily. his back is arched toward you as you tug on his cock to completion. he may not have the energy left to pound you, but it’s the best suprise ever.

“mmph..ffuck- can’t hold it anymore..mm- ah! your hands- ah..faster faster please..i can take it.”

Seungmin:

• you would think he’s in pain or something.

• it starts off with him just scrolling on his phone, and when he starts getting horny he may just reach a hand down there to softly rub his cock through his pants.

• then, he’ll look away from his phone, feeling it get more intense. his cock starts getting antsy, so he’ll text you when you’re coming home.

• finally, his phone is discarded. he decided to take a cold shower before he got sweat on his bed. but, it didn’t help much. the water hitting his cock made him hiss through his teeth.

• before he knew it, he had the showerhead in his hand, turning the water pressure up and letting it hit his cock. eyes rolling back and trembling before his cock squirts all over the shower wall.

• he doesn’t send pictures like at all. he’ll just explain through words how he’s feeling. he finds it awkward and strange.

• but he’ll send the prettiest voice messages of him groaning your name and the sloppy sounds of his cock.

• when he does get his hands on you, its desperate, not like jisung desperate but like he’s kissing you quickly and deeper, holding the side of your face.

• will pound you like he hasn’t cum in years, unintentionally holding you down and forcing his cock deeper.

“needed this. fucking needed this..nothing’s better. hm? slutty pussy’s all mine right? tightest fucking hole.”

Jeongin:

• being horny is his favorite.

• he’ll position himself in front of his mirror, smiling and spreading precum on his tip.

• he doesn’t usually wait for you, because he likes teasing you anyway, he likes it when you beg him to fuck you instead of his hand or his fleshlight. but he may wait for a little while.

• he’ll walk around in his grey sweatpants, making dinner and washing dishes while his hard cock bulges and twitches excitedly when he frots against the counter.

• genuinely the king of dick pics. he knows his cock is pretty, so every time he’s hard he’s having a full photoshoot before he jerks off. has folders in his camera roll full of just his dick.

• prefers taking pictures when you are there. so he can have a pretty pic of you mouthing and nuzzling into his bulge. his good girl.

• excited for you to come home and beg for him to fuck you again. he’ll pull his fleshlight from his closet, steadily moving it up and down on his cock, waiting for you to find him like this.

“wish this was your slutty cunt i was fucking? mm..sorry. i don’t think i can stop now. gonna cry? go ahead. ah..she’s tight too. ill waste my cum in this toy if you don’t start begging.”

[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 🫂

[chanafehs]

My Veilguard review:

Note - I will be honest in saying this is very long and very negative. If you enjoy this game please don't let me be the one to ruin that for you and skip on this post. I will be discussing spoilers. This is just my opinion so please don't crucify me for it.

I think my thoughts about this game were shaky to begin with as I had been exposed to different spoilers and information before the launch. I wasn’t actually expecting this game to be amazing but as someone whose favorite Dragon Age game is Dragon Age 2, which is arguably the weakest in the series (until now), I still went in with the impression I would have a good time regardless. I did not have that at all, in fact towards the end of Act 2 and the beginning of Act 3 all I wanted was for the game to be over. 

The problems for me really started right in the beginning with the Inquisitor character choices and their characterization. No choices for your Warden, no choices for your Hawke, and only three choices for your Inquisitor out of the dozens you made in Inquisition. The romance option just felt like a very polite way of asking if you romanced Solas or not, especially after completing the game where your non-solas romance will only get one letter for you to read, outside of that, the Inquisitor will not even mention them. Disbanding the Inquisition meant basically nothing and vowing to stop Solas felt like it had little bearing on what my Inquisitor said when she showed up. 

The time frame to make Dragon Age 2 was just over a year and somehow included more choices from Origins than Veilguard did with over ten years of production. That is the information that's been banging around in my head throughout this entire game. In Dragon Age 2, we get the consequences of our decisions with Alistair’s fate and we get extra dialogue concerning Isabela/Zevran/Leliana/Anders/Nathaniel + some sidequests. Veilguard couldn’t even give us so much of a mention of our Inquisitor’s friendships and the consequences of those friendships outside of Solas. The Inquisitors themselves are locked into one personality type as well, and regardless if you choose to stop Solas or not, they are very amicable toward him. 

During the second cut scene you get with the Inquisitor in Dock Town, they will go on to ask you about your progress and then go on about Solas. Mind you, my Inquisitor is extremely unsympathetic to Solas and I chose the option to stop him no matter what, so why is it that every time I speak to her, she keeps trying to ask me if Solas is being genuine and that he was her friend? That doesn’t sound like someone who has vowed to stop him. They will also try to draw parallels between you, Rook, and Solas. Even at the end of the game, they will still try to appeal to you to see reason with him. That is essentially all the Inquisitor is there for. Incredibly frustrating. 

Throughout the game you will get missives from the Inquisitor detailing the devastation that is being brought to southern Thedas and every letter feels like more and more of an insult. To keep it short: Southern Thedas as we know it has been essentially wiped out. I think that deserves more than a footnote in some missive most players aren’t even going to see.

So the setting we spent all three games in, that we saved countless times, had our companions and protagonists die for, gets demolished in the background where we cannot see it. Skyhold had to be taken back from demons and whoops, that's not actually something you can do anything about. Nothing the Warden, Hawke, or the Inquisitor ever did mattered at all and it renders everything from the previous games absolutely irrelevant. 

With that aside, the companions are also another issue for me. I found myself having trouble getting attached to any of them and every single time I recruited one I had the internal question “Why are you even here?” None of their companion quests really tie into the story at large, save maybe Harding and Davrin, and they are incredibly boring save for a few cool moments.

The main appeal of Dragon Age for me is the companions, it’s why Dragon Age 2 is my favorite of the series. Despite the overused environments and the rushed production I still had a great time with it because of the companions. I was actually eager to do the companion quests and learn more about them and how they all fit into the main narrative. Even characters I didn’t like, I still understood why they were important to the story. Like I can’t stand Anders but I know why he is there, he has a purpose.

Every companion is painfully amicable towards you even if you decide to be “stern” towards them. I found myself not caring what dialogue option I chose about them because it made absolutely no difference. There is nice, funny nice, and gentle parenting. That is really all you have to work with in terms of the dialogue wheel. It was more difficult to get disapproval than approval and I can probably count on my fingers every time in this game I actually got companion disapproval. There is only one companion in my playthrough that became hardened, Lucanis, and it had virtually no impact on his character other than the fact he leaves for a couple of saves and comes back to kissing your ass. 

Something I actually really liked about BG3 and the previous Dragon Age games was working for your companion approval - this meant actually learning about your companion and what made them tick. If you don't understand them well enough you get disapproval, when you actually listen to their ideas and thoughts you get approval - there is an active effort to get these things. In Veilguard this does not exist and you are essentially promised approval no matter what, meaning there is no encouragement to know who these people are if they're just going to support you regardless.

I have to agree with the Skillup review they made about this game saying that every dialogue option feels like it was made with HR in the room and I one hundred percent agree. This is not how real people talk to each other. This is how teachers talk to toddlers when they want to explain the virtues of sharing toys with their classmates.

It felt honestly insulting at times to be treated like I don’t understand the concept of bigotry, I still have no idea what they were trying to go for with this, like were they trying to appeal to a market of high school boys who hadn’t discovered what empathy was yet? There is zero trust in the player and every dialogue and decision you make in these moments feels handhold-y and preachy. Like Pixar levels of life lessons you learn.

In the moments where I had to settle arguments over coffee and companions not respecting each other's interests, I could not honestly believe this is the same universe with Loghain Mac Tir, Meredith Stannard, fuck even Corypheus. Humor has always existed in Dragon Age and I love the comedic banter between the characters but it was always humor that served as an escape from the oppressive and dark situation around you, here the dark and oppressive situations feel like an escape from the unrelenting friendliness and tone deafness of your companions. 

The companion I probably had the most issue with was Taash and the way they were handled. I’m not going to get too deep into the Bharv scene because even thinking about it makes me cringe but If someone messed up my pronouns and then immediately dropped to do pushups I am most definitely killing us both. Isabela’s explanation is extremely preachy and she proceeds to do the exact thing she says she hates about people messing up pronouns. Anyways. Moving on. 

Taash I think is a good example of how to not write a multiethnic character. I don’t expect a white person like Trick Weekes to understand the first thing that comes with being multiethnic or having strict parents that intersects with that identity but it is most definitely not whatever the hell this is. 

The only thing I can offer here is that as a multiethnic person (my father is Palestinian and my mother is mainly Irish and Seminole) is that there has never been a point in my life where I felt like I had to choose what culture I am let alone give that choice to someone else in my life I just met.

That’s not what being multiethnic is. I do not have to choose between anything - I am whole and I don't need to cut myself into halves and quarters to be accepted.

It also feels subconsciously like you are supposed to choose Rivain as the Qunari are depicted as bigoted and oppressive as they always have been in this game. Knowing all of this really tainted my experiences with them as a character and I understand a lot of other non-binary individuals love the representation they brought on that level but personally, I’m just tired of “queer representation” always coming with racist undertones. Again, this game feels like it always had white queer people in mind, not lgbt poc. 

These kinds of comments are really only made worse knowing what the Qunari take inspiration from - primarily Black and Brown SWANA Muslims. Why should Trick Weekes have any authority over a questline like that is beyond me. 

Also, this sucked. Especially because they said it to Neve too. I don’t really want my non-binary representation sprinkled with Misogyny as well, especially since we can’t really call Taash out on this comment unless you’re playing a woman (as far as I know).

Aside from Taash, I thought the writing around Harding was strange. Don’t me wrong, I love Harding, but I do not remember her being this friendly and people-pleasing in the Inquisition. If you play as a Dalish elf the first thing she says is she’s surprised that you would care about anyone else - there is absolutely no inclination of this kind of perspective in Veilguard. Additionally, despite knowing everything Solas has done and the consequences that had on her ancestors, she still tries to push you to reason with him?

All of her quests about learning about the Titans, experiencing and embracing their anger, and you still want to appeal to Solas? That was another thing I found so weird about this game, throughout the entire story you are being told again and again that Solas cannot be trusted, he is to blame for everything, and will stab you in the back and yet it seems like every companion tries to push back on you if you agree with this viewpoint? 

Also, something I didn't know at this point of the game but I do now is that Solas had killed Varric and she does know this so why is she acting like this knowing Solas had killed her friend who she spent years with?

Genuinely this whole game felt like: Devs: Solas is a villain

Rook: okay understood

Devs: actually nvm you don't understand him if you think he's a villain

The only companion quests I was actually genuinely interested in were Emmrich and his thoughts around death and becoming a lich. Lucanis' quests had the best boss fights for sure. Outside of that, it felt like “Go here with Bellara” or “Go here with Taash” and it got so grating I couldn’t wait for these quests to be over so I could progress with the main story. It felt like an annoying back-and-forth game to finish a main quest just to finish all the companion quests and then go back to the main quest. Like a list of chores to get through before you can have any fun. 

The inclusion of characters like Morrigan and Isabela in this universe was extremely hollow and they do not feel like the Morrigan and Isabela we know at all. With Morrigan there is a bit of an explanation to this with the essence of Mythal however she reiterates that it is still herself and it is only the memories of Mythal that remain inside of her.

In my canon playthroughs of Dragon Age, I romanced both Morrigan and Isabela, so I was curious to see how the developers would address their pasts with our Warden and Hawke. Unfortunately, the answer is that they don’t address it at all. Morrigan hardly mentions her past, leaving us to wonder if Kieran even exists. The game implies that the relationship between Morrigan and the Warden is insignificant; a codex entry oddly suggests, in a very slut-shamey way, that Morrigan had more lovers than there are trees in the forest. Isabela doesn't reference Hawke either, as she fondly remembers Kirkwall for found family and friendship. It seems that if you romanced Isabela or Morrigan, congratulations—your canon doesn’t exist.

I will echo the statement others have made about all the cameos feeling like mascots because that is really what they are. There is no substance to any of them, Isabela only feels like she is there to be a supportive voice for Taash, Morrigan will only really talk about Solas and Mythal-Dorian is the only one who actually gets a substantial quest related to him. I thought he was fine minus the "illegal slavery" bit because what is illegal slavery Dorian. Next up we will discuss legal murder.

Another thing that genuinely broke the immersion for me in this game is how awful the armor is. It is a Dragon Age game so I wasn't expecting Haute Couture but the design is all over the place and nothing looks right. Not to mention the extremely weird orientalist undertones that follow the Lords of Fortune everywhere. The outfit Isabela is wearing is even worse in person and I tried to give this game the benefit of the doubt by thinking we would be getting some underwater mission with her and that would be the explanation behind her bikini outfit - this did not happen.

The belly dancer-esque outfits with the coin-bedazzled turbans were pretty egregious and made me want to limit my time in Rivain as much as possible. For a game released in 2024, I am disappointed we are still dealing with the same Orientalist fantasy tropes. Even the Qunari are more naked in this game than I had ever seen previously. At least DA2 and DAI gave them pants. But hey the Antaam are all blighted and evil so who cares right.

Speaking of the Antaam, a lot of the antagonist motivations for this game genuinely did not make sense to me. The Antaam are suddenly giving up their fear of magic to pair up with...the Venatori? To fight for the elven gods? It honestly felt like they had no idea who to make fight for the Evanuris so they just pulled two of the baddies from the Inquisition and went "We can just use them and call it done". When you press for information on why this is the answer is always a mustache-twirling dialogue about power. Nothing much deeper from that than any of the villains besides Solas. All of the villains, especially Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, are extremely one-dimensional and have no motivations other than being evil and striving for power. At least Corypheus had cool lines.

I'm not going to get too deep into lore changes since I know a lot of things happened in the comics, books, and TV show (all of which I did not read or watch) but I honestly do think it's a bad idea to have a "soft reboot" while needing to read several books to understand everything. That's not being welcoming to new players that's homework. If you wanted a soft reboot probably don't start off with half your plot and characters coming from various comics and novels people need to catch up on.

The portrayal of the Dalish in this game is inconsistent. When we inform them that their gods are evil and planning to overthrow the world, they respond, "Okay, heard you." How can they accept this explanation so readily? In previous interactions, Solas shared that the Dalish did not listen to him and even threatened him when he revealed this truth. Yet, when we present the same information, they believe us almost immediately. Is there no pushback or skepticism? The Dalish accept everything about the evil elven gods meanwhile Andraste’s followers remain completely unaffected by these revelations.

I think what frustrated me even more was watching our elven companions express grief and regret over the actions of the elven gods like they had something to do with it, painting the Dalish as adjacent to oppressors when they themselves are oppressed in every way. The only thing that remains consistent is the sad boy Solas act about it.

At the end of the game, two of my companions - Harding and Emmrich- were killed. Emmrich's death was unfortunately overshadowed by a zoom-in on a rock and I had no idea he had died until I got the popup. Still, all I can think about is just going "Rock moment" when he died. I don't really have anything negative to say about Harding's death other than the way she went out was fitting for her narrative. Bellara got blighted and there were no consequences for this and she walked away from it - forgive me but I am still under the DAO impression that if you get blighted that's game over but all the rules about the Blight have been changed in this.

I decided to trick Solas, and honestly, I don’t have anything negative to say about it, except that Solas should have noticed me holding the fake dagger since it was clearly in his line of sight. I liked the idea of outsmarting the god of trickery. While it wasn’t extremely satisfying, but I’m okay with how it turned out.

Even as the credits began rolling I still have trouble believing rook's role in any of this. Just the persistent nagging idea that they really just have no place in this story at all. In the beginning I wanted to see how Rook is looped into all of this and how they become central to the fight against Solas but just like with most of the companions, I have no idea why they are here. This should've been the Inquisitor's story to finish.

I'm not going to pretend that everything about this game was irredeemable and terrible. There were genuinely parts I enjoyed and had a good time with. The romance ending scene with Neve was fantastic, even though it took a long time to get there. Davrin was an unexpected aspect of the game that I actually liked, as I never cared much for Grey Wardens before, but he changed my perspective. Harding's mention of the Inquisition was also very sweet. Although I wasn't particularly invested in Emmrich, I loved the conclusion to his quest when he became a lich lord.

While I'm not the biggest Solas fan, I actually really enjoyed the cutscenes between him and Rook because one of my aims with this game was the ability to be mean to Solas and kick him while he was down. They definitely delivered there even though everyone else kept disagreeing with me.

The worlds are beautiful and the CC is definitely the best we've gotten in any Dragon Age game, I spent probably a solid hour in there. The hairstyles are great and the four unibrow choices? Bioware you shouldn't have <3.

Overall I definitely didn't have the best time with this game and towards the end of act 2 I was incredibly bored and the combat became repetitive and stagnant enough that I turned down the difficulty to get through it faster. I can't see myself replaying this any time soon and I am unsure what my stance on Dragon Age is now, do I Ignore this game ever existed or do I carve out everything I liked and pretend this is the Dragon Age I love? I have no idea, I am disappointed at how this game leaves us off and I really wanted to sit here and say It's good but I can't.

I think this game will reach out to and resonate with a different group of Dragon Age fans than me, I just wish I could enjoy it as much as I see other people doing. I was originally going to give this game a 3/10 but knowing you can pet the cats I will give it a very generous 3.5/10.

[garuda4321]

Don’t worry, I’ve been told I’ll get advanced notice if the world is ending from my buddy in Poland. I’ll make sure to keep you all posted on that. Of course, he also had an interesting thing to tell me, which I will quote because I think a lot of folks need to hear this. However, saving that for a little bit later because I feel like folks could use a bit of a motivational speech (I gave my first one today focused on hope, and boy do we need it).

Here goes.

I want to start by reminding people that it’s ok to feel. Whether that’s anger, sadness, hope, happiness, or whatever else you’re feeling, it is ok to feel them. Emotions should not be suppressed. I work very hard to ensure that I am a part of a community that is not only safe, but somewhere I can call home. I am always willing to invite more people into my home, especially in times of need as feeling safe is something everyone deserves.

I know that when faced with outcomes such as these, it is considerably easier to live with a victory than a loss. This is why this I am speaking about hope, having hope. I understand that not everyone has hope right now. If you do have it, please try to share some of that hope with those that do not have it. If you do not have it, hopefully you can find some in this reblog.

I am fairly certain that everyone has had the experience when something doesn’t go their way. In the realm of Ninja (the obstacle course racing variety), this is rampant. Perhaps we fell on the first obstacle of a course, or perhaps we missed qualifying for finals by mere seconds. When this happens, we have two choices. We can either stay down and let the negativity eat away at us, or we can get back up and keep training and trying until we reach our goal.

Unfortunately, we can only do that during training. On a course, when we fail obstacle one, that’s it, we don’t get a second chance. We don’t have that choice to stay down or get back up as we can’t change the outcome. As depressing as that sounds, it’s true.

You can’t change what happened and you don’t get the choice to “get up and try it again”. But we don’t have to sit and cry, complain, or hide from it either. We don’t have to give up.

Right now, there are lots of us that are down. We have communities that we feel safe and welcome in to support us when we need them. Together, as we refuse to give up, we can do each and every thing to help better our communities. It may not be a large difference, but a difference is a difference, and a difference matters! We can leave a smile, a compliment, or even a positive message behind because if someone is having a rough day, those small actions can make a large difference for them.

I encourage you to try to bridge outside of your comfort zone and meet new people, join new communities and try to spread some positivity in the world. I did so earlier today by giving a very similar speech to this one and again now by posting an abbreviated version of it. Do your best to make a difference with all people, no matter who they are, what they look like, or what they stand for. Because we will overcome whatever is thrown our way together, and by helping those that are struggling to overcome their own obstacles. We will believe and we will have faith. We may not know who or what to believe in, but we all know that we can believe in each other.

To finish us off, that quote from my friend in Poland.

“Remember that life is a long distance race. In a few months, a lot will change. In a few years, whole world will look completely different. Don’t lose your energy and faith in being a good person. World will need good people.”

Choose to be kind, caring, compassionate, and empathetic.

I’m signing off for now, maybe I’ll return with the next one I end up giving.

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧.

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; vil's signature spell is hot, and you end up telling him that

— notes; this is. very self indulgent. I CANNOT HELP IT IF I FIND HIS SIGNATURE SPELL HOT, DO NOT JUDGE ME. also please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ The first time Vil tells you about his signature spell, it’s in an almost offhand manner, like he’s listing his numerous accomplishments or talking about the weather. He’s used to people responding with awe — or fear — because of how powerful and dangerous the spell is, and surely your reaction will be something similar.

❋ “That’s hot.”

❋ Did you just say that out loud?

❋ Yup.

❋ You should technically know better, it’s just . . . The idea of him wielding that much control and imposing his will with just a touch is . . . Well, insanely attractive.

❋ There goes your first brain cell.

❋ Vil blinks, momentarily caught off guard by your reaction. He’s used to seeing admiration, yes, but he certainly didn’t expect this. The way you bite your lip, how your eyes sparkle with fascination, seemingly unfazed. A hint of pink dusts his cheeks as he processes your reaction — after all, it isn’t every day that someone looks at him with such pure, unabashed admiration. And because of the dark side of his magic, no less.

❋ “Would you like a demonstration, darling?” He asks in that velvety tone of his, leaning closer, his eyes locking onto yours. His fingers reach out to brush against your cheek, and he murmurs, “Just one touch and I would have you begging for mercy.”

❋ And there goes your last braincell.

❋ The look on your face at this very moment must be a good one; Vil’s shifting closer, and his hands are lingering on your face — not cursing you, just cupping the curve of your cheek, and drinking in your ardent attention.

❋ He’s looking at you as though he wants to kiss you, and well, you aren’t about to stop him anytime soon if he does.

❋ Normally, Vil isn’t one for indulging in impulsive decisions, but it’s the way you’re looking up at him — much too unguarded, much too trusting, almost as though you want to be stained with his darkness — breaks through the veneer of his carefully crafted restraint.

❋ Your breath catches in your throat, and all your focus is solely on Vil: the intense heat in his gaze, the warmth of his hands, and the intoxicating sense of danger that somehow makes him even more irresistible.

❋ His lips mould against yours with the kind of effortless elegance only Vil can manage. There’s a subtle possessiveness in the kiss, like he wants to mark you. Not with a curse, but something darker, sweeter, a taste that lingers on your lips like a delicate poison.

[sprouts-xreader-stories]

Focus! :(

Requested : No

Genre : Fluff, Canon X Reader, Albedo X Reader, Arataki Itto X Reader, Scaramouche X Reader, Kinich X Reader, GN!Reader, Separate

POV : Second Person

Warnings: Not many! Just a few minor curses here and there. One mention; Itto calls you wife once. Otherwise, entirely GN. Also, mentioned height difference when it comes to Scara; you’re shorter than him.

Albedo ~

You groaned internally. He was rambling again. He had a nice voice, sure, but you just… Weren’t feeling well.

“Bedo,” you called. He didn’t hear you. “Bedo,” you repeated, louder. He still didn’t hear. You sighed and pushed yourself off the table, careful not to knock any of the glass vials over. His coat hung off your shoulders, and you carefully pulled it back up before walking to him.

“Albedo.” Your voice had gone deadpan. He still wasn’t paying attention. And so, abruptly, you kissed him.

“So… Those two would go toge-”

He dropped whatever he was holding, the (empty) glass clattering to the floor. Miraculously, it didn’t break. Albedo paused entirely, bright blue eyes flickering down to you before he gave into the soft feeling of your lips. He was the one to pull away. “…uh… you needed me?”

Itto ~

You grinned from your spot on the grass. Watching Itto (try to) train before getting bored distracted by the kids running amok and going to play with them instead was stupidly funny. Currently, he was feigning a failure. The children were playing hide and seek. And Itto was standing right next to one of them. And pretending he couldn’t see them at all.

“Oh, this-… Ugh! Where could they have gone?” He pondered aloud, grinning. Sharp fangs glinted in the light as he abruptly grabbed the squirming kid from behind a barrel. “Oh. That’s where.” He lightly poked her before setting her down, watching her run off.

“Itto, we gotta go,” you called out. But your boyfriend didn’t hear you. You smirked. You knew exactly what to do. So, you crouched down and hid.

“…who’s next…and-! Wait where’d they go-”

He noticed. And immediately, he went around, carefully taking the kids’ from their hiding places. “Alright, kiddos, we had fun, but I really gotta get going my wife’s disappeared-” He explained, almost too quickly for the young ones to understand. But, they went around, trying to help him find you.

“Over here!” A young boy called out, pointing at where you were. You crawled out and crossed over to your boyfriend. He just sighed lightly. “Don’t do that again.” “Maybe listen next time, and I won’t.” You stuck your tongue out at him.

Scaramouche ~

Both of you were particularly quiet. Like he said, “It’s rather pathetic to force a conversation just to occupy silence”. So, most of your time was spent in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

You were completely silent as you chewed on the lotus crisps he’d made. For who… Well, for what his past was, he was a decently good cook. He was entirely focused on the ingredients, humming something of a soft song.

“Scara?” You spoke up after swallowing. He didn’t respond. You frowned. “Scara…?” You repeated. He still didn’t answer. You sighed softly and got off the stool, walking to him. “Scara…” You carefully touched his arm. He glanced at you, but didn’t speak. Without saying a word, he pulled you closer, in front of him. Caged in by his arms in something like a hug; he was busy chopping up whatever was in front of him, sure, but you were begging for his attention. And even someone as strong-willed as him couldn’t resist.

He didn’t speak. Just held you close, his chin resting atop your head.

Kinich ~

“Ajaw. Shut it.” Kinich hissed. He was pissed off with the thing, at this point. “Ichi,” you murmured. Ajaw kept bickering, complaining, just being annoying. Kinich waved him away. He didn’t feel well today, and Ajaw wasn’t helping.

“Ichi, love,” you repeated, frowning. He didn’t hear you. Ajaw was drowning you out. “Ajaw. Can you stop, please? Just for a sec.” “No, Kinich’s sick, which means he might die soon-!” The dragon cackled, much to Kinich’s annoyance.

“Go. Away.” Kinich swatted at the pixels. Ajaw just laughed and kept eagerly waiting, making small sounds of excitement. “Ichi?” You finally started, once the room was quiet. “Hm.” Good. There was his attention.

“Uh-… Your food’s done.”

@drxgonspine , @akuutff , @sh0uz

[koralcove]

okay, but like... the thought of sylus and xavier of how they generally are in bed... like, i think some ppl get them swapped up, coz like...

everyone's saying that sylus is such a beast in bed and would absolutely demolish you until your legs feel like you'd need to go through physical therapy to walk again... and they're absolutely right.

BUT

i also hear those who say that sylus is an absolutely soft and sensual lover in bed, and honestly, that version speaks TRUTH. because, HAVE YOU SEEN THAT MAN WITH US?! the way his character progresses with becoming absolutely, indescribably, adoringly soft with us. the big bad, dark and mysterious, cold-blooded, ruthless leader of onychinus is willing to do things out of his element just because we think it's fun. you want matching cute onesies? he's already purchased a pair for us. you want to go take silly photos together and hang out in an amusement park where he could be publicly seen doing mundane and questionably harmless activities that personally don't look like it suits his style? if that's what you want, then he's not opposed to it.

that man is absolutely soft with us, and you can't tell me that he wouldn't prefer to make sweet, deep, lovin' with his darling. the way he'd want to be pressed impossibly close to you, your body so soft against him, taking every bit of effort to not rush into this intimate moment with you because he wants to feel every inch of your skin tracing on his fingertips. he wants to prolong the sensation of your warmth radiating to him, shushing your whines with his deep baritones of, "there there, sweetie. no need to rush, i'm not going anywhere," always with that teasing lilt in his voice, but it can't cover up the adoration spilling out of him.

and god, he'd be gentle with you. he knows you can take what he gives you, knows what you're capable of. but damn, he couldn't resist giving you all that gentle devotion because you're just so precious to him. and through all the rough edges of his living, he wants to give you something tender. wants to bare how putty you make him just from your presence alone. he doesn't think of it as a weakness. in fact, it fuels his fire of making sure to stake his claim on you properly by giving you all you deserve. and he always sets the pace. wants you to feel how absolutely weak-kneed you make him in an imitation of his light touches that set small sparks of desire on your skin, pressing searing kisses on you as an invisible brand until he finally gives in to the lust gnawing at him, but making sure to always, always, be careful with you.

and then, there's xavier...

xavier with his cherub-like features that you think can do no harm if you didn't know him well enough. with how he looks like a constantly clueless puppy that you can easily please with the temptation of a nap time, you'd think he'd be the type to go with some lazy, intimate love making with you while you're both half-awake... which is not wrong, really, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.

as someone who goes with the flow, xavier is not opposed to anything you would suggest, even if the idea itself seems outlandish, then that boy is down (just like how down bad he is for you). you wanna be on top? cool, no problem with him being the pillow princess. you want him to take you from behind? he'll give you an absolutely mind-blowing back shot. but the kicker with xavier is that he's an absolute FREAK (we talkin' abt neck-breaking freaky deaky shit), and i love how everyone collectively agrees on that. because there's just smth abt a man who appears so unbothered by a lot of things, always cool in faces of plight (and girl, his heartbeat is literally slow, does nothing ever faze him???) that the thought of him going wild is just a big ol' WOWZA. AND PAIRED WITH THAT INNOCENT LI'L PUPPY FACE OF HIS?! oh honey, i'm already unzipping your pants for you-

and honey, his strength... his stamina?! girl, he be the kind to go at it alllll night. "once isn't enough" ALREADY SAYS A LOT. and that man is not shy at all, because you can't tell me that he whispers absolute filth in your ear, catching you off guard at how uncharacteristic it seems of him, but it flows so smoothly through his tongue that you just have to wonder what kind of thoughts run through his head when he's with you, because rn, as he's pounding you silly against the mattress, hips pistoning into you at lightning speed, yet still hitting oh so deep into you, he's absolutely insatiable for you. and he would not hesitate to go all out on you as long as he knows you can handle it. because he knows it can be too much. but when he sees those tears streaming down your cheeks from how good his dick is at making you see stars, shaking under him as you grip onto his arm, he couldn't resist with bullying your poor overstimulated body and getting an orgasm out of you just one more time out of... maybe three? seven? he's lost count.

but don't get me wrong, xavier is still the type to be skin-achingly intimate with you. loves how you're pressed against him as you both lazily rock your hips against one another. but it just so happens that he's a absolutely ravenous with you as well, rutting into you like a bunny in heat.

with sylus, love making with him is tender, reverent, but never losing that intensity, while xavier is absolutely uninhibited and would even lose track of the amount of times you've already cummed for him.

[nanamiscocksleeve]

For my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Nanami and a woman reader in an Aladdin AU with chastity and edging please? In the story, Nanami has been hired to work as a palace guard for the sultana aka the reader. But he realizes too late that part of the job involves having his cock locked in a chastity cage and enduring various edging tests to determine his willpower. What do you think?

As You Wish, Princess

I'm so sorry this took so long! Here you go! I truly had fun writing this because subby Nanami isn't requested too often. Also, the premise was really fresh, which is something I've been struggling with. Ideas for JJK seem to be going like hotcakes, and while I can appreciate different takes on the same idea, I always want mine to be different, even if it's slightly.

Warnings: MDNI, coercion, male chastity, edging, ruined orgasm, power dynamics, dubcon

Applying for a position as a palace guard for the precious sultana was something Nanami had done for two reasons; one, the pay was amazing, and two, the position came with living quarters. As someone who had lived a hard life in the small streets of the marketplace as a laborer, there had been no qualms in his mind when a man from the palace had walked through the dusty roads calling out that the palace was hiring help. 

When he’d arrived at the outer courtyard, looking dog-eared and dirty, the designated official had looked at him up and down, wrinkling his nose, but had refrained from saying anything on account of his impressively muscled and toned body, the long hours spent dragging bags of rice, wheat, and other essential grains making him akin to a sharp, chiseled, marble statue, something that should belong in a museum for others to wonder at. He towered over the puny official who had directed him to the head guard. They had an array of tests that he needed to pass and he had done so with ease; running a mile within a few minutes, climbing various obstacles to check his core strength, and how quickly he could escape when surrounded on all sides. The only test he had almost failed was swordsmanship, barely managing to take down his opponent, winning by a hair. 

“The sultana has a final test of her own, after which it’ll be determined if you can keep the job. Wait here.” The head guard walks off into the cool, marbled entrance of the palace, and Nanami paces, awaiting his return. It takes a while before the guard comes strutting back, and then beckons him to follow. Nanami walks unassumingly behind him eyes scanning the opulence that is the palace. The marble seemed to shine, spotless and polished, with hints of gold tucked away artistically. Small murals adorned the walls and ceilings, rich tapestries hung everywhere. 

The guard leads him to a private wing where there is a single door, quite plain looking and rather lackluster. “The sultana is waiting in there. And remember peasant, whatever she tells you to do, do it. No questions, lest you want to be beheaded for impudence. Now go on. Don’t keep her waiting.” He knocks on the door and leaves. 

Nanami waits, wondering what kind of test this would be, and then startles when the door opens. You look at him with pretty eyes lined in kohl, dressed in a simple, flowy, full-armed, muslin dress that managed to flatter your figure despite not giving anything away. He bows and waits. 

You giggle. “Well, aren’t you polite? Enter, Mr…?”

“Kento Nanami,” he supplies as he raises and walks into the room. The shades were drawn despite the heat, and the room was lit by dim oil lamps scattered across the room. He awaits his permission to sit and hears the click of the door as it shuts behind him. You move towards him, admiring the thickness of his biceps, the broadness of his shoulders, and the sinew and tightness of his thighs, barely contained by the threadbare flowy pants he was wearing. 

“What brought you here?” you ask, circling him. Nanami is acutely aware of your gaze but he acts indifferent. 

“I was told the sultana needed a bodyguard. It’s a job preferable over manual labor.”

“Oh,” you titter, then come to a halt in front of him. He’s tall, and you have to tilt your head up to look at him. “Is that all? You didn’t come to admire my beauty and grace? Or for the prospect of being the only one who would be accompanying me everywhere? While I’m eating, bathing, changing my garb…none of that came into your mind?”

Truthfully, it hadn’t. The promise of gold, a roof over his head, and food in his belly had been his only motivators. But now as he gauges you standing so sweetly in front of him with those doe-eyes and full lips, he realizes that it made sense you were asking him this. The sultana’s bodyguard needed to have self-control after all, given that parts of the job required being somewhat intimately in proximity to her, as far as the decency laws allowed. 

“I admit sultana, no, it hadn’t. But if you are worried about me behaving indecently or taking advantage of you, there’s no reason to worry. I understand my limitations and would never compromise your purity.”

“You wouldn’t?” you cock your head to the side and tsk. “How boring.”

Taken aback, Kento stares at you, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t a reply he had been expecting. Your eyes are glittering now, full of mischief, and he wonders for a split second if you were toying with him. Surely not? The sultana had a reputation to maintain. You may have said it as a joke. He mustn’t take it seriously if he wanted this job.

“I was told that the final test before qualifying to be your bodyguard was set by you, sultana,” he ventures, hoping to change the topic. “If your grace so allows, may I ask what it is?”

You hum, then wander over to one of the divans and settle down on it, fiddling with your neatly styled hair, wondering. Kento truly was a treat for the womanly eyes. How such a delectable-looking specimen had managed to stay hidden for so long truly boggled your mind. However, he was a man, and men were fallible to their desires. 

“Have you ever been with a woman, Kento?” 

The muscled man looks rather startled at the question. Purity laws meant little to those who were not nobles. Of course he had been with a woman, many in fact, but he remains silent, trying to arrange his features into one of polite inquiry. 

“I beg you pardon your grace?”

“You see, our laws dictate I cannot intimately know a man unless he is wed to me. I must remain chaste and pure for the man who is to be my future husband. And that means that whoever becomes my bodyguard must remember this at all times, even when I am in immodest situations. After all, the sultana’s bodyguard remains with her at all times, sometimes right outside the door as her husband makes love to her.” You watch him squirm uncomfortably under your gaze and he quickly bows to you.

“I beg your forgiveness sultana but I cannot discuss this matter with you. It is very unbefitting for a woman of your birth.”

You giggle at his response. “A woman of my birth? Oh, how considerate of you Kento. So am I to assume you were a rogue out in the lawless streets beyond the palace? Have you tumbled with many a maiden then? Jumping from bed to bed whenever it suited your fancy?”

The color rises in Kento’s cheeks and he continues to keep his head low. “Sultana, I understand if this raises concern for someone such as yourself but I assure you, my intentions are unsullied. If I was hired to be your bodyguard, I understand I cannot live as I previously did. I will reform of course, to your bidding. I would consecrate my life for you, your grace. No one, man or woman, is a higher priority than you.”

You consider his words but can’t resist the unholy thoughts forming in your head. His clothes were so worn that you could grab his shirt by accident and it would tear. At least, you would make it look like an accident. You wondered how those muscles would ripple if you ran your fingers across them…maybe even daring to dip your fingertip into the little depression of his belly button. 

“So incredibly dedicated. I suppose I won’t find a bodyguard who passed all the other tests and also be this devoted would I?”

“I promise your grace you will not. I will be the only security you will ever need.”

“Then you won’t mind if I test your willpower? Put you to your limit and see how much you can take before you finally snap under the tension?” There’s a strange lilt to your tone as you speak, and Nanami can’t help but have his interest piqued.

“Not at all sultana.”

“Very well. Now remember, you must obey my requests without question. This is about me ensuring you have what it takes to be my personal guard, even if what I’m asking seems…unorthodox.” You sit up straighter on the divan. “You may begin by removing your clothes.”

Kento’s eyes widen in shock his mouth going dry. You were surely joking? “Sultana?” he asks hesitantly, hoping he’d misheard you. 

You giggle. “Oh, I assure you that you heard correctly. Remove your clothes.”

The burly man looks down at himself uncertainly. Sensing his doubt, you repeat the command with a firm touch of authority. “Your sultana, the person whose life you will be responsible for, has already made her request twice. Do not make me say it again.”

Kento’s jaw clenches as he tries to think of a good way out of this. Was this a test? Was he supposed to try denying you again? It didn’t feel so, not with the way you sat with your arms crossed impatiently over your chest, the fabric of your muslin dress curving over your bosom. Kento quickly kills that thought, images of food, fresh clothes, and money in his pocket tugging at his indecisiveness. He swallows causing his Adam’s apple to bob, a gesture that does not go unnoticed, as you wait for your unwilling prey to make a move. 

You can see the cogs in his brain turning, trying to think of a strategic way to another path forward but you know there are none. He was at your mercy if he wanted the job. Kento sighs, and then to your satisfaction, his hands start to bunch up the fabric of his thin tunic.

Kento is blushing as he pulls the cloth over his head, and he stands stripped to the waist, all hard muscles and veiny arms, looking like a delicious cut of steak. Your eyes wander over his skin, tanned from the sun, with a tatch of golden hair on his pecs that trailed down over his belly button and disappeared below his pants. He truly was a stunning specimen of masculinity. You can see him growing shy, grappling with the idea of whether or not he should continue.

“Everything looks good from here. Please continue.” You prompt him, unable to stop your lip from curling as he jerks his head in your direction. With shaky hands, he undoes the drawstring that holds up his loose cotton trousers, and with a soft swoosh, they fall to the floor, leaving his powerful thighs and toned calves bare. You’re pleased to see there’s a prominent bulge in his underwear. 

“Come on now. That too.” You say cajolingly glancing at his underwear. He can barely keep his head up and he pulls them down with trembling hands and your mouth waters as his cock finally springs free, looking so pretty and needy as it rests against his belly. 

“Hmm that's more like it.” You rise gracefully and saunter over to him and before he has a chance to react you grab his erection. His mouth falls open and his eyes widen in shock. 

“You keep insisting that you’re dedicated. But I wonder how much restraint you have when you’re frustrated? Or when your patience is running thin. I believe it’s better to test it now.” You run your thumb over the head of cock, feeling the telltale signs of precum beginning to form in the slit. 

Kento was in hell but he doesn’t dare move. He knows how precarious this situation was. If anyone were to come in here and see them like this…it’s his head they would be after. He watches your small fingers wrap around him, barely touching around the column of heated velvet. He grits his teeth, a strangled grunt leaving him. What was your goal?

As you start to pump him, you can feel the angry throb of his cock, feel the pulse and observe the way the little veins bulge as you tend to him. You knew you had him cornered. He couldn’t cry for help. If he did, you would act as innocent as a lamb. You preferred it this way. Subservient guards were the best. You continue to play with him, even going as far as squeezing his balls, giving them light tugs that has him moaning, his hips bucking in hopes of finding a release. His eyes close and you can tell he was anticipating a sweet climax…before you stop, removing all physical contact and letting his cock hang in the lurch.

His eyelids fly open wildly and he looks at you in what looks like disbelief. You laugh at his state and run a finger down his brawny chest. “What did you think was going to happen here?” You see the confusion in his eyes as he tries to bring himself back to reality. “Did you forget this was a test of willpower?”

His eyes nervously follow yours as you stalk your prey. “You should be thankful I stopped before you came all over yourself. It would be messy to clean that up and there are no wash chambers nearby. You would have to go all the way down to the servant’s quarters. And I’m sure everyone would be curious as to why you’re leaving your meeting with the sultana with various stains on your clothes.”

Your eyes gleam as Kento blushes at your description. “Now, we are going to repeat this over and over again until I’m satisfied you can control yourself.” You gesture to a pouf and indicate you want him to sit down. Kento backs down shakily, unsure what to say. Morally, he knows this is wrong. But the authority you’re taking over him, this confident ownership, was gnawing away at his strength. Because didn’t the sultana own all her subjects? He was at your mercy, obliged to indulge your whims. He was ashamed at his arousal, at the thoughts forming in his head about what he would like to do to you now. He could imagine tearing off that frumpy muslin gown, exposing your nipples to his mouth while his hand presses against the tatch of curly hair between your legs while he stroked you to ecstasy.

His thought are interrupted as you kneel before him. You pump his cock again, and make direct eye contact. Wordlessly, your mouth opens, and Kento’s heart shoots into his throat as he realizes what you’re about to do. With a slurp, you take his heated flesh into your mouth, the hot wetness of it enveloping him like a glove. His fingers dig into the soft cushion and he bucks with abandon. He knows you weren’t planning on letting him cum but maybe if he was quick enough he could before you took your sweet, wet, cavern away…

You’re far too observant and quickly pull away your mouth and Kento is left heaving, an animalistic look in his eyes. He had been so close, had felt that telling scrunch of his balls before you abandoned him again. There’s a numb sensation of pain in his tip and he lays back trying to gain control.

“Not bad. Most men would be trying to pounce on me by now I suppose.” You stand, wiping saliva from your mouth, feeling the lingering aftertaste of his salty beads of precum that had escaped into your throat. You smack your lips, then make up your mind.

“You have the job.”

Disbelievingly, Kento looks at you. His cock pulsed from unleashed need. You quirk an eyebrow. “Unless, you don’t want it? Perhaps you’re a lion pretending to be a meek little kitten? Are you waiting for my back to turn so that you can pounce on me? Catch me unaware?”

Kento scampers to his feet and bows, his cock comically flopping as he expresses his gratitude. “Not at all sultana. I’m…” He clears his throat, trying to catch his breath. “I’m very thankful you’ve chosen me.”

You grin wickedly. “Of course. And I find the best guards are the ones that are always on high alert. Therefore-” You gesture at his semi-hard cock, “I think it’s best if that remains unrelieved.”

Kento feels his mouth go dry. “Unrelieved?”

“Don’t tell me that you weren’t planning on jerking yourself off once I’d dismissed you?” Your eyes gleam as he shrinks at your words. “That simply won’t do. You’re my personal guard now. Therefore, you must always be on my schedule.” 

You walk to a cabinet in the corner of the room and Kento watches you dubiously as you bring out a sort of cage made of metal. “Do you know what this is?” you ask, letting the contraption dangle from your finger. He shakes his head. He honestly had no idea.

You giggle and slip a metallic ring over his cock, pushing his balls through it and securing it behind them. The coldness makes him hard again. “Oh perfect. Makes this part easier.” You slide the strange, curved, cylindrical, device over his cock and he watches in fearful fascination as it lines up with the ring behind his balls. You smirk and slip a lock between the two, securing it in place, his cock contained inside.

“This is called a chastity cage. Think of it as a way to help your urges. From now on, your pleasure will be on my time.” Kento’s mind goes blank as he watches you pocket the key.

You chuckle. “What? This is what it means to devote your life to the sultana.” You pleasantly hand him his clothes. “Report to the main security quarters where they will give you your new uniform as well as information about your wage and living quarters. Report back here once this is all taken care of.”

You start to saunter out of the room, leaving Kento looking dumbstruck. At the door, you glance at him over your shoulder.

“Be prepared for regular testing from now on. Nothing like frequent training to keep your skills sharp hmm?” 

reblog divider by @/ cafekitsune

@aether-seawolf @makingtimemine @snwvie @facelessfionna @sweetskozume @theimmortalbuns @supernaturalbaesduh @marusatonanhin @pwd54gr54 @brekkersgf

[act-nat-ural]

First Sight

@dira333: what if you're related or friends with the Miya twins and they accidentally or not set you up with someone on the msby roster? Meian is really cute if you know the manga, but there's also Sakusa, Hinata or Bokuto

word count: 1782

Osamu had already closed Miya Onigiri for the day, yet his two favorite moochers were still sitting at a booth consuming his food for free. He sighs, having already locked the doors, and put the chairs on top of the tables. He takes a seat next to Atsumu and joins your guys’ conversation. “I’m just sayin’,” Atsumu starts, “If yer so lonely, go out an’ meet someone. It's not that hard.”He finishes his sentence by taking a gigantic bite. He nods to himself like he made a great point, though you and Osamu are giving him side eyes. 

“And how would ya know that? Ya haven’t gone on a date in over three months.” You point out.

Osamu snorts and adds, “Last relationship I remember you cryin’ like a baby, saying’ that ya would never love again.” 

Atsumu scoffs and mumbles a “Shuddup!” while you let out a deep sigh and rest your head on the cool surface of the table. “It's not fair.” You whine. “I've got like, no love life. Why don’t ya set me up with yer hot friends?” 

They share a look for a minute, then at the same time say “No.” You scoff and slam a hand on the table. 

“Why the hell not!” 

Osamu raises his hands in defense while Atsumu enters ‘big brother mode’. “Yer our only sister, and I love ya too much to set ya up with the idiots I call friends. Yer too good for them!” You roll your eyes but he continues. “Omi probably has some secret girlfriend already, Shoyo only thinks about volleyball, and Koutaro’s.. Well, he's.. I dunno. But I don’t trust them with ya!”

You groan and give Osamu a pleading look. “Please?” He gives you a deadpan look.

“It's a hard no. I’d have to kill Rintaro if he even looked at ya wrong.” You groan and throw your hands in the air.

“Gimme a break! I’m a grown woman, I can handle myself.” They both burst into laughter, so you kick Atsumu under the table.

“Owch! Hey!” 

–

You were watching a movie at home by yourself when you heard your phone start to buzz. You glance away from the screen to see ‘Samu’ in bold letters pop up on your phone. You pause the move and check the text he sent you.

Samu: Hey. You still looking for a date?

Your eyes widen and you start to squeal. “Yes! ‘Samu for the win.” You start to celebrate prematurely when your phone buzzes again. 

Samu: I have an idea but Tsumu wouldn’t like it lolol

Your smile drops and you grab the phone to respond.

You: what does that even mean…

Samu: Sooo have you ever met his team before?

You: no, I’ve met Kiyoomi but only briefly. why?? who are you thinking of?? Omg 

Samu: that desperation is exactly what made me think of him LMAO

You gasp in offense and angrily respond, 

You: WTF DOES THAT MEAN 

Samu: anyway! 🙂 I was thinking of inviting some of the team to my place for dinner or something, you wanna come? you can’t tell Tsumu you’re coming though or he'd throw a fit or smth.

You chew on your lip in thought. On one hand, you really want to meet someone. On the other, if it ends up not working out, it could really make things awkward for your brother and his friends. You pause. He’ll be fine.

You: I'll be there :) love you!

Meanwhile, Osamu sighs and leans back against the headboard. “She better not say I never do anything for her. Hmph.”

Samu: love you too 🙄

–

Osamu was drying his hands when he heard the doorbell ring. “Comin’.” He opens the door and there stands Atsumu, Kiyoomi, Shoyo, and Kotaro. Atsmu gives a cheeky grin, holding up a case of beer.

“I come bearing gifts.” Koutaro blinks in confusion.

“But I bought it-”

“Shush.”

Osamu moves aside so they can all come in. “No one else comin’?” Kiyoomi shakes his head.

“Shugo was going to but he got caught up with something. The rest all had other arrangements.” Osamu nods in understanding. Shoyo immediately beelines for the kitchen.

“What smells so good? I’m starving!”

Kiyoomi furrows his brows stating, “You ate the whole way here.”

Just then, the doorbell rings again. This time there is no need to open the door, because you just so happen to have a key. “Hello!” You stroll in like you own the place. Osamu has to fight to hold his laugh in when he sees the look on Atsumu’s face. 

“I didn’t know what to bring so I just brought cookies. I think I burnt them though.” You mumble. Kiyoomi gives you a nod in acknowledgment as you set the platter of charred baked goods on the counter. “Soo… are ya gonna introduce me?”

“Samu. What is she doing here?” Atsumu chokes out. You scoff.

 “I’m literally standing right here.”

“What? I can’t invite our own sister to my apartment?” Osamu gives an innocent shrug. 

“This was supposed to be a guys night!” Atsumu complains childishly. 

Shoyo pipes in, “I don’t mind! The more people the better. Right, Bokuto? ….Bokuto?”

–

If you had asked Koutaro then, he would have sworn he had never seen a more beautiful girl. The moment you walked in the door it was like he lost all of the air in his chest. He almost texted Keiji to ask what a heart attack felt like. His heart thumped in his chest and he could feel his hands start to get sweaty. Pretty girl. I’m not good around pretty girls. 

He didn’t even realize that he was being spoken to until Shoyo poked his arm. “Huh? Wha? Oh- Yes. Stay. Please.” Everyone just kind of stares at him for a moment before moving on. He accidentally stares at you while you get introduced to Shoyo, yet you don’t notice till Atsumu tries introducing him. You give a shy smile and a wave, and that's all he needs to see to know that he's a goner. 

–

You had never taken a good look at Koutaro Bokuto before this, and boy do you wish you had. Everything about him had you feeling weak in the knees. He was very built, taking up a large portion of the sofa that he was sitting on. You had snuck a glance at his back while walking in and Jesus. That man was built like a Greek god. His golden eyes seemed to never leave your figure, and he kept giving you a dopey smile. You give a small smile back and wave, hoping you don’t make a fool of yourself. Later, you swore you saw Osamu give you a thumbs up, but he denies it.

Everyone else flocks to the kitchen to start getting something to eat, yet you and Koutaro stay behind. You hesitantly sit down beside him, a few feet away. You both give sheepish smiles directed at the other, not sure what to say. Just then, Osamu comes back. “Darn. We’re out of soy sauce. Koutaro, (Name), do ya guys mind going to the market and grabbing some?” He says, not very convincingly. 

Shoyo gives him a confused look and starts, “But there was some-” 

“Shush.”

Koutaro immediately shoots up from his seat. “Yeah, we can get it!” He gives you a beaming smile and you can’t help but return in. He lends you a hand up from the sofa, practically bouncing with excitement. “We’ll be back soon.” Osamu gives you a wink and pats your back. 

“Take your time.”

You and Koutaro are silent for a while as you walk to the nearest market. You notice that while his strides are larger than yours, he slows his pace to match yours. He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a glance around

“So, what do you do for fun?” He turns and asks suddenly. You hum in thought.

 “I guess I hang out with my brothers a lot. I watch movies alone sometimes. Work has kept me busy recently, so I haven’t been doing much recently.” He nods in understanding.

He clears his throat before inquiring, “You don’t watch movies with your boyfriend?” 

You smile and shake your head, laughing. “No, I don’t have one.” He stops walking and gawks at you.

 “Seriously?! You're single?!” You raise your eyebrows in surprise and nod slowly. 

“Yeah.. why? Is it that surprising?” He shakes his head yes enthusiastically. 

“I totally thought you’d be married or something, you're so pretty.”

You go quiet. “Really?”

“Yes! Really! Man, I thought I had like no shot.” He adds. You both freeze and look at each other wide eyed.

 “Huh?”

 “What?”

You sputter and point at him. “Ya just- ya said ya thought-” 

“I- well-!” You both stand on the sidewalk, fidgeting with your hands. He scratches his head and blushes. “Are you free tomorrow?” 

You had never said yes faster in your life.

– 

You two were dying of laughter, wiping your eyes from tears. “Man, I wish I had sisters.” You say. 

“Yeah, they're pretty cool.” He says matter of factly. You both had gotten sidetracked and never ended up going to the market. Currently, he and you were sitting on a pair of swings at a local park. Your phone buzzes softly and you apologize to him before checking it. 

Tsumu: where tf did you go 

You: don’t cockblock me <3

Tsumu: PARDON?

You click your phone to silent before turning back to Koutaro. “Now, where were we?”

–

It only took a few dates before he asked you to be his girlfriend. You agreed, of course. You would've said yes if he had asked the night you met, if you were honest. Atsumu begrudgingly gave Koutaro his blessing to propose a couple years into dating. Osamu was a bit offended that he didn't ask him, considering he was responsible for you two meeting.

Koutaro was terrible at keeping secrets, so he ended up proposing the second he got home after ring shopping. You felt a bit ambushed, having been washing dishes in unwashed pajamas, but it was still a definite yes.

Currently, Atsumu was walking up to the mic to give a speech during your wedding. You rest your head on Koutaro’s shoulder, and he intertwines your fingers. Atsumu pokes the microphone and the feedback screeches, bothering everyone.

“Ahem. Now, if anyone knows me, they know I love my sister. That, and I only want what's best for her. That having been said, I would like a ‘thank you’ for this marriage, considering it was my idea to get ya together.”

“Liar!”

note: i just realized i keep writing the twins shushing people lol. Bokuto is so fun to write for 😭 he’s so silly

[flameblade3]

You’ve been at this for a while- years. Hundreds of happy couples made under your guidance. You’ve learned a few things over the years, some people don’t have those threads yet. Maybe for infants they’re just not born yet, or for others maybe something needs to change in their future soulmate before they would be ready. You’ve seen people holding hands while each of their strings runs off in different directions. You swear you’ve seen a few people whose soulmates switch almost every week. Even asexual or aromantic people had one, they simply led them to someone who would be special to them, content to live with but no need to love. After all, no one truly wants to be alone. But one thing always remained the same… they had one. You waited and waited and waited, but you never were able to see those strings wrapped around your own fingers like everyone else’s. Leading soulmates together always had a rather violently bittersweet taste, knowing that you might never get to feel that same sweet sensation that they must all get when they realize how well things worked out. One day, a rather simple looking lady walked through your business’s door also without strings attached to her fingers. You were shocked

“Excuse me,” she started, “I heard this would be the place where people can always find their special someone?” She asked

You gave your usual business monologue: “well you heard correct! Here we have a near 100% success rate that every person we guide to another will live their happily ever after.”

The woman chuckled, you raised an eyebrow, “it’s funny,” she laughed again, you felt something in your chest, “I did the same thing for so many others back home, but could never find someone for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was late so no one else was in the building. “Ma’am, could you come to the desk, please?” You asked, trying to hide the frantic tone in your voice

“Ah, of course!” She came forward

You leaned in and asked “can you see strings on people’s fingers that lead them to others?” Trying to sound as serious as possible so she knows you’re not joking

“Wh- I,” she stammered, “how did you know!?”

“Because I can do the same thing. And no matter how long I waited… I could never see strings on my own hands, and I can’t see them on your’s”

She was dead silent for a moment, she kept glancing between your hand, your face, and her hands. “Oh my… you’re right… I don’t believe it!”

“Well, it’s almost closing time for me, so how about I make you my last client for the day. Would you care to go for a walk? The travel must have been long and my desk is rather cramped. Plus, I know a really good place to grab dinner around here.” You stood up and held out your hand, she took it with a soft shake. Her hands were softer than you expected, she took better care of herself than her other features let on.

The two of you left your business as you locked up the building and began your walk, both of you hopeful that maybe, finally, you found your special someone.

Some say that an invisible red string is tied around the fingers of soulmates meant to be together forever. As it turns out, you can see these red strings, and have therefore created a highly successful matchmaking business.

[raeinyourdreams]

'call it what you want.' | l.h x reader

pairings: logan howlett x sway!reader

tags: fluff, no established relationship but.. there's something there, mutant!reader (they call her sway due to her mutation.. i love her i wanna talk ab her someone PLEASE ASK AB HER), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, no specific petnames for reader (just bub and her hero name.. gets called kid like twice), no use of y/n, written with x2 logan in mind... sigh... save me x2 logan.. anyway, he gives reader his dog tags before a mission in case he.. you know.. so maybe angst? but only til the very end.

wc: 2k!!

a/n: OKAY SO BOOM! this is my first actual work that's not a drabble and i'm so anxious to post AAHHH, i got the inspo from a post i saw a while ago while fried as fuck from someone requesting a fic ab logan giving reader his dog tags, pref fluffy and angsty so i hope i did ur vision justice OP!! tysm for inspo, my reqs are always open 🫶🏻 also i know this is a very burnt card but if something in the wording is off lmk PLEASEE english isn't my first language 😭 anyway enough yapping plz enjoy!! any type of interaction is appreciated

'call it what you want, just know these are yours now.'

you've never seen him without his dog tags, he never took them off, not ever since the first time he came into the mansion. you'd been there the first time, you were a teacher in the school, and you'd seen him occasionally roam the halls and stay by the door, listening in on your class, quietly. but very rarely interacted otherwise, just a simple nod or a 'good morning' that he'd return out of good manners, but he'd mostly keep to himself.

you're a teacher. you're the fun teacher. at least that's what your coworkers seemed to agree upon, seeing how your students appeared to leave your classroom more cheerful than they entered. you'd be lying if you said you didn't use your mutation as an advantage in this situation, being able to read your students' moods every day, how they were feeling and why came insanely handy, especially when it came to giving each student the type of care they needed. which is why you were also a student counselor.

on the days you didn't teach, you'd put that psych degree to work and counsel. in your classroom filled with drawings and fairy lights and stained glass that looked straight from a fairytale, and a door you'd lock for privacy as a student came to confide in you.

obviously despite your title, it wasn't only students who'd come to your office to let a feeling go, teachers too, needed a space to blow off some steam, cry a little sometimes, because they knew you'd soothe them in the end, touch your hand feel the pain dissipate, make it seem as if they'd never felt that way.

up until now, only teachers and students seemed to come to you for help. teachers. and students.

so it did surprise you when the wolverine started showing up in your office after coming back.

"must be tiring. to handle others' emotions like your own all day." he'd say, sitting down on a chair, to which you'd playfully roll your eyes and shake your head. "i don't treat them as my own, i just do what i have to do so they feel better." you'd reply, walking towards the door to lock it out of policy. figured that he was here for counseling as well.

"you treat everyone with so much care it seems like it." he said, which made you stop in your tracks, turning heel to face him, your hair cascading on your shoulders and moving ever so softly as you spun. before you could speak, stunned, he asked again.

"don't you get tired? i mean mentally. it must take a toll on you to be around so many emotions all the time." the way he seemed to read you stunned you, he seemed like a very gruff, cold person from the brief interactions you'd had with him before. truth be told, this was the closest you'd been to logan since he came back to the mansion. it's what other people thought of him, anyway.

but you weren't other people, you were different.

the feeling in your body when you perceive others emotions is strange. you could never put it into words. your mutation was mostly contact based, a small brush of the hand was enough to let you know that person's feelings, the reason behind them, what they needed to feel better and it made it easier to help everyone. you could, however, see and feel the emotions, sometimes even smell them if they were too strong, no need for contact necessary.

with logan, you almost didn't need to be in the same room as him to feel the amount of physical, mental, emotional strain he was constantly under, his superhuman body subconsciously tuning it out, making him oblivious to it. once, after a very dangerous mission, he isolated himself in his room for days, his expression cold and unfazed, but every time you'd walk past an area he was in, the emotions hit you like a truck. so strong you even cried over pain that wasn't yours, a life you hadn't lived.

you looked at him sympathetically, taking a deep breath to concentrate less on the seemingly invisible fog around you two as you sat on the chair, your expression calm and collected. "i'm okay, i promise. thank you, logan."

"like hell you are." "neither are you."

he stays quiet at your retaliation, a weak smile forming on his lips, letting you understand that you were right, not that you needed confirmation.

sometimes, when emotions overpower you, you feel compelled to speak, give words of reassurance, even if you didn't quite know if they'd help or not. "logan, you should let people into your heart, stop living in fear.." you blurted out, unsure of why you were telling him this, but you'd learned to not question it and just speak, because it helped to just hear the words sometimes. it certainly did get you a reaction from logan, as the overbearing feelings you were perceiving faded.. briefly, before they slowly crept back into vision.

it was the faintest of reactions, but a reaction at least.

he nodded, taking in the words silently, as if he were contemplating. you remained stoic, analyzing his demeanor out of pure habit. "did.. you come here for counseling?" you asked, suddenly aware that you were still working, and you weren't even sure if he was here for another reason, or if he did need your help. instead, he shook his head, looking at you as if he were conducting an analysis of his own.

"nah, just came to see you.. sway."

a knock on the door interrupted the brewing tension, a gloomy, childlike presence behind the door, to which you looked at logan apologetically. "i'm sorry logan, i have a student to attend.. but think about what i said." you spoke softly, your warm voice reverberating in his ears like a hug.. something he longed for but couldn't bring himself to ask.

you started seeing him around the classroom more, or rather, he started seeking you out more. in between breaks, before his training, during counseling. it got to a point where your children started greeting him hello and goodbye if he was in the classroom, interacting with him, playing with his hair, always styled like kitty ears. the way he just smiled and let them made something in you bloom, a feeling you couldn't recognize in yourself, but it was pink and warm and fuzzy all over. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt about you this way, too.

slowly, you noticed how, little by little, the gloomy cloud surrounding him would go away when he entered the classroom, how it would be replaced with a pink haze when he looked into your eyes, or made you laugh.. it would quickly fade away, but you'd notice, and noticed how much it resembled that feeling inside you: pink and warm and fuzzy all over.

as time went by, you got used to seeing him around, swinging by your classroom as if it was his haven, a small break from the world he knew, because you were in it. you'd be lying if you said he didn't make you day too, the gloomy atmosphere that once came along with him every time he entered your classroom slowly changing into a lilac haze.

one day, he showed up as the kids were leaving for the day, no colored cloud, but something seemed off. you invited him to sit down as he locked the door after getting in, his expression serene. before you could even speak his hands were on you, pulling you close to him in a hug, and you swore you could feel him shaking slightly. the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water and you just hold him tighter to you, since it feels like the only correct thing to do.

"you're scared."

"no one gets to see me like this, so feel special." said he, almost as if he was confiding a secret in you, which he was.

"oh, trust me, i feel quite special." you replied jokingly, which caused him to let out a chuckle, though it was dull and almost no feeling was tied to it.

you two let go and you asked him what was wrong, and he opened up like it was routine.

"i leave tomorrow. there's a mission out of state and they're asking me to go.. might be off the grid after that for a while." he explained, his voice remained calm but his eyes seemed to reveal to you more of how he was actually feeling.

"i dunno.. thought someone should've known in case.. things go south." your expression changed at that, and logan noticed. "ah, c'mon bub, change that frown, it's just reality. sure, i might be a piece of work to kill but it doesn't mean i can't die."

the silence that fell upon the classroom as you two finished speaking made the words fall with more weight into your heart, it did little to nothing to comfort you as you came to terms with what he said. it shouldn't have been hard - he was just stating a fact -, but it didn't mean that it didn't cut deep for you. you opened your mouth to speak, unsure of what you were even going to say, but he quickly cut you off.

"logan-" "listen, bub, you told me to start letting people into my heart.. i'm letting you in."

slowly, his hands went to unclasp the chain that always dangled on his neck, dog tags adorning his neck with his names, his identities. you looked in awe as he held them out to you. "gimme your hand, kid." and surprisingly, you did as you were told, holding your hand out as he placed the piece on your hand, feeling the cold metal clink softly as it fell and heat up under the temperature of your palm. you looked up at him, unsure of what it meant, of what this changed between you two, but it felt undeniable, even if unspoken.

“now, these.. they’re very special, bub. a reminder of everything that happened that led to here.. and it’s leading me to you right now.” he explained. “feels right for you to have them, i guess.. keep them safe, kid.”

the silence that fell between you two again was more comfortable, filled with a newfound tension that left much to question, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt with all that noise yet. the only sound filling the room was the breathing and a faint humming of the white noise machine you kept in your room, next by the door. you opened up your mouth again, your mind utterly blank and filled with thoughts and questions at the same time, unsure of which one was going to breach through your mind to materialize out in the cold, tense air.

“.. why me? trust me, i’m flattered, but i’m no one special, logan..” you questioned, and it made him frown.

“you are special. you're special to me.” your eyes widened at the confession and you watched as a soft smile settled on his face, one that made your heart flutter with the sheer tenderness he held in his gaze. “call it what you want.. just know these are yours now.” he said it so calmly, you wouldn't have tought he was handing you his heart, placing it in soft, tender hands and pleading you to not break it, not change it, and instead embrace it and accept it as it came, rough around the edges.

with that, he stood up from the chair, took your hand to squeeze it briefly, and walked out of the room, not before looking back at you one last time, the heaviness that he carried as he entered the room seemingly gone, all that you could perceive was a haze, all too familiar, one that left as quick as it came as his eyes met yours.

pink, warm, and fuzzy all over.

additional author's note: BOOM SHAKALAKA I POSTED FINALLY!! i think it's a little rushed BUT!! it's cause i have a (smutty) part 2 planned for this HEHEJEHE i don't like writing (or reading) series bcs i get sad when they end but i just might.... hehehe... anyway pls lmk what u think!! or i kill off logan 🥰🥰 your choice 🥰🥰

taglist: @allen-444

[tarotbyjam24]

November's forecast: tarot reading

some of you're having your b'days so happy birthday day hun 💕 and some are graduating from schools\colleges congrats 💛.

You all have come this far and still working towards your goals in November I see you're being more productive than usual but maybe you're not taking care of your mental and physical well-being .

It's getting cold so wear slippers and socks when you walk around don't go barefeet idk who needs to hear this ! Whatever you're working towards you'll get rewards for it . Your hardwork will come to fruition

Also if some of you're are following crowds and not choosing your own path please stop and choose\make your own path don't go in rat race .

I see you're source of someone's happiness so don't make them worry about you . You're not sleeping well huh ? Y'all get a good sleep since you've gotten what you wanted now it's time relax and rewind .

Leave the worries behind if anything's bothering you share it with your close people they're gonna listen to you and help you with it ✨

if you're struggling with something universe is helping you with it opening positive paths for you having success, happiness. It's all there.

Live in those small moments, cherish the present,find balance in your life don't go to extremes of everything it leads to burn out most of the times , be calm.

random messages: make vision boards ,watch self development videos , do meditation, take good care of yourself!,talk to your elders , meet your grandparents,go in nature,get some sleep ,if you can't share anything that's been bothering with people around you just write it somewhere blurt it out , get some sunlight,get yourself that bedding so that you can have good sleep , talk with your Friends if you've haven't for long ,put your feet in warm water

that's all for now lemme know if you loved it or not 💛 I'm grateful if you read the reading 🫂💗 take this reading lightly don't take it as set on stone as nothing's permanent if the reading didn't resonate there were no messages for you through this reading! <3 loads of love !

November mood board:

[fatimabb]

best friend atsumu! naturally feels protective of you, but when his feelings deepen, this protectiveness turns more intense. He’ll walk on the side closest to the street, stand closer than necessary when someone unfamiliar is around, and always check in after you’ve had a bad day. If anyone tries to hurt you emotionally or physically, his expression shifts to something darker, a silent warning that he won’t tolerate anyone mistreating you.

best friend atsumu! will always be in contact with your body. his touches linger a little longer than they should. A hand on your shoulder stays just a few seconds more, his fingers brush against yours “accidentally” when he hands you something, and his hugs feel warmer and more intimate. He’ll make excuses like “Just making sure you’re real” to cover up how much he actually wants to stay close.

best friend atsumu! teases you constantly, knowing exactly how to get under your skin in the most endearing way. But he’s also incredibly quick to switch gears and say something sweet to make you smile. His teasing is often his way of masking how much he actually cares, and he finds himself laughing along with you, addicted to the sound of your happiness.

best friend atsumu! always seems to know exactly what you need, sometimes even before you do. If you’re stressed, he’ll show up with your favorite food, saying, “I was just in the area.” If you’re upset, he’ll sit with you quietly until you’re ready to talk, never pushing you to open up but always ready to listen when you do. His way of caring is subtle, always making sure you’re comfortable and happy, even if he’s sacrificing his own time or energy.

best friend atsumu! finds himself staring at you without realizing it, studying your face when you’re lost in thought or laughing with friends. His gaze is soft, filled with something more profound than simple friendship, and he sometimes gets lost in how much he feels for you. When you catch him looking, he’ll just smile and shrug, playing it off casually, but inside, his heart is racing.

best friend atsumu! has memorized all the little things that make you, you. He knows your favorite way to drink your coffee, the songs you hum when you’re happy, and the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking. He even remembers your birthmark on your right shoulder, and sometimes he’ll surprise you by mentioning them. “Oh, I figured you’d like this; it’s just your style,” he’ll say with a grin, secretly pleased that he knows you so well.

best friend atsumu! gets a little possessive whenever he sees you getting close to someone else. If you mention someone who’s been paying attention to you, he’ll go quiet or change the subject, his jaw tensing just a bit. He tries to play it off as indifference, but anyone who knows him can see the flash of jealousy in his eyes. If anyone actually flirts with you in front of him, his responses become just a little sharper, as if he’s subtly marking his territory.

best friend atsumu! is the first person you think to call when things go wrong, and he makes sure it stays that way. If you’re ever upset, he’ll drop everything to be there, giving you a space to vent, cry, or just sit in silence without judgment. He loves knowing that you feel safe with him and would do anything to keep that trust, secretly hoping you see him as someone irreplaceable.

best friend atsumu! compliments you in ways that sound like he’s joking or teasing. “You know, if I weren’t me, I’d probably have a huge crush on you,” he’ll say with a smirk, but there’s always a trace of sincerity in his voice. He’ll drop little hints like that, wondering if you’ll ever pick up on them, and his eyes always linger on your reaction, searching for signs that you might feel the same way.

best friend atsumu! would never abandon you, no matter what. He’ll stand by you in every high and low, never hesitating to defend you or support you. Whether you need someone to help you study, move apartments, or just listen to you ramble, he’s there without question. It’s his way of showing how much he values you, hoping one day you might realize that his loyalty isn’t just because you’re his best friend but because you’re the person he wants to be with.

[knavesflames]

hiii 🩷 i saw that you like raiden... i was wondering if we could have a fem!reader sucking her strap 🫣 maybe while wearing a collar & leash, and some praise from raiden?🩷 (she probably isn't good at it, but she tries!!)

- 🍰

Hi 🍰 anon!! Sorry this took literally so fucking long :( I also forgot to include the leash and the collar D: either way, reader sucking strap… yummy

Word count: 1022

Contents: reader sucks The Strap, mentions of praying, devotion to a god, yeah

Nsft utc!

For someone who meditated in isolation for 500 years, her skills in bed are.. about what you’d expect. She’s clumsy, unsure, but all she ever seems to want to do is please you. On occasion, when you request something she’s unsure she can fulfill, she orders the Shogun instead. Even though the Shogun is different, more robotic, less emotional, only saying and doing what she is programmed to, Ei watches, memorising the way she had memorised the Mosou No Hitotachi all those years ago. Of course, you’d much rather Ei do it herself, but the fact she’s a powerful god, the slayer of orobashi, means nothing when she’s alone with you.

“I do not understand your request. You want to.. suck it?” She asks softly, a tilt of her head causing her purple braid to sway gently with the movement. “I do,” you murmur, your finger gently tracing the vein on the strap she had so carefully crafted for you. Made from pure electro energy, it gave the perfect buzz when she needed it to, but only when she wanted it to. You loved it, and it gave you what you needed. Plus, the sounds you made when you were both alone in Tenshukaku sounded better than anything she had ever heard. “I think it would be fun. I think.. I don’t know. I want to try it.”

“I do not wish to hurt you, my petal. If you require the Shogun, you really must say—“ you cut her off with a firm shake of your head. You don’t want the Shogun. Quite frankly, you’re sick of the Shogun. You don’t want to look up, mid groan, only to see the puppet with its emotionless eyes. You want the woman you love, the god you worship so dearly. You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t gotten on your knees in other ways for her, kneeling at the shrine and praying for unholy things. You wonder if she hears your prayers (she does. She listens with her mouth slightly open and her breath quickening, and yet, she can never do anything about it). You assume she does not. You love her anyway.

“I see. You do not wish to engage with the Shogun any longer.”

“No. I do not worship a puppet, I worship the divine being stood in front of me. Do the thing.”

“What thing?” Again, she’s confused. You sigh. You wonder why she has to be so clueless for a god so old and smart.

“Make it vibrate. I want you to feel good.” Ei’s problem is that she can’t accept pleasure. At least, not from anyone but herself. Long mediation sessions that only include thinking about the faces you make every time she hits the right spot, or kisses the right place. Watching over you with the omnipresence she so happily flaunts as you touch yourself to the thought of her (and, on occasion, being tag teamed by her and the Shogun. You’ll never ask).

“Oh.” Speechless, is the god who is so feared and respected by the nation. The nation who seems to have no idea how shy and flustered she can truly get. “Right. If you wish, then I shall oblige. Anything for you.”

When she fastens the hand crafted strap onto herself, her own breath hitches at the slight sensation. Neither of you know exactly how to work this situation with the small vibrations, but the fact you can feel your heartbeat between your own legs and the way you notice you can’t take your eyes off of it, you know that it’s the only thing you’re thinking about, and damn the archons if you don’t get to. Tentatively, you let your tongue move across the surface of it. Her violet eyes pierce down at you— she doesn’t mean for it to be, but it’s slightly intimidating nonetheless (maybe that’s what you like). You see the softness that lies beneath anyway.

“I think you need to hold my head, it’s— it’s big, and I’ve never done this before.”

“Hold your head? Is that not violent? I will not injure you for pleasure.” She states, but when you gently explain that it’ll help, her hand slowly moves to your hair. Her fingers, smooth despite the centuries of fighting, weave through your hair before gripping a small handful. Looking at you with her eyebrows knitted, waiting for a sign of consent, she stands still. When you give that sign, a murmured “please”, she begins to help your mouth and throat adjust by pushing you down. She’s gentle, almost a little too gentle, but the second you make that tiny little sound, she gasps. Your own eyes flutter to hers, a silent look of consent.

She’s hesitant at first, her hand barely guiding you, but when she starts losing herself at the sight of your eyes (beginning to water with what can only be described as tears of pure, unadulterated devotion), she lets herself loose, gently testing the waters with a roll of her hips. At the pleased choking sound you make, she does it again, and again, until she builds a rhythm, her breath coming out in little pants and stifled groans. Her lip is bitten in any attempt to hide the fact she’s enjoying this more than she thought she would. When a small whimper finally breaks through, she lets her head tilt back. Ei has decided she can’t look at you any longer or she’ll probably cum at the sight of you with spit on your chin and wet eyelashes.

Ei is a sensitive being, believe it or not. Unfortunately, for her and her ego, she does, in fact orgasm at the sight of you, the vibrations secretly doing nothing for her. She lies, and tells you that the vibrations did the trick. You know, it's different. You say nothing. You wouldn’t dare disrespect your god and accuse her of deceit.

And of course, when she notices the fact you’re throbbing, her hands gently pry your thighs apart, her braid tickling your ankles as she brings you to an eternity of pleasure.

[aventurineswife]

aventurine x deaf/foxian reader please i am KNEELING

“Love doesn’t need words; it only needs understanding”

Summary: In the bustling casino lights, Aventurine encounters you, a deaf Foxian who sees beyond his charming, risk-taking facade. Through unspoken gestures and shared glances, you connect, forming a bond in a rare, vulnerable moment under the stars.

Tags: Fluff, Aventurine x Reader, Deaf!Foxian!Reader, Slow Burn, Casino Setting, Silent Communication, Vulnerability, Flirty Banter, Quiet Moments, Emotional Connection

A/N: I decided to do both in one, so enjoy!! 🤭💖 Also bestie you can stand up now, no need to kneel anymore ahaha💀

The bustling lights of the casino flashed in tandem with the rhythm of the music, creating a surreal, mesmerizing atmosphere. But for you, it was the silence — a quiet, familiar presence that hummed just beneath the glittering surface. Being a Foxian, your keen senses always picked up the energy of spaces and people, even if you couldn't hear their sounds. And tonight, your senses were drawn to one particular figure across the room.

Aventurine, with his blond hair, striking eyes, and an easy, confident smile, was magnetic. He had a way of exuding charm that made everyone take notice, and his presence had captivated you from the moment he entered the room. The Senior Manager of the Strategic Investment Department at the IPC, one of the Ten Stonehearts… he was someone you’d heard much about, but the reality was far more intense.

You adjusted your earpiece translator, grateful for the clear view of Aventurine as he approached. Your heart skipped as he caught your eye and smiled, striding toward you with the unhurried ease of someone who knew exactly what he wanted.

The first time he spoke, he leaned in close, allowing you to read his lips.

"Good evening. May I have this game with you?"

Your fingers twitched with anticipation, and you gave a playful, if shy, nod. Aventurine’s fingers brushed yours as he led you to one of the card tables, and you couldn’t help but admire the striking details of his attire. His dark coat, adorned with a roulette wheel on the back, and the feather earring that gleamed beneath the casino lights — everything about him felt carefully chosen, deliberately layered to create an aura of mystery.

With smooth confidence, Aventurine placed a set of cards in your hand. His gaze held a subtle spark of challenge, as if he was daring you to guess his next move. But even with no sound between you, communication flowed effortlessly; you’d learned that words weren't always necessary when there was a deeper connection, one that you’d felt between you two since the day you’d met.

As you both played, Aventurine leaned in from time to time, lips mouthing words in a way that felt just for you. He'd mouth something teasing, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to call his bluff. Though he knew you couldn’t hear his tone, his expressions spoke volumes. Your tail(s) flicked with excitement as you tried to keep up, savoring his slight smirks and delighted looks whenever you managed to surprise him.

"Are you a gambling person, fox?" he mouthed, smiling as he watched you process the question.

You tapped a card thoughtfully, glancing up with a gleam in your eyes, and mouthed back, “Only with people worth the risk.”

Aventurine’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability appearing on his face for just a moment. It was in these brief exchanges that you saw a glimpse of the real Aventurine, the man behind the polished smile and the meticulous facade. His fingers brushed over yours, lingering, a silent thank-you for seeing him — really seeing him.

As the night went on, Aventurine led you out onto the casino’s balcony. The air was crisp, and the stars glimmered overhead, a quiet contrast to the frenetic energy inside. You both leaned on the railing, side by side, as you pulled out your comm device. You typed a message, one you were nervous to ask, and showed it to him.

Do you ever feel lonely in your world of high stakes and strategy?

Aventurine looked at the words thoughtfully, the soft light casting shadows across his face. For a moment, he seemed taken aback, as though you’d asked the one question no one ever dared. But then his eyes softened, and he nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he mouthed. “But not tonight.”

You held his gaze, understanding the unspoken weight in his response. Aventurine turned to you, reaching out to gently brush his fingers over the small fox pendant that hung around your neck.

Then, he mouthed something, a simple phrase that made your heart race: You’re my good luck charm.

You didn’t need sound to know he meant it. His fingers intertwined with yours as you felt an unspoken promise in the way he held your hand, grounding you both in a moment of rare honesty.

For Aventurine, life was a game of endless risks. But here, under the starlit sky with you by his side, he found something he never could have expected — a quiet haven from the high-stakes world he’d built around himself.