#because he's bought much for himself in all that time

[fushiguho]

Nanami Kento is the kind of man who always makes sure his lady’s nails are done. He doesn’t care the shape nor color, just that you get his initials on your ring finger each time, an unofficial token of your love — until he gets you the real thing, of course.

He grows utterly weak in the knees whenever you get them obscenely long or a little pointy (bonus points if you get gems or sparkly glitter.) He loves how confident it makes you feel, how your eyes gleam with elated gratitude whenever he presents you with his credit card or a wad of bills, suggesting you take the day for yourself.

Amongst the few, minute joys that lurk on this godforsaken planet, there is nothing that makes Nanami happier than when his favorite girl spends his hard earned money. He even asked you to resign from your job because he makes enough for the both of you. He hates to see you working anyway, he is a provider after all. What did you expect?

He’d wait ever so patiently for you to come back home. Watching the news or cooking a warm, heartfelt dinner, keeping himself occupied as we awaits your return, just imagining what it is you bought this time — lingerie? New shoes? Hours later, when you’re finally stumbling through the door with several overflowing shopping bags, a fresh set of acrylics, and a beaming smile, his cock swells.

Of course he’ll have you try on everything you bought, it’s only right. It’s his money after all, he just wants to ensure that it’s been well spent. Slouched lazily in an armchair, he’d gawk, shamelessly admiring his pretty girl. Gaunt legs sprawled idly as his head cocks to the right, a slow, sleazy grin twisting his lips. The trail of his sharp gaze warm and unwavering as you strip for him. Every once in a while, the amber of the overhead light reflects off of the gems that adorn your nails, the subtle glint catching attention.

A deep, audible groan ensues each time you peel off a garment of clothing, only to replace it with another, giving him his own, private runway show. His knee would bounce in anticipation, poor, aching cock growing impossibly harder by the minute and you can tell; you can see the way it strains against the restricting fabric of his slacks, begging to be taken care of. He can’t help but to reach out for you, his big, greedy hands finding purchase at the thick of your hips to pull you close, claiming that he just wants to see your nails a bit better, but that’s what he always says.

And it’s always harmless, benign. That is until you inevitably end up with his drooling cock lodged in the very back of your throat, sinful bubbles of saliva escaping from the corners of your tautly stretched lips. He’d hold you hand endearingly, babbling on about how pretty your nails are, how much it turns him on when you spend his money, how he promises to spoil you for the rest of your life.

God, it’s taking every fiber of his being not to fish for his wallet and spread a hefty stack of blue striped bills across the ample fat of your ass. The mere thought makes his cock twitch, heavy hips pushing forward, forcing himself deeeep down your slutty little throat, a thick stream of arousal pooling against your tastebuds.

He whines. “Fuuuuucck,” huffing out a strangled breath, an unintentional gasp following, “sweetheart, you are sooo perfect… such perfect throat, godddd… the way you’re looking u-up at me.” Nanami groans, blindly reaching for your hand, dragging it toward his slick, parted lips, “need to marry you — swear to fuckin’ god m’gonna marry you.” His tongue is whorishly lolling out before he’s drawing your fingers in deep, drooling down all of your pretty knuckles.

You're audibly sputtering around him in agreement, saliva spilling down your chin and pooling near the fat of his swollen balls. Gag after helpless gag reverberates from your occupied mouth, the poor, weeping head sinking deeper and deeper with each subtle buck of his hips, painting your throat in haphazard spurts of precum. He needs you like this forever, to take his cock like this forever. He'd give anything to make you his slutty, little wife forever and ever and —

“Pleasepleaseplease tell me you wanna marry me too,” he whines, warm, eager tongue wrapping so possessively around your ring finger, pulling it into his mouth, "oh, god please tell me you want that. I need you forever, baby... need this pretty little mouth forever.” His thick, blonde brows furrow so sweetly, voice strained and so plainly conquered by his evident love.

Physically, you can't respond and he knows; he's deliberately tucking himself deeper, the neat tufts of hair that adorn his girthy base tickling your chin. All you can offer him is a loud, helpless gag as you nod and he whimpers in relief. Yesyesyes, I'll marry you, is all he hears, your obedient, glassy eyes a testament.

So, why are you surprised when he’s hastily fetching a small, velvet box from the pocket of his discarded slacks, cracking it open in fervid anticipation, his cock resting heavily against your tongue? You said yes, right?

[babygorewhore]

Cherry flavored.

Best friend Rafe Cameron x curvy!fem reader

Rafe is your best friend since kindergarten. Even though you’re opposites, including being the daughter of a preacher, you still are inseparable. But one day he invites you to a pool party and you find out his dirty little secret.

Hiiiiii this was inspired by talking to @starkeysprincess @rafeyscurtainbangs and @bloodibambiidoll thank you my loves and I hope you enjoy!! Dividers are by @cxrrodedcoffin I also wanted to make the reader curvy/plus sized from a request from an anon!

Warnings! Perv rafe! Panty stealing! Preachers daughter reader! Talks of bad body image! Mention of partying! Male masturbation! Size kink! Oral fem receiving! Inexperienced reader! Choking! Unprotected sex! Daddy kink! Cum play! Multiple orgasms! Pussy slapping! Degrading! Praise! Talk of male oral!

“You’re being so dramatic.” Rafe repeated as he drove you home. You glared at him and smacked his arm lightly. Even intoxicated, you still tossed back his sassy attitude.

You didn’t party often. Usually you were too busy working or studying part time college courses. When you also weren’t helping your pastor father conduct activities for church.

You and Rafe were lifelong best friends. Ever since kindergarten in the private school, when you slapped him across the face for stealing your box of crayons. You two were a funny pair. The preachers daughter, a single inexperienced girl who was insecure with Kook King Rafe with the successful family. Rafe was always pushing you to let loose. Stop being so rigid and tonight you listened. But you drank way too much and now you had a pounding headache.

Rafe pulled up to your house, sighing as you dug through your purse against your plush thighs. The skirt was still covering the meat of your legs. You searched for pain relief pills and took them with the bottle of water. Quirking an eyebrow, you met his stare that was focused on your clothing.

“What are you looking at?”

Rafe snorted and leaned his head back against the seat. “You know just because you’re a Jesus freak, doesn’t mean you have to dress like the Virgin Mary.”

That made you pinch his exposed skin and he chuckled.

“How do you expect to get laid when you wear that shit? Dress like a normal girl. Cross and all.” Rafe reached over and tugged lightly at your necklace. You let him, feeling the warmth from his fingers radiate on your flesh.

“Newsflash Rafe, guys don’t like girls who look like me. And it’s better that I accept that. I don’t need anyone telling me that I look bad when I know that.”

“That’s your problem, babe. You have no confidence. You’re hot and everyone sees that. But you gotta believe it.”

It wasn’t the first time Rafe said this to you but the alcohol stirred a forbidden fire between your thighs. You hid it by looking away.

“Thanks for the ride home.”

Rafe shrugged. “Aight. See you later.”

Rafe felt like a fucking virgin as he tugged at his dick with your panties when he got home. His eyes squeezing shut and cum coating his hand as he imagined your angelic body bouncing on it. He wanted to squeeze your curves, lick and kiss every inch of your body. Rafe wanted to selfishly devour your pussy for not only your pleasure but his own. He wanted to hear your moans and how he affected you.

He wanted to see your lips wrapped around his cock and tongue licking up what you caused.

He’d always found you attractive. And he hated being a stereotype of falling for his best friend.

But goddamn he wanted you. If only his pride didn’t get in the way from grabbing your pretty little face and kissing you tonight.

When he spilled his load into your panties, he groaned and cleaned himself off shortly after. Rafe was texting you, a normal activity even though you had to get up early.

He invited you to a pool party at his loft. It made him angry to think of other men enjoying your presence but any excuse to get you here he’d take it. He also bought you a swimsuit. A bikini.

Did he only know your size because he snuck into your room to steal panties? Yeah but that was between him and God.

Rafe responded by insisting he wanted you there and you finally agreed. And would wear the swimsuit. His dick twitched when you sent him a selfie of you pouring over your Bible, especially since you weren’t wearing a bra.

You held onto the wrap that covered your body as you navigated the large apartment. You’d been to Rafe’s house hundreds of times despite your father’s clear distain for him. Rafe didn’t usually step foot into the church. But he picked you up again today. You’d explained you couldn’t find some of your items and he seemed a little too suspiciously concerned.

You’d changed into the gifted swimsuit after Sunday service. But wore a black covering over it. Your silver cross dangled above your breasts as you sat on a lounge chair. Rafe’s friends swam, drank and meandered as he came out. He was shirtless, wearing a SnapBack and exposing his muscular body.

That same secret sensation came over you watching your best friend greet people. He clapped Topper on the back. His smile cocky as he showed off his workout gains. You pressed your thighs together, shoving down any reaction as he caught your eye.

Rafe disappeared when he brought you both here, apparently to change. He sauntered over to you and gave you a body scan. “Nah, come on. What’s that shit? Take it off.”

You gripped it tighter and pressed your back against the chair. “No. It’s too revealing.”

Rafe rolled his eyes and squinted at you. “Sweetheart, it’s a pool party. Pretty sure everyone here is half naked. Take it off. Show off what I bought you.”

You remained still and Rafe wasn’t pleased by your stubbornness. You shrieked as he hauled you up, his arms scooping underneath your legs and your hands clutched his shoulders.

“Put me down, asshole!”

Rafe chuckled as you squirmed. “That’s what happens when you don’t wanna listen, sweets.” With a wink, he jumped into the pool. He brought you above water, watching in an unreadable expression at the sight of your coverup falling.

The water dripped as you wiped your eyes, moving your hair back. Your tits bounced at your movement, neck exposed fully as you worked to the edge of the pool. The bikini would absolutely show most of your ass if you got out.

“Rafe! I’m gonna punch you in the face, fucker!” You growled and splashed him. Rafe caught your hand, pulling you closer and pressed you against him.

“Now is that any way to act around your best friend? Doesn’t the Bible say to treat your friends well?” He teased and his hands settled on your hips.

Your pulse raised but you tried to keep your composure. “Yeah but just because I follow Christ doesn’t mean I can’t swing on you.” You offered and he smirked. “Especially when you jump into the pool with me! You could have snapped your spine.”

Rafe scoffed. “I know for a fact you didn’t insult me like that. I lifted you just fine, didn’t I? I could beat your ass if I wanted to. Easily.”

You pushed at his chest, making him take a step back. “I’d like to see you try, blondie.”

He licked his teeth and nodded. You narrowed your eyes as you knew that look. He was plotting something. Splashes from the guests made you turn your head briefly but you felt Rafe’s hands return to your body. His fingers tightening on your skin, pressing into the plush flesh of your waist.

“You know, you have one hell of a slick mouth. Shame you don’t put it to better use.”

Your jaw dropped at his words. Rafe hadn’t really hinted at something like that between you. He never really indicated anything past surface level acknowledgement of your features. But now, his blue eyes drank in the sight of you. Especially on your tits that the swimsuit hugged.

“Rafe, come on bro! Quit eye fucking your best friend and get your ass over here!” Someone called and you took the interruption as the key to move back.

You climbed out of the pool, fully showing your curves under the sun with water glistening. Turning, you saw Rafe looking at your body. Immediately you crossed your arms, grabbed a towel and rushed back inside the house.

You went into Rafe’s room with a sigh. You’d borrow one of his shirts before so you knew he wouldn’t mind if you did again. Opening his drawer, you gasped.

Several pairs of your panties were there. Coated in white. Crumpled up. Your mouth hung as you also saw photos you’d both taken together. A sample of your perfume.

“Fucking pervert…” You whispered with wide eyes. You threw on a tshirt, feeling it comfortably around your body.

You covered your lips, shock overwhelming you. Rafe was stealing your underwear. Acting so innocent around you after. How long had this been going on?

You sat on his bed, trying to collect your thoughts. Readying for asking him when he inevitably comes in.

You didn’t realize you fell asleep until you snapped your eyes open at the sound of the door closing. Rafe smoothed his hair back, shorts damp.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came when he saw the open drawer. You didn’t know what to expect. Rafe licked his lips, apparently scrambling for an explanation.

“Rafe, why did you take my panties?”

He straightened his back. “Because I wanted to. What other reason would I?” His response surprised you in honesty.

“I didn’t think you liked me like that.” You answered and he frowned.

“Why wouldn’t I? I mean yeah we’re best friends but don’t be naive.” You rolled your eyes at his flippancy.

“Naive? Rafe, you’ve never said anything. And then I find you’ve been stealing and jerking off with my panties. Like a pervert.”

He stepped forward and crossed over to you quickly. Rafe grabbed the collar of the shirt and tugged.

“Calling me a pervert, huh? Don’t act like you don’t like the idea of me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Don’t act all innocent, cherry.” You swatted his hand.

“Don’t joke, Rafe. A guy like you doesn’t like a girl like me and don’t pretend.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Rafe asked and dropped his fingers.

“I’m not skinny! I’m not like the other girls you’ve fucked or anything. I can’t even swim at a party because I’m too embarrassed of myself. It would be…weird for anyone to see you like me.” You gestured to your body and held out your hands. “I have half a mind to think you’re pranking me right now. No way a guy like you would fuck a girl like me.”

Before you had a chance to insult yourself further, Rafe’s large hands cupped your face and smashed your lips together. You made a noise of surprise, his mouth moving against yours deeply as his right palm slid down your back. He sucked your lower lip, nipping lightly with his teeth.

Rafe walked you back to the bed, his tongue memorizing your mouth as the back of your knees hit the mattress. He pulled back, inches away.

“I don’t wanna hear that talk outta you. Especially since your tits are barely covered under my shirt. I wanna defile the little preachers daughter.”

His dirty words made you whimper and Rafe brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“Cmon. You know it’s perfect. Your first time should be with me, your best friend.” He gave you a sly smile but you looked down.

“It’s not my first time but…”

Rafe lifted your chin, making you meet his eyes. “But what, cherry? Did the Guy bust his load too quick?”

“I didn’t cum. He just fucked me a few seconds and that’s it.” Your body heated with embarrassment and Rafe snarled.

“You know that doesn’t count.” He started to lift his shirt off you but you shifted. “I’ve been entertaining this long enough and I’m gonna make sure your little needy pussy gets what she needs.” Rafe yanked the material off, groaning at the sight of your breasts and body.

His warm palms cupped your chest, squeezing them as he pushed you on your back. The strings of the bikini started to come untied. He closed his lips around your nipple, sucking it. You whined, stomach clenching as Rafe nudged your legs apart.

“Mmm, needed this didn’t you, baby? Needed daddy to worship your pretty body?” He whispered and kissed down your stomach. You looked down at him shyly but Rafe’s eyes hardened with lust. He snapped the strings and peeled them off your thighs. Exposing your puffy cunt.

“Goddamn, princess. No wonder your dad wants to keep you locked up. Making me feel like a dog.” Rafe pushed your knees apart, spreading your folds and open mouth kissed your pelvis. You rolled your hips as he cupped your ass with a light smack.

“Mhm, yeah I’ve been wanting to taste this pussy. Even dreamed about it.” He licked a thick stripe over your clit and you shrieked. You knew it felt good but the way Rafe hungrily lapped at your cunt was unbelievable.

You couldn’t stay still, the way he buried his whole face. Sucking and spitting following with pressured motions with his tongue. He was fully tasting you. Your legs hugged his head but he held your knees further up. Spreading you as far as he could.

“Fuck, you taste so good, princess. So sweet for acting like a little slut. Mmm,” Rafe hummed as his dick grinds down on the bed. You were moaning and gripping his hair. It was overwhelming as he sucked your clit, licking the sensitive part selfishly.

“I-I’m gonna cum!” You wailed and Rafe nodded with a grunt. The uncoiling of your belly came undone with a violent shudder and tears blurred your vision. Your tits were aching as Rafe continued working you over.

He was torturing you, keeping you still as his mouth stuck to your pussy.

“Daddy, please! Please, please, I can’t-“ You begged and finally, he slowed down but traveled kisses up your torso. Rafe’s hands kneaded your ass, hips as he licked your pulse point.

“Yeah? Sweet girl can’t handle me licking your pussy? flavored like a cherry,” He taunted and slapped your pussy. You exclaimed when he pulled his shorts off, letting you see his dick.

He was big. Girthy and it leaked with precum. Your mouth watered and Rafe smirked.

“You wanna suck it? That’s cute, sweetheart. You wanna get on your knees like when you pray to your God? Too bad.” You protested but Rafe slapped your inner thighs.

“Whining isn’t gonna work right now, doll. You’re gonna cream on my dick before you suck it clean.” Rafe ran the tip along your slit, smearing cum along your entrance and slowly pushed in.

Alot of pressure pinched and your eyes widened. “Oh, it won’t fit! It won’t fit!” You babbled but Rafe growled. He held onto your hips, his thumbs almost bruising you.

“I’m not playing this little game. You can take it, oh that’s my girl. Atta girl, that’s what I like to see,” Rafe praised as your eyes rolled back, his thumb massaged your clit. “Being such a good little slut for daddy. Squeezing me like that.” Rafe thrusted deeply, his balls slapping and your mouth hung open.

“Right there, right there, daddy. Please, I’m your good girl.” You sobbed and Rafe’s hand wrapped around your throat. Not enough to hurt but your pussy fucking throbbed at how good it felt.

“Yeah. You’re my good girl. Mine. My pretty little whore taking my cock. Creaming on it like a champion. Acting so innocent under those ridiculous skirts.” Rafe gritted his teeth as you moaned louder and louder. He knew you’d be sensitive but this was better than any fantasy.

“Yeah, that’s right. You can do it. You can keep taking it. Take my dick, you little slut. Making me fuck myself with your panties too long.” Rafe gave you a particularly hard thrust and you screamed. Sending you over the edge and you cried. Your orgasm hit you so hard you almost went limp as he gripped the headboard with one hand. His other palm cupping your wrists and holding them above your head.

He kissed you with brute force as his cum spilled into you. Rafe humped you through it, sloppily making out with you as you silently panted. Your strength was leaving you as Rafe pulled out, jerking his cock and covering your tits with cum. Marking you. It was filthy, the way he licked it up after.

He hovered over you, examining your expression as you twitched with aftershock. Rafe pressed a kiss to your forehead, cheeks and nose. “You’re so pretty when you come. You’re a doll baby.” He smiled at you. Genuinely. You looked at him with half closed lids.

“So, you want to be my boyfriend?” You quietly asked and Rafe nodded.

“Yeah. I mean spraying you with cum kinda sealed the deal, baby.” Your cunt pulsed as he kissed your neck.

“I wanna taste you now.” You whispered and Rafe lifted his head. Lips glistening.

“Oh I don’t think you know what you’ve done. Now that I took it easy on you, I’m really gonna fuck you like a slut. Then you’re gonna wear your cum filled panties during church. So God can see who you really worship.”

Tagging: @cameronsprincess @sturnioloshacker @userchai @loserboysandlithium @oceanblvd111 @oceandriveab @redhead1180 @gri959 @take-everything-you-can @decodedlvr @stillwjk-channie-lixie @webbluvrsugar @starkeysbabygirl

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SKZ being whipped for you

Genre: lots of fluff

A/N: First SKZ reaction!

Chan

He expected this. He expected to be mercilessly made fun of by his members the moment he admitted being into someone. Still, it doesn’t keep him from flushing bright red and finding the nearest hiding spot. And oh man, if they do this while you’re in earshot, he’ll wish the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Be nice and reassure him, and maybe even defend him against his group members for good measure. 

Minho

Deny, deny, deny. You could not be dating at all yet or be together for a decade and he’ll still brush off any commentary about how he acts around you. It might even be so convincing that you sometimes forget all the little things that he does for you. But his members won’t. They’ll rage about the privileges he gives you. He’ll roll his eyes and say, “Are you kidding? I did that for you yesterday.” Sometimes you think it’s just so he can watch his friend’s head explode, because he most certainly did Not do that thing yesterday. In quiet, private moments though, he’ll remind you that you do, in fact, have all of the privileges.

Changbin

Unashamed. Did you think he’d be embarrassed by how into you he is? Absolutely not. Couldn’t fathom it. At least - not when his members comment on it. He’ll say, “Duh. Of course, I am. Have you seen them? Have you met them?” It’s a brag for him in a lot of ways. However! If you tease him about it, he might get a little shy in the early stages of whatever is going on with you two. Expect that to wear off, because one day soon he’ll have no shame about nodding his head and agreeing with your observations with a smile.

Hyunjin

This might be subtle, but it will be the little things. Like, your text always gets opened and responded to promptly, even if he should really be doing something else. Or your his first call when he has a rare day off and wants to do something. Or heaven forbid someone take a peek at his sketch book because it often features you. He might be a little secretive about his feelings, if only to spare himself the teasing he might get if he makes it too obvious. But if you call him out on it, he’ll freely admit it.

Jisung

Does NOT know what to do with himself. Totally overwhelmed by it sometimes. It’s painfully obvious even to you, because you can just be existing in the same room and he’s fixated on you with heart eyes. I can actually see this as being something that he might be kind of self-conscious about if only because he wants to be more poised or more thoughtful in expressing his feelings. Match. His. Energy! Let them make fun of both of you!!!

Felix

Sickeningly, tooth-rottingly sweet. I don’t know that many of his members would really even tease him very much about it because it’s just too heart-warming. When he’s whipped, it’s just too easy to get swept up in the romance if you’re on the receiving end of it. Honestly, they might beg him to tone it down a little - which he will not. Not as long as you like it, anyway.

Seungmin

You’ll get partner privileges here too, but that might be the only sign. And he will not give you those partner privileges easily. You ask him to hang out and he says, “You can’t stand to be away from me,” like he wasn’t rushing to put on shoes. You call and he answers in a split second, but asks what you could possibly want because he’s busy (even though he is already thinking of a way to get out of whatever he's doing). He buys coffee or a snack and when you thank him, he’ll say, “Yeah, yeah, you’re so needy”. He might even act so put out that he’ll get scolded by some of his members to be nicer. But the thing is… it’s all a ruse!!! Agree when he says these things to throw him off his game!!

Jeongin

CASUAL. Yeah, he’s into you. Yeah, he wants to spend all his time with you. Yeah, he bought you a little gift again for the third time this week. Your point? It sucks allllll of the fun out of teasing him, the baby of the group, because he’s so unbothered and he’ll continue to do what he wants. It’ll actually make YOU whipped if only because of how unabashedly he admits it. 

[aealzx]

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous

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“...o, he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Someone had entered the room that morning, and now Jazz was talking to someone that could have been them or another person entirely. The haze of their lowered conversation was helping to pull Danny from the fog of sleep. But after the initial part it sounded like the conversation was one sided.

“Clothes?.... Actually, I don’t know what he would like. He hasn’t bought anything for himself for two years now. And never has a response when we ask.”

That response made Danny feel like they were talking about him. Jazz and whoever she was talking to. It was probably on the phone. He felt a little bad, but what she had just said was true. He hadn’t really done much when it came to clothing lately. Sam and Tucker had mostly been the ones to give his Phantom attire an update, and he just hadn’t bothered to address anything else.

“No, I’m not going to wake him up. He needs his rest-”

“Mmm… ‘s fine, J’zz. ‘M awake,” Danny forced himself to mumble even though he wasn’t quite fully alert yet. Relaxing in the study the previous evening had been really nice, and his spirits had risen a little when the few sips of broth he’d had a few hours before bed hadn’t made him sick again. But he still felt like a truck had hit him in his sleep, which made that morning hard. “Izzat for me? Here…” he asked, lazily flopping his hand into the air so that Jazz could give him the phone.

Jazz seemed to consider it for a moment, but eventually sighed and walked over to put the borrowed cellphone in Danny’s hand. Danny couldn’t see, having not managed to open his eyes yet, but Alfred was waiting patiently at the door to get it back. For now Danny just flopped it next to his head and turned his ear into it. “Mm…’ello?”

“Danny! Good morning~”

It was Stephanie. Chiming in a bubbly way that was much too energetic for… what time was it? Still felt too early.

“So, we’re out shopping and getting some new clothes for everyone, but your friends are being unhelpful and keep saying you don’t have any kind of style you like. Soooo, you get to answer. What would you like us to pick up for you? And what size do you usually wear?” Stephanie rambled, anticipating Danny would have more answers than the others.

“Uhhhhhh….,” Danny stalled, both because he was still waking up and she had said a lot of words, but also because he didn’t have an answer. “I dunno. A t-shirt and jeans? I’m usually a size smaller than Tucker though.”

“Seriously? That’s it? That’s so boring,” Stephanie complained.

“See? We told you, but you didn’t believe us.” Danny could hear Tucker’s voice, and figured he was on speaker.

“He just kept wearing the same clothes he had when he was fourteen, and only has new ones because the rest of us bought some for him. But he was so unhelpful then too that we had to settle for just getting him space themed stuff,” Sam huffed, and Danny could hear her folding her arms in annoyance.

“Hey, I got a lot of other stuff to worry about than clothes,” Danny protested to defend himself.

“You like space themed stuff though?” Dick’s voice chimed in now.

“Yeah, I still like space,” Danny confirmed. “Can’t do much with it these days, but I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut,” he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed about admitting his childhood dream.

“Cool. What about puns?” Dick hummed, adding another question quickly.

“No. Dick, don’t you dare,” Stephanie scolded.

Danny could only smile though. “I love puns,” he confirmed, not able to pick out who was all contributing to the chorus of groans and complaints, “Why? You got a good one?”

“Maybe. You’ll see,” Dick’s response was with barely held mirth. “Thanks kiddo, take it easy,” he bid before ending the call.

Well at least that was something to look forward to. Danny’s smile didn’t fade as he lifted the phone from the pillow to hand back to Jazz, who then returned it to Alfred. He ended up rolling over and laying there for a little longer, which made Jazz giggle and run her fingers through his hair for a bit. It was comfortable, and at least he wasn’t so tired he fell asleep right after waking up.

“...Alfred made some more of the broth you got last night. Do you want to try some more?” Jazz eventually asked when Danny finally managed to keep his eyes open and focus on things.

Danny considered how he felt before answering, and ended up nodding. “These help,” he admitted, pointing to the anti nausea patch behind his ear. It was enough confirmation for Jazz to move to help him sit up, stuffing all the pillows she could behind him when he was upright so he wouldn’t have to worry about spilling. The broth really did taste good, despite only being slightly warmer than room temperature. He found that if he only took small sips, and waited awhile between them he didn’t end up with his stomach wanting to revolt again. Maybe eventually he’d want a fat burger again, but for now this was enough.

He soon learned that he hadn’t woken up until after 10:00 am, but while that felt weird to hear he eventually realized there was nothing wrong with it. Apparently the others had been out all morning, Stephanie having come to get them since it was a holiday for her school. Not that her attendance was stellar anyway with all the mishaps she ended up in during the daytime, but it helped convince Bruce to let her carry on. She’d even managed to drag Dick and Barbara to join them. And that and the phonecall earlier led to Dick being the one to burst into the bedroom shortly after noon with the bags he’d promised over the phone.

“Head’s up!” Dick called as the only warning before he tossed a new t-shirt over Danny’s head.

“Dick!” Barbara scolded mildly, having only heard how Danny was doing and not completely sure he was up for being harassed.

To her surprise Danny just snorted. “It’s fine. It’s just a shirt,” he excused, pulling the t-shirt off his face and spreading it where he could see. While Dick grinned triumphantly at Barbara before turning to watch Danny expectantly, Danny quickly read the text on the shirt and promptly half choked on a snort. “HAHAHAHA H-,” he erupted with full on laughter, wheezing as he tried to vocalize the text. “I have - PFFFF HAHAHA - so many prob- HHHHH Jazz,” he howled and wheezed, turning the shirt so his sister could see the astronaut image surrounded by the text ‘Houston, I have so many problems’.

“Oh-.... Ohhhhh that’s great,” Jazz grimaced, giving a thumbs up as the content of the shirt was enough to dampen her own joy over seeing Danny laughing so openly. Considering his current situation, Danny probably thought it was rather fitting.

“I’m so upset we were right that he would love that,” Sam grumbled with a shake of her head.

“I think it’s great,” Danielle chimed in, though not laughing quite as much as Danny since she’d already seen everything.

“Of course you do,” Tucker sighed.

“I have more!” Dick took that as a chance to continue, plopping on the bed and digging out another shirt to pass over to Danny.

“Oh no, I’m leaving. Have fun,” Tucker groaned, quickly heading out the door partially to get away from what he had a feeling was going to be a terrible session of puns and bad jokes, and partially to take care of his own haul. Sam was quick to follow his lead, dragging Danielle after them so she didn’t skip out on helping.

As Danny excitedly held up the next shirt another honk laugh escaped him, though not quite as uproarious as the first. “HA! Just need space. Classic,” he complimented, lowering the shirt to his lap and looking up at Dick again to see if he had more.

“This was the last shirt they had, but if you want more puns after I have plenty to give,” Dick complied, handing the final printed shirt over to Danny.

It took Danny a second to realize the graphic of the earth was suggested to be spinning, staring at the conversation between the characterized moon and their own planet. The moon was asking what the earth was doing, and the earth responded ‘Making everyone’s day’, and as soon as the joke clicked in Danny’s head he was almost crying with laughter again. He didn’t even notice Stephanie joyfully recording both of them.

“Give me what else you have,” Danny requested after getting his breath back, reaching out to tug on Dick’s arm. It felt good to laugh. Even if it hurt his ribs, hurt the still healing burns on his chest, it felt good to just sit and laugh about something stupid. He didn’t want to give it up just yet, and it seemed Dick had actually planned for this in the past few hours after learning Danny loved puns too.

“Alright, get comfy ‘cause I have got a real gemstore to show you,” Dick agreed eagerly, squirming up onto the bed next to Danny and getting comfortable as well where they could both look at his phone. He had a folder saved just for collecting his favorites.

Danny was quick to settle into place wedged against Dick’s side, quickly reading and giggling or outright barking more laughter as they flipped through the saved images of jokes ranging from ‘I’m more confused than a chameleon in a bag of skittles’ to ‘astronomers got tired of waiting for the sun to go down, so they decided to call it a day’. Throughout the scrolling and varying degrees of laughter at the jokes, Danny even added some of his own that he remembered after seeing some of the others. 

Eventually their session was interrupted by Damian pausing at the doorway, getting their attention with a light knock.

“Pennyworth would like to know if you would prefer supper in the study once more,” the youngest Wayne informed, and waited for the response.

“Who…?” was what Danny ended up responding with, having not heard people’s last names yet.

“Alfred. Damian calls everyone by their last names,” Dick thankfully supplied, earning a small noise of understanding from Danny. It wasn’t hard to tell the hours and hours of jokes had worn him out, but he seemed quite content so Dick didn’t feel bad. “You’ve upgraded to the couch already though? Hell yeah.”

The comment made Danny snort again, though he also had to grimace at Dick incredulously. “What kind of lifestyle do you people live?” he asked before giving a quick answer to Damian. “Here is fine for today. If that’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Your recovery is of utmost importance to those in this household. If supper in bed will facilitate that, then it is of no consequence to anything else,” Damian responded easily, giving them a nod before leaving to report back to Alfred.

“Eh. We’ve had our fair share of injuries through the years,” Dick admitted to Danny’s question, lifting a finger to tap the small bandage on his own forehead once. “Enough that a knife wound is more like a papercut,” he half joked.

Danny snickered at the response, but wasn’t sure how he really felt about it. Was it really a good thing to be so used to being hurt that they seemed to have started making a game out of things relating to it? Maybe it was just something so inevitable for people like them, that they’d just had to make the most of it in the best way they knew how.

“Does it…,” Danny found himself speaking before he’d fully committed to the question in his mind. He had half the thought to retract his half voiced question, but opted instead to complete it. “Does it ever get to be too much?”

The question made Dick recognize a little more about what state of mind Danny was in, and his brows furrowed in concern before he eventually brought the smile back. “All the time,” he admitted. “Especially when you get all these meta humans and aliens involved. But… it’s too hard to stop.”

For a moment Danny had forgotten that the others, aside from Duke, didn’t have any special abilities that weren’t common for a regular human. It must be very stressful for them to have to deal with people like him that ended up rogue. But also, hearing someone else admit that they too, sometimes, only kept going because it was too hard for them to stop brought Danny a strange kind of bitter comfort. Maybe they were just all doomed together.

But, even if they were, at least he had company.

“...Thanks,” Danny chose to respond, relaxing a little more heavily into the pillows. The laughter had felt good, but the exhaustion and aches didn’t. “For all the jokes. I loved them.”

Dick could only grin fondly, reaching out to ruffle Danny’s hair after sitting upright. “No problem, kid. Anytime you need some more, just let me know.”

“Does that mean I can have your number after I get my phone back?”

Dick could only snort, having not expected that question. “Sure. We’ll figure something out for the whole interdimensional communication thing. I’m sure someone has already figured it out,” he chuckled, scooting to the edge of the bed to get ready to join the others at dinner.

Danny could only hum in acknowledgement, content with that answer, and let Dick leave to get his own food. Having someone to appreciate good jokes with was something to look forward to at least.

____________________

Iiiii struggled a lil with this one too =3= But there were some notes I needed to be mentioned before getting too far along.

Thank you for whoever sent me some puns though XDD they really helped. I love puns, but I'm terrible at coming up with any or even remembering them.

____________________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan��� we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

[machveil]

König who acts like an old man - and it’s hard to ignore when you live with him. König is used to waking up early from his time at KorTac, and unfortunately you’ll know when he wakes up. coughing, loud, apartment shaking coughing as he clears his throat, stumbling his way to the bathroom before the suns up. some days you can sleep through it, most you just groan and bury your face in your pillow

König who sneezes so fucking hard - it’s gross. it’s especially bad when he’s wearing his hood around the apartment and sneezes into it. you can hear him sniffle afterwards, snotty and loud as he reaches for a tissue. I’m actually so sorry for telling you that, it’s just so true to me even though it’s so gross, but he’s human. sometimes he just outright refuses to use a tissue and complains later when his throat is raw from sniffling

König who disappears into the bathroom for… way too long. you can hear him shuffle about behind the door sometimes but overall he’s completely silent. he’s in there just enjoying some alone time, moving about - cleaning up his stubble, trimming his nails, sometimes he just looks into the mirror lost in thought for a moment. one time you caught him trying to wash his hood in the sink with hand soap… it was promptly thrown into the wash

König who seemingly wears the same fucking pair of cargo pants whenever he’s home. he bought, like, five pairs of the same pants because, “They’re good, Schatz— look, I can carry so many pocket knives.”. he’ll wear them at least twice before washing them. no variation in color, all of them are the same khaki, all of them hugging his thighs a little too much. he folds them himself too, even if you’ve already done it he’ll just redo them. it’s not that you’ve folded them wrong or anything, he just genuinely enjoys folding them, what can I say?

[fictionismyreality3]

Pigtails = Handlebars 18+

Warnings: smut, like literally just smut. A little bit of degradation 🥺🥺 but it’s cute so 🤭

Notes: this is entirely self indulgent and no, I don’t care because I havE NEVER EVER BEEN HAPPIER-

"You're such a good little- oh, fuck. Yeah, take it."

You couldn't do much other than lay there and take it. You knew the little outfit you'd bought would work John up, the pink bra and panty set getting his mouth watering as soon as he came home to you laying teasingly on his bed.

But what really sold it was the pigtails.

John wasn't quite sure why, but the sight of you, all soft and plush, looking so innocent as you laid there with that sweet smile on your face, had his cock aching to be stuffed inside you.

It stirred some deep, primal part of his brain to see you all dressed up like that. So soft and so sweet. Something little and precious he needed to keep tucked away so only he could ruin you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled your bedroom, your eyes rolling back into your head every time John pounded his cock into your leaking pussy. The ache between your thighs was building every time his heavy balls slapped against your clit.

"Such a tight fuckin' cunt." He growled, big hands holding onto your pigtails. "Made f'me, huh?"

"Yes!"

The stinging of his grip on your hair, tugging your head back, had you gasping. "Fuckin good little slut. All dressed up." Moan after moan ripped from your throat.

"All pretty f'me.” His head was spinning. “Tha’s it, little one.”

You'd long since stopped trying to hold yourself up on your hands and knees, your limbs going lax as you laid their on your stomach, letting John rut his cock into you, all the thoughts in your head leaking out of your cunt.

His eyes were fixed on where his cock disappeared inside you, his rough hands holding onto your pigtails as he used the leverage to go deeper, deeper.

The weight of his burly form pressed against your back as he curled himself around you, huffed growls in your ear as he bullied his throbbing cock against your cervix, had you drooling into the pillow.

By the time he was done, it was all you could do to lay there and feel his cum leaking out of you.

[thevoidstaredback]

Clark hadn't meant to spend so long in Gotham. In fact, he'd intended to leave as soon as he was done interviewing Misters Wayne! But then his train had been delayed. And then he'd seen Signal...

Staying was a huge risk. He didn't know why Batman didn't want any of the Justice League in Gotham, but he was willing to bet that it had something to do with the amount of rogue attacks.

It's a miracle that neither a rogue or Batman showed up. Though, Batman' wouldn't have recognised him, he was not willing to risk messing up like that.

Until now.

Clark had decided to see what exactly goes on in Gotham City, New Jersey. Despite it being known nationally, there isn't really a clear picture about what goes on within the city limits. Maybe he can convince his boss to let him do a story on it? Then again, Bruce Wayne is his new boss, now that he's gone and bought the Daily Planet. Thoughts for another time.

He did not mean to get tied up like this. Literally. His exploration was only meant to last just until the last train of the day! But then he'd gone and gotten himself kidnapped!

Lois is going to laugh so hard at him.

And it's not that it's too hard for him to escape. These ropes are weaker than the ones Ma and Pa use on the farm, and the knot's easier to untie than a slip-knot. He can't because there's people watching him.

Batman can never know.

Batman probably already knows.

If Batman could laugh, Clark's beyond sure that he'd be rolling.

There was no fanfare when he was taken. Just someone pulling him into a van he walked by before diving off a they tied him up. Honestly, if it wasn't such an inconvenience, he'd admire how smoothly it was pulled off.

Things like this don't happen in Metropolis. They do! But, he's never really had to deal with them. That's usually the police's job, so he stays out of it. Unless nothing gets done...that's when he steps in.

Does this happen a lot in Gotham? From stories he's heard, he assumed drugs and big Rogues were the more constant threats, but this was too well done to be amateurs.

Regardless, this is a humiliating situation to now be in. Ridiculous, really, that he'd let his guard down. And if Batman or Lois don't lord it over him until they die, Diana will.

The others can never know.

With a quiet sigh, Clark does his damndest to look like his struggling without shredding the ropes or shattering the chair. It's much harder feat than first assumed. After a while, he 'gives up' and surveys the room.

There's a group of people mulling about a few yards away from him, though three of them are looking at him at a time. They're all armed with at least two weapons each.

Focusing his hearing, Clark picks up quiet discussion of a randsome. He has to do a double take.

Are they- They're trying to randsome him? He doesn't even live in Gotham! And, he can feel his wallet in his back pocket, so they obviously don't know his name or work. Also, he doesn't like his picture (as Clark Kent) taken, so there's no way they picked him for his face!

More of the group's - there's ten there, not that he's focusing - discussion reveals the name Bruce Wayne.

Why would they be talking about Bruce Wayne while holding Clark Kent hostage?

He sends his hearing to the police station, listening for the keyword 'randsome'. When that gives no results, which is very unfortunate and another thing that is different from Metropolis, he goes to the rest of the city. Maybe the note was en route?

Clark picks up a conversation from five different places in the city. One, the female, is stationary near the middle of the city; the oldest voice and the youngest are together; the other two are spread out. They're all nearing him.

Oh. He knows that voice.

He was right. Batman does already know.

He can do nothing but drop his head and sigh in dispaire.

Why couldn't these guys have been cultists? At least then he'd have an excuse - however flimsy - to have been caught off guard!

If that's Batman, than Robin must be with him. That means that Red Robin is one of the two already closing in on him. (Judging by the weight and movements, he's the closest one) Clark doesn't recognise the other two voices, but he can assume they also work with Batman while in Gotham.

It could be worse, he supposes. It could be Nightwing rescuing him.

He's already never living this down. nightwing would make fun of him for this incident in the afterlife, too.

The only warning that something had entered the build was the slow dawning of terror that Clark felt. He knew that his captors felt it, too, because they all snapped upright, weapons in hand and aimed at every entrance.

There was a presence behind him just as the rope trying to hold him down was cut.

"Hello Uncle Clark," said a voice that Clarks sure he's heard, but can't quite place, "Nightwing's gonna be all over this when he gets back on-world."

Clark doesn't move, even though the rope's been cut. "Please don't tell him..."

"Too late, C. The message is ready to be sent the second he's back in the solar system."

Clark curses under his breath while the voice laughs, the presence fading just as quick as it had appeared.

I the rafters, the sound of bat wings draws all weapons up. Clark still doesn't move. Then, as the shadows grow darker, the chirps of three birds start to softly call. His captors start firing, shattering the glass in the windows.

He takes this as his cue to get the hell out of dodge, though he only moves to the roof of the next building over.

From outside, it looks as though there's nothing going on inside the building his just left. A closer look shows shadows moving, but not a single sound. The clouds covering the moon makes the entire thing worse.

There's a pressure before his best friend is right behind him.

"What are you doing in Gotham, Kal?"

"I'm here for work, actually."

"You finished your assignment hours ago. Why are you still here?"

He shrugs. "Can't I visit my friend in his home?"

"You did."

"What?"

"You came, you saw. Go home, Kal."

"Wait a second!" He finally turns to the dark silhouette beside him. "What do you mean I already saw you?"

Batman hums quietly. The buzz of the woman's voice in his ear tells him that the area's clear and that the others are heading back out. Slowly, Batman reaches for his head and pulls off his cowl.

Clark knows for a fact that his best friend loves messing with people. Underneath all his brooding, he's a ridiculous person at heart. So this? This suddenly makes sense. But, also not at all.

"Clark." Bruce Wayne greets with a smirk.

Clark bluescreens for a moment. "Mister Wayne?"

He laughs. Laughs! "You've known me long enough to call me by my name, Clark."

"What the fuck?" He finds these words very appropriate.

"Those guys thought you were me," Bruce fucking Wayne says with a laugh in his voice. "I can see why they'd get confused. We do look alike, after all."

"You guys could practically be twins!" the woman's voice calls from the comm inside of Batman's cowl.

Side note: Turns out that the cowl and cape are not, in fact, connected.

"I need a goddamn drink." Clark sighs again.

"Come back to the Manor; I'll join you for a nightcap." Bruce smiles.

Prick.

Part 2 Storyboard

[quitealotofsodapop]

Peaches Soup, except Wukong never got souped. It's just that he was so injured from his fight with the Thrall he ended up collapsing on the side of the road, and Pigsy happened to find him. Seeing he's so badly hurt, he brings him back to the Noodle Shop since A) he has a baby and B) the last thing Wukong coherently said before passing out on Pigsy was no hospitals. Wukong wakes up in the spare room of the shop approximately three days later, confused as to how he got there and panicked because his last memory was Xiaotian and him being attacked

That could be very much be the "#marbled stone egg au"!

For those unaware; Wukong in the au has a Stone Egg (basically his body doing rock-mitosis) and is struggling to take care of himself + baby MK.

I can see a situation occurring in the AU; where The Thrall still steals the Stone Egg/baby MK, and Wukong goes berserk mother-monkey on him, only to get severely injured in the process.

Pigsy finds an injured, pregnant monkey on the side of the road clutching a crying newborn, and wonders if this is one of those "what you do in the dark?" situations.

Mystery Monkey, defeated: "No hospitals, please." (*passes out clutching the newborn*)

Pigsy panics, thinking this is someone who just gave birth and is running from a disapproving/abusive home life. Gathering all his pig-dad strength, he lifts the unconscious monkey and newborn into the van.

Pigsy isn't a doctor, but he's patched up Sandy enough back in their military days to treat most wounds. The (still) pregnant monkey heals quickly, almost meditating in their sleep as the newborn rests beside them.

Tang is called in a panic. He knows about monkey demons, right? Any idea whats going on here?

After the initial shock of learning his best friend is hosting an undocumented injured demon, Tang is quick to find sources that can help (he aint a snitch). Namely what they can feed the baby monkey (which Tang melts at the cuteness of), and how to tend to it's unconscious parent.

They're thankful that the baby monkey only requires formula and a few diaper changes before it's parent awakens.

Wukong, jolting awake: "Xiaotian! Where is my Little Heaven?!" Baby!MK, besides him in a baby basket: (*grumpy squeak at being woken up!*) Wukong, overjoyed, pulls baby into arms: "Oh Buddha is gracious! You're safe! Are you ok? I'm sorry I was too weak to get us home." Baby!MK: (*happy chirpy noises at hearing it's parent's voice again! Reaches chubby little hands out to them*) Pigsy, sigh of relief: "Whew. Thank the gods you're ok." Wukong: (*turns and looks at his saviour with shock*) Wukong: "Piglet?" Pigsy, light-hearted laugh: "Heh, close enough. It's Pigsy. I found you and the little guy hurt on the side of the road. You said no hospitals so I brought you back here. Not exactly a surgeon, but I think I did ok." Wukong: (*looks at injuries and sees that they've healed well enough. Better than he would have thought given his Egg zapping his powers*) "Thank you. If there is anything I can do to repay you-" Pigsy, waves him off: "Nah, I'm good. You and the kid rest up here as long as you want. Tang's got an old phone if you need to call anyone. I'm making soup dumplings if you're up for eating." Wukong: (*completely in shock. Was genuinely not expecting this level of selflessness from a complete stranger. Eyes fixate on Xiaotian once more, the newborn sucking idly on a store-bought pacifier. Wukong finds himself smiling again for the first time in ages.*)

Although the mystery monkey "Qi Shihou" isn't likely to stay above Pigsy's for long (he has Stalwarts and an island to get back to), he never forgets the kindness Bajie's descendant showed him.

A teenager wearing skates frequently appears in the years following that encounter, picking up the exact same soup dumplings he fed the mystery monkey that night.

And if Pigsy opens an unmarked letter stuffed with yuan and literal chunks of gold from the strange monkey, then he ain't saying nothing.

Until they reunite accidentally through Xiaotian's noodle-loving tutor that is.

[samstronomy]

hi guys check out me and @munyequitos’ one piece au

find more info under the cut for these 5 specifically and check out muñe’s post for the other five strawhats!! all posts related to this au will be tagged msopms ^_^

luffy met zoro in detention after luffy beat the crap out of namis bullies

after hanging out at luffys house one day the strawhats realize NONE OF THEM CAN COOK and luffys house is FEND FOR YOURSELF so they seek refuge in home ec to find someone who can at least make snacks and. luffy makes a mortal enemy out of sanji for a bit because he used the wrong knife or something

the strawhats are introduced to franky after robin and nami go to high school because they had a class together

luffy finds brook one day in the band room alone and thinks his playing is EPIC SAUCE so he forces this random senior to join a group of freshmen and sophomores (a seniors worst nightmare) (jk he loves them)

as a senior ace introduces jinbe to luffy because “JINBE I NEED YOU TO TAKE CARE OF MY BROTHER WHEN I GO OFF TO COLLEGE 😞😞😞😭😭😭💔💔💔💔”

zoro has a better phone than sanji because he’s RICH and constantly flexes. he was a hype beast for a very short period of time before everyone bullied it out of him. thank god honestly.

sanji has literally a normal ass phone. he uses instagram religiously to post food he makes,

franky has a jailbroken iphone (that didn’t give him a horrible virus somehow) and the novelty of it makes him the coolest by default. also has a bunch of hacked consoles at his house.

brook has a flip phone, not because he was forced to but because he just doesn’t like having an online presence really.

jinbe bought his phone himself and has had it for years without incident. it is literally in PRISTINE condition

i hope you enjoy msopms it’s actually physically pained me to not talk about it for this long. I LOVE IT SO MUCH

[withlove-xixi]

— THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MISSING YOU AND WANTING YOU BACK: chilchuck x reader

ᥫ cw: angst, break up/divorce ᥫ wc: 820 ★ we are back baby!! oh and if it's written weird, then its just because this a sort of vent i guess ? im fine really, i just want a way to verbalize my emotions rn and there just so happens to be a conveniently placed divorcee in front of me (‾̀◡‾́ ๑) cross posted on ao3

— MORE THAN ANYTHING, CHILCHUCK CRAVED WARMTH

[♡]: chilchuck isn’t the best when it comes to his emotions. at most he can tell what he’s feeling, he knows he’s angry when he comes across particularly annoying people, he knows he’s happy when he has a nice drink of something expensive and delicious, and he knows he’s sad when he’s missing you.

CHILCHUCK WISHES, with every atom in his body, with every bit of his soul, with every ounce of his heart, that he could be selfish.

There’s this part of him that’s missing, some part he had a feeling he would lose, one way or the other; that part was you. As ashamed as he is to admit, the thought has passed his mind more than he’d like, as if he had already counted how many steps there were left until you walked another path, how much more grains of sand were left until you grew tired of him. Chilchuck can’t blame you— He could never bring himself to do that. Not when, in the depths of his sorrow-laden heart, he knew it was his fault.

He wants to say the signs were there, because if he had looked back at the final moments of his life with you, they were there; all the telltale symptoms of a dying love. It was the way you gradually stopped coming by the door to greet him when he came home, the way your eyes had slowly grown sullen with worry and exhaustion, the way you eventually he’d come home to find you already asleep. 

It had all happened gradually, not enough to have been particularly slow, but enough that the half-foot should’ve noticed from a mile away.

So, Chilchuck wishes he were selfish. This loud, angered part of him wishes he hated you. He wishes he hated the way your eyes shone when you looked at him, the way you smiled when he kissed you, the way you’d whisper a syrup-coated “I love you” before bed. With every fiber of his being, Chilchuck wanted to hate you. He’s convinced it would be easier that way, it’s easier to strike down your enemy, it’s easier to kill a stranger. But it was you, sweet, kind-hearted you. The same you that had tucked Chilchuck into bed when he got sick and was too stubborn to rest, the same you that had bought him an expensive bottle of ale on a random weekday just because, the same you that he had danced with in the rain the first time he asked you out, the same you that blew him kisses when he left, the same you that leaned against him when you were tired.

Chilchuck’s eyes hesitantly dart around the house, now more empty than ever, and only then does he realize the scar you had carved into it. He sees the window where you’d have stood waiting for him to come home, the couch where you two would come napping together, the kitchen where you made sure he was loved with a warm meal, the hallway littered with little notes and letters you two had given each other over the years. If he closed his eyes, he was still there; the smell of warm roast from the kitchen and fresh flowers in the living room

The house was well-loved, scorched with the memories you had together, every nook and cranny a different moment of tenderness and love. And more than the house, Chilchuck was well-loved.

His hands hold the kisses you pressed into his scars, the warmth of your cheeks, the weight of your body. His tongue brands the sweet way you taste, the motion of your name spilling from his lips. His heart beats with every ounce of love he still carries for you, and with it, every infinite moment you might never share.

It’s why Chilchuck wishes he was selfish. He wishes, truly, that he could simply pin the blame on you, trash his well-loved house, still neat and tidy like you had left it, like you always kept it, and tell everyone that knew you of how you so suddenly up and left without so much as a note or a goodbye or a kiss or a “I’ll see you again, someday.” But instead Chilchuck is left to wallow in some strange sort of illness, a terrible mix of grief and guilt and indifference.

It’s this gloom in his heart that he doesn’t like, the same feeling he had been recklessly burying beneath work, what are his plans next week, what should he eat for dinner. He can’t really tell what exactly he’s feeling, mainly because he doesn’t want to. It was as if his whole being had been shrouded in darkness, not enough to consume him just yet, but enough for him to notice from a mile away, enough to cast a permanent shadow on his life.

He needs to be selfish, put himself above you, above how he hurt you. Chilchuck needs to parade around town waving a flag of victory on how you had so tragically left him. He needed to be selfish, to find a way to absolve himself of this heavy guilt that nearly crushing is poor body.

More than to be selfish, Chilchuck needs a drink.

[sequinsmile-x]

Favourite

Emily and Aaron try to make some time for themselves early one morning, but they are interrupted by their toddler.

-x-

Hi besties <3

This is a birthday fic for one of my best friends in the entire world. I hope you had a day as lovely as you are. I love you so much <3

This fic is based on the above gif, and is just our favourite idiots being soft and very much in love.

On a different note, today has been a rough day. And I am holding space for everyone who needs it. I'm sad and angry and numb, and writing has always been an outlet for me. I hope this brings distraction and a small amount of joy for anyone who needs it today <3

-x-

Warnings: mildly spicy, a lemon and herb on the Nando's spice scale.

Words: 2.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily hums contentedly as she wakes up, her expression melting into a smile as her senses return one by one. 

The first thing she registers is the smell of home. The smell of comfort and him washing over her as she snuggles deeper into the embrace she’d fallen asleep in hours ago, his chest against her back and his arm over her waist. Then she feels him, his hand tangled up in hers and pressed against her cheek, the soft kisses he is trailing from her shoulder to her neck. She realises that must be what’s woken her up. That he’s gently pulled her from sleep before their alarm or their kids wake them up. His lips against her bare skin where her t-shirt, his t-shirt, has slipped down from her shoulder.

She turns in his arms, smiling when he helps her, her eyes still closed as his hand drifts to her waist. She kisses him, tasting toothpaste, a sign he’d already snuck out of bed, over something that was just him. 

“No fair,” she grumbles, her voice thick with sleep still, rough with misuse as she kisses him again, this time tasting his smile, “You brushed your teeth first. My breath must suck.” 

She finally opens her eyes, greeted with the sight of him. He’s smiling at her, his dimples carved out deep in his cheeks as he pushes her hair away from her face, the hair tye she’d used to put it up the night before lost somewhere amongst the pillows. 

He’s not wearing a shirt, his skin bare and beautiful in the morning light of their bedroom. She can’t help but think of their first night together, how she’d led him into her apartment after their first date full of nervous kisses and easy conversation, and told him for the 100th time that she was sure she wanted this. That she wanted him. He’d been nervous - something about his touch that was hesitant until she asked him why, a part of her worried it was something to do with her. He’d assured her it wasn’t, his expression serious and his touch as sure as it had been all night as he admitted two things - one that he’d only ever had sex with Haley before, that he was worried he’d somehow let Emily down, and two that no one other than medical professionals had ever seen his scars. 

She’d told him in no uncertain terms that neither of those things mattered to her. That there was no way he could let her down in any way, and that his scars were already beautiful to her because they were made of him. They were proof he’d stitched himself back together bit by bit and had survived. She’d whispered that she had scars too, had pulled her dress over her head on in movement to show him the constellation of scar tissue left behind on her abdomen, his focus on where she’d been torn apart and sewn back together, not the new lingerie she’d bought with him in mind. He’d kissed her then, his fingers dancing over skin she still couldn’t feel even now, his touch making her tingle in more ways than one. 

There were moments, all these years later, when even though she was his wife, she’d still feel nothing less than honoured that he trusted her like this. That he’d sleep next to her and wander around their room without a shirt on, his smile soft as he explained either the shirt or the snuggling had to go in the summer and that the snuggling was non-negotiable.  

“Never,” he replies, kissing her again to prove a point, his hand shifting to her back, sneaking under the t-shirt she’s wearing as he moves so she’s half beneath him, another kiss stamped against her lips to prove his point as he settles over her. 

She chuckles, her smile wide as she turns her head to look at the alarm clock on her nightstand, his kiss catching her dimple as she registers the time, her eyebrow raised as she looks back at him, “I’m assuming you have good reason to wake me up this early on a Saturday when both our kids still seem to be asleep.” 

He hums against her cheek, the sound vibrating through her as it makes her shiver, his lips chasing hers as he kisses the corner of her mouth and then kisses her properly. 

“I was thinking,” he starts, kissing her again, his hand under her shirt encouraging her towards him, her back arching so her chest is pressed against his whilst his hand travels downwards, “We rarely have Saturday mornings to ourselves,” he kisses her again, his hand slipping below the hem of her pyjama pants, “And we have 30 minutes maximum before Thea is demanding your attention, and two hours before we have to leave for Jack’s soccer game,” he squeezes the globe of her ass, his smile close to a proud smirk as he draws a gasp from her, “And that we can do a lot with 30 minutes,” he pulls back to look at her, “Is that a good enough reason?” 

She tries to act stern for a moment, but it fails, her smile wide as she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer. She rubs her nose against his and kisses him, taking a moment to tug at his lower lip with her teeth when she pulls back. 

“It’s the best reason I can think of,” she says as she pulls him in, her hands in his hair as she holds him close as if there was anywhere else he’d rather be than settled between her thighs in their bed. She groans as she widens her legs, lets him get impossibly closer, and hooks one of them around his back, smiling when he moans as she rolls her hips against his. 

“Sweetheart,” he groans, his hand tight on her hip as she smiles up at him, her eyes full of love and want. He loved their life. Loved the chaos that came with having a two-year-old and an almost ten-year-old, but he loved this too. The place where it all started - quiet moments where it was just him and his wife, the woman he was lucky to love and be loved by in return. His hand slips below the waistline of her pyjama pants again, skimming the soft skin of her thighs, drawing another gasp from her, one of his favourite sounds in the world.

“We’re on a clock here, honey,” she says, using her heel to push his sweatpants down a little, desperation for him thrumming beneath her skin, “We both know-”

“Mama!”

She chuckles and closes her eyes, her grip on him loosening at the sound of their daughter’s voice through the closed bedroom doors and the baby monitor on the nightstand. Her hands shift from his hair to his cheeks, holding him in place as she kisses him softly. His hand moves to her waist, squeezing gently. 

“Turns out 30 minutes was more like 3,” he says, only half grumbling, his love for their little girl already shining in her eyes. 

She hums and kisses him, her hands still on his cheeks, “We’ll try again later after bedtime.”

“Mama!”

“Duty calls,” she says, chuckling at the impatience in Thea’s voice. She taps his cheek as he moves off of her. She briefly pouts at the loss of his warmth as she climbs out of bed, “I’ll go get little miss Thea,” she says, turning to look at him before she walks out of the room, “We can probably get a little more snuggling in at least before the day really starts.” 

He smiles and settles back onto his side of the bed, his smile turning into a smirk as he raises his eyebrows at her, “Snuggling with both my girls is my second favourite way to start the day.” 

She laughs and shakes her head at him, “Later,” she says again, her smile full of promise and mischief. 

She’s not surprised when she walks into the nursery to find Thea already halfway to climbing out of the crib, her tongue stuck out between her lips as she concentrates on the task at hand, “Hold it right there my little monkey.” 

Thea looks up at her, her smile wide, “Mama.” 

Emily is across the room in a second and hauling her into her arms, her quick reflexes only made better by being the parent of a toddler, “Morning baby,” she says, kissing her forehead, “I think we need to get you a big girl bed soon, huh?” 

“Big girl,” Thea repeats and Emily kisses her forehead again, shifting her so she’s on her hip and walks to the master bedroom.

“Guess who was trying to climb out of her crib again?” She says, smiling at her husband as she settles Thea onto the bed, her smile getting wider when the little girl makes a beeline for her father, all but throwing herself at him. 

“Oh it definitely couldn’t have been my little Thea,” he says, wrapping his arm around the toddler, kissing the top of her head as she snuggles against his side, her giggle loud as she shakes her head, playing along with him. 

“You two are lucky you’re cute,” Emily says, her fake irritation given away by her wide smile as she joins them in bed. 

Aaron leans down to speak to Thea, stage whispering so Emily can hear him, his voice louder than it usually was, “I think Mama is a little grumpy this morning.” 

Thea furrows her brows, and looks between both her parents, “Why, Mama?” 

Emily’s cut off before she can say anything, her husband smirking at her over their little girl’s head as he replies for her.

“Oh, she woke up earlier than usual.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, shaking her head before she looks down at Thea, “I’m okay, sweet girl,” she says, pushing her hair from her forehead, “But you know what would make me feel better?” She smiles when Thea shakes her head, and she makes a point of lying down, encouraging the little girl to lay down with her, “If we lay here and snuggle for a little while,” she looks up at Aaron who is still sitting up, his smile fond as he looks down at them both, “We need Daddy to join us though.” 

Thea turns to look at Aaron and stares at him with the stern expression she’d picked up from him, “Daddy lay down.” 

He suppresses a laugh, “Yes ma’am.” 

He lays down with them and tugs them both into his arms, Thea content to lay between both of her parents as they share a pillow, her head on Emily’s chest and her tiny fingers wrapped around the neckline of her shirt. Emily kisses her forehead before she rests her cheek on top of the little girl’s head, taking the opportunity to look up at her husband, his smile once again fond and full of love.

He can’t help but stare at them together, their matching smiles and matching eyes enough to bowl him over every time. Thea was Emily’s double through and through, a tiny version of his wife who he had to convince to eat breakfast most mornings when he cut her toast the wrong way. He couldn’t believe that he had this sometimes. That he had a second chance at building a family after everything that had happened. Something beautiful and precious found amongst Emily’s smile and the broken pieces of his life. 

“I was wrong before,” he says, stroking his knuckles down Thea’s cheek as she starts to fall asleep, Emily’s embrace her favourite place to be since she was a tiny newborn. The sound of her heartbeat the place the little girl found peace and comfort. It was the one thing she’d seemingly got from him apart from his facial expressions - his love for Emily and the comfort he found in her something he’d passed on to both Thea and Jack.

Emily hums, running her hand up and down Thea’s back, “About what?” 

“This is my favourite way to start the day,” he says, smiling when she looks up at him, “No offence.” 

She leans over Thea to kiss him, careful not to disturb the now sleeping toddler, “None taken,” she whispers against his lips, “It’s my favourite too.” 

[lovelystarkersworld]

summary: Peter has the hots for his aunts boyfriend, little does he know the man feels the same way

warnings: not smut but mature! has finger sucking and cheating! if you see any mistakes, no you don't

word count: 3.1k

𖦹ْ ꓸ 𖥦 ✧ ˚ ࿔ · ִֶָ.՞ ˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗ ִֶָ. · ࿔ ˚ ✧ 𖥦 ꓸ 𖦹ْ

Peter met Mays new boyfriend over dinner one day and was completely struck because he did not expect her new man to be the Tony Stark, one of the finest men that he's ever laid eyes upon. He would hate himself for thinking about how attractive the man was but he couldn't help it, Tony had been his celebrity crush for years at this point. But nonetheless, he pushed it to the deepest part of him brain because the guilt would eat him up otherwise. The entire dinner he's fighting the urge to check him out and making sure to keep his tongue in check, not wanting to slip up and comment on how attractive he was. He would let his eyes trail over his biceips hungrily, not aware of the fact that Tony could feel his eyes on him but just wasn't saying anything out of respect.

By the end of the night, Peter knew he was completely screwed. Not only was the man incredibly hot but he was also so nice to him and May. He wanted to jump the man's bones and treat him right. That thought alone made Peter want to crawl up in a hole, how could he have developed a crush on the man that had made May so happy these past couple of months? He felt almost traitorous for having such large feelings over him. Peter made sure to make his interactions short and sweet, not risking anything. Even as he bid the man goodbye, he stood a good feet away and gave the man a wave.

That night, he stared up at the ceiling in turmoil. This was bad. Very very very bad. All he could think about as he tried to sleep was how good Tony looked with a band t-shirt that squeezed his muscles and outlined his torso. Thinking of how nice it would feel to trail his hands up the shirt and feel the warm skin against his own. To have the man sitting on the couch and straddle those delicious looking thighs. To kiss him messy and hot until they were both gasping and moaning into each others mouths. He could imagine himself grinding against the older man, hard cocks pressing against their zippers almost painfully. Peter would get so frustrated with these thoughts and he would grow so hard he couldn't ignore the problem for long.

The first time he touches himself to the thought of Tony, it was after the man had decided to take both of them out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. Peter didn't have many fancy clothes so he wore an old tuxedo he had bought for high school prom but the older man wore a beautifully well fitted Tom Ford suit that sat on the man's body perfectly. It accentuated the meat on his bones, his thighs and ass being cupped by the tight clothing. But what really did it for him was how the sleeves of the suit were rolled up to his elbows. Peter had watched as Tony held out a hand to help May out of the car, eyes soley focusing on the veins of the man's hands and the way his arm flexed.

A month in and the poor boy was suffering. He couldn't exist around Tony without getting unreasonably horny and having to dismiss himself early so he could take care of his growing problem. Thankfully the guilt was no longer eating him up inside, he was coming to terms with the fact that he couldn't control his feelings no matter how hard he tried. He could even stand being in the same room alone with Tony now! Which was a major success in the boys mind.

Peter sighed heavily as he got dressed for the night. Usually he didn't care too much about what he wore but Tony was coming over tonight and no matter how much he wanted to say he didn't care about how he looked around him, he did. He cared very deeply how he looked around Tony. Though he didn't make it obvious how much he cared, only dressing in a tighter than necessary black t-shirt and jeans. Something presentable but wouldn't draw attention to his outfit. Well any attention that he didn't want, a part of him wanted Tony to notice him and how nice his figure was. Sure he felt slightly guilty for his thoughts but he was also a horny eighteen year old, the idea of the older man pinning him to the nearest wall and taking him was growing into a need. It was dangerous how much his mind convinced him he needed to be fucked by Tony. He needed to feel Tony's body weight on top of him, to feel of warm hands trailing over his body.

He heard a knock at the front door and the familiar sound of his aunts voice greeting the man that haunted his wet dreams. Peter stood in front of his full length mirror and ran his hands through his fluffy curls a few times. He adjusted his shirt, cringing at how nervous he was over something as simple as saying hi. Peter heads to the living room and gives the older man a small smile, "Hi Tony." He spoke, not aware of how much his voice seemed to sweeten as he spoke to the older man.

Tony was speaking to May when he heard footsteps walk into the room and that adorable voice greeting him. He turned around and smiled over at Peter, "Hi Pete!" He says, more than happy to see the cute boy again. Now, Tony had never thought he was a good man. He had a nasty reputation from the work his company used to do and not to mention the long list of leaked videos his publicist had to clear off the internet and he'd ghosted one too many hook ups but never once did he think he would only be dating someone because of who their nephew was.

Okay don't get him wrong, he didn't start dating her with that intention! He genuinely found her incredibly beautiful and entertaining but once his eyes fell on the younger boy, he knew he was screwed. Peter had the sweetest doe eyes, the prettiest pink lips he imagined kissing more times than he'd like to admit, with brown curls tousled on top of his head. Tony wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it and tug on it as the boy went down on him--another thought that plagued his mind at night.

Peter followed his aunt and Tony into the kitchen, more excited to be able to secretly check out the older man than he was to eat the meatloaf May had made. Thankfully she had gotten better at cooking so they didn't have to wash it down with soda, they could actually semi enjoy their meal. Whenever Peter spoke, it was directly to Tony and it wasn't intentional. He just couldn't help but want to hear the man's voice more often so he tried to engage in conversation when he could.

His eyes scanned over the man's large muscles, imagining how they would flex and tense as he held himself up above him. Like usual he could feel his dick stirring in his pants. Due to teenage hormones, a simple nasty thought would plague his mind and suddenly it was impossible to erase. It would become the only thing he could think about and his mind would spiral from there, moving to the thought of the man's thick fingers wrapped around his neck or spanking his ass raw.

Peter and Tony tried to help May clean up the kitchen but they were quickly rushed out, she was always picky with how things were cleaned so she much rather preferred to do it alone. As they walked into the living room, Peter realized they were going to be alone and he inhaled a small breath--he could do this. Peter couldn't help as his eyes trailed down to look at the older man's tight butt as he walked in front of him into the living room.

Peter should excuse himself soon. He was already getting hard in his pants and he knew it would get dangerous if he stayed out here for much longer, not knowing what his horny mind would do if they were alone for long. He should say goodbye right now and let the man wait for May alone but the devil on his shoulder urged him to sit down on the couch and finally get some one and one time with him. He's moving forward and sitting down quickly after that thought, "I can see why May likes you so much." He saying before he could think.

Tony turned to look at Peter with raised brows. He sat down next to the other, a respectable space between the two. He knew he shouldn't indulge whatever that was but a little flirting couldn't hurt right? He's seen the boys looks before and he's not stupid, he could tell what was running through that young mind of his. Plus if Peter responded negatively, he'd just play it off as a joke. He was Tony Stark, he was known for his flirtatious personality. Like he's said before, he never said he was a good man. He accepted that the first night he rubbed one out to the boy when he was showering.

"Oh?" He smirked and leaned back into the couch, "What's to like about me, Pete?"

Peters face was flushed a light pink as the realization of his words truly set in and it only darkened when Tony flirted with him. Oh god, he shouldn't be doing this. May would be hurt if she ever found out, "Well you're funny for starters." He's answering, eyes glancing towards the where the kitchen sat. The sink was out of sight so they had some privacy so Peter scooted just a bit closer, "You're smart and hansome." He trails on.

Tony laughed softly and tilted his head to the side a bit, "Don't stroke my ego too much now." He joked lightly, "Handsome, huh?" He hums and unknowingly leans in closer to the boy. The tension was beginning to grow thick between the two as they looked each other in eye throughout the conversation.

Peter smiled and nodded, too horny to think about May now. The only thing on his mind was prying information or a conversation he could use to help him cum later, "Very handsome." He says earnestly as he continues to scoot closer and closer until they were only a few centimeters apart, "Especially when you dress up in a suit."

Tony inhaled a soft breath as Peter met his energy, he wasn't expecting him to if he was completely honest. He thought Peter would be more shy with any type of flirting but clearly he was wrong as the boy was initiating moves on his own. Not that he thought Peter was this awkward, shy boy. No, he was more nerdy than anything else but he was just surprised at how easy Peter seemed to flirt back with him.

"Well, I can say you look just as good when you wear one." He said honestly, "That night we went out for dinner, you looked incredibly delicious in your suit." Tony whispered lowly, his breath fanning over the younger boys lips as he waited for his words to process in the others mind. It was noticeable when he did, the flush on his cheeks flooding down to his neck.

Peter let out a giggle and tilted his head to the side, "You liked how I looked?" He asked like a school girl with a crush, "Glad to know you were looking when I tried so hard." Peter admitted

They were so close, he could just reach out and touch him. Tony spared a glance behind him to the kitchen to ensure May was still out of sight before giving into his wants and reaching out to cup the boys cheek, "I pay attention to a lot of things you do." He whispers lowly, "Like how you love to watch my arms as we eat." Tony let out a laugh at the boys widening eyes, "Yeah I noticed your looks. You're not subtle as you think. Oh-no don't worry," he says as he notices the boy shying away, "I'm not mad that a cute boy like you checks me out."

He lets his finger move down to gently trail over the boys bottom lip, watching as the boy let him tug it down slowly before letting it bounce back up into place. Peter looked up at Tony with his brown eyes and decided to bite the bait, taking the man's thumb into his mouth and sucking on it softly.

Tony inhaled a sharp breath at the view of Peter taking his thumb into his mouth. He let him suckle on it a couple times before moving his hand to instead slip in his pointer and index finger, watching intently as Peter began to bob his head up and down. He sucked on the fingers earnestly, pretending it was the older man's cock in his mouth. He even swirled his tongue around them, truly getting into the moment as his filthy thoughts were finally answered.

Peter couldn't believe what was happening, his dick throbbing hard in his pants as he sucked on the older man's fingers. He couldn't help the small moan that slipped past his lips as he felt the tips of them reach further back, thankfully not deep enough to make him gag which would defintely pull the attention of his aunt. Peter reached a hand down to squeeze his crotch, whimpering lowly at the feeling.

Tony could feel his own cock beginning to stir in his pants at the stimulation to the pads of his fingers. He watched as drool began to pool at the sides of the boys mouth and had to physically hold himself back from pinning Peter down to the couch and fucking him right then and there. The knowledge that his girlfriend, this boys aunt, was so close yet so far only sent a thrill throughout his body. It made the entire situation that much hotter.

The sounds of saliva squelching and Peters soft moans were the only noise surrounding the living room until Tony spoke up, "You look absolutely beautiful with your mouth full." He whispered to the boy, careful to keep his voice low so they wouldn't get caught. He felt a moan viberate around his fingers and God did he wish it was his dick that was stuffing his mouth.

Tony pulled out the fingers slowly, eyes never leaving his pink lips. He can't help it anymore, he leans forward and pressed his lips against Peters hungerly. He moaned out softly at the taste of the boy, hands moving up to cup his face and pull him in impossibly closer to the kiss. The kiss was hot and messy, lips moving against each others in need. He only pulled away when his lungs were burning in need of oxygen.

Tony panted softly and looked Peter in the eye, "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that for." Tony said honestly between breathes. His thumbs began to stroke the others cheekbones softly as he awaited the others response.

Peters face was flushed bright pink after the kiss and his words. He couldn't help the giggle that slipped his lips again, "That makes two of us." He says with a big grin on his face. Peter glanced down at the older man's lips and bit down on his own, debating leaning forward and pressing another one to his lips. He turned his head to check the corner again and when it was clear he turned back to Tony and pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss. He didn't try to hold back his eagerness, almost crawling into the others lap.

Tony's hands found the boys hips and pulled him in close until he was straddling the older man's lap. They shouldn't be this risky, May was just a room over and could walk in at any moment but neither of them could find it in them to care. Tony let his hands slide down to palm the boys plump ass, squeezing it between his fingers roughly.

Peter moaned into the man's mouth at the feeling of him rolling and playing with his ass. He let his hips rolls forward in need of friction to himself or he would go crazy. He opened his mouth more, inviting Tony's tongue into it which the older man happily complied. They kissed wetly, the noise too loud for comfort considering how easily they could get in trouble. Tony swallowed down every noise the boy had to offer him, storing each one to help him later. He helped guide the boys hips back and forth, grinding him up against his abdomen to draw out more sweet moans.

"You boys got oddly quite." The familiar voice rang through the house followed by the sound of footsteps. Peter jumped back and out of the older man's lap at the woman's words, now standing a suspicious amount of feet away from Tony. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flattened his shirt nervously as May stepped into the room.

Tony sat on the couch and cleared his throat before chuckling nonchalantly, "Oh, Peter was having me read a paper he wrote for class. Isn't that right?" His head turned to the boy and looked at him.

Peter blinked a couple times, "Oh-uh-yeah!" He pulled his phone out from his front pocket and made a show of waving it around, "He was just-reading a paper-yup." He laughed and shoved the phone back into his pocket, "Well it was nice seeing you, imma head up to do some homework." He used his thumb to point back towards his room.

May nodded slowly, "Okay, don't stay up too late." She calls out as the boy hurried down the hall. She laughed and turned to Tony with a smile, "That was weird."

Tony laughed and nodded in agreement, "Maybe he's just not feeling well." He shrugged. He was putting on a good show though guilt sat in his chest. May didn't deserve this, she was such a kind person. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips and that's when he knew how truly fucked up he was. As they kissed the only thought in his mind was how much better this would be if she was Peter, the boys lips felt so much better against his own.

It wouldn't hurt to keep this going for just a little bit right?

[minjoonapio]

🎐 Wind Breaker Chapter 160: Melting Snow

💭THOUGHTS [ ⚠️ SPOILERS ⚠️ ]

🧵Versions: Twitter/X 📖Where to read the manga: Kodansha | Other 📺Watch Season 1 now (S2 in 04.2025!): Crunchyroll, Netflix

Sorry for posting this late here in tumblr. Life happened. ✌🏻

Such a whirlwind in the first hours after this chapter released. I expected a TogaSaku but instead we got a HiraSako! We all freaked out. This is such a good closure…and a peek of what’s to come for all of them.

Yes we’re eating good! More wholesome loaves of bread please, Nii sensei! 🍞

It starts where we left off with our cutie patootie Choji 🥹 the cute aggression is real whenever he’s on the page. He’s enjoying himself, chowing down on good food and surrounded with good people. 💚

Aaand knew it. Of course Sakura went there to thank them. So they saw his beat up face! Sakura is just squirming from all the attention. He’s not used to it. Oh soft baby Sakura. You are loved and adored.

I’m so happy Nii sensei showed this!! I talked about in twitter how Choji is actually trying out fresh Red Bean bread that Umemiya gave him the last time they saw each other. Choji not only get to try it again…he bought more food for souvenirs!! Oh my fragile heart!!

If you read the small text, he even told the employees about how he knew about their bakery thanks to Ume-chan. asdfghjkl~ He also told them he’ll drop by again next time 😭

This chapter is really making my heart full because look at how Choji is twirling about~! He's acting more like his age.

But more than that, THIS is one of the best things that came out of the Noroshi fight. Three gang leaders, who were former enemies, now agreeing to be friends! I am hyped up with Nirei on this one. We are witnessing a historic moment! And this is giving us a peek of what will happen in the future chapters.

Oh, Sakura. You care so much for your new home and took one big step that not only helped your found family but caused a great thing to happen.

The way it dawned on Sakura. And the way Tsubaki is looking at his precious kouhai proudly. 🥲

And the wholesomeness continues~ Tsubaki was hyping Choji up; he talked about what Mizuki and Momose said. They were praising Choji’s strength, and I find their reactions adorable & hilarious. They're like “oh hell nah im not gonna fight him”

Then Choji shoots an arrow of "Hehe I'm doing this for my friend Ume-chan!" right to our hearts! Arghh I wanna squeeze his baby face!! (≧∀≦)

And then here's Togame holding his “That’s my buddy Sakura!” face again (*´∇｀*)

Sakura trying to divert the unwanted attention away from him again after by asking about their other gang members.

The way I laughed when Suo emphasized “HE” meaning Numa and Togame (and Nirei) just knows. Poor guy. 😅

Oh dear oh dear. We didn’t expect this chapter to become a HiraSako chapter!! And it is giving too much “c’mon! Do it! Go talk to your ex” vibe (and y'all know this is not the first time this happened)

Togame and Choji always pushing the agenda. How supportive.

I love how level-headed Kaji is when it comes to this.

And I’m glad he’s not a character who would be jealous over it. The three know each other well enough and Kaji never sees it as a competition to be the best kouhai or what not. He wouldn’t reach out to Sako back then if he did.

Gahh how adorable! Hiragi’s shook of how polite Sako is towards him. Then having a mini internal crisis.

Sako sees that and finds it hilarious. The embarrassing yet joyous tune carefully breaks the ice between them.

Sako's face in that last panel just makes me think he finds his past self ridiculous now.

Despite how their fight felt so long ago, I'm so glad we’re seeing this talk. Sako wanted so badly for Hiragi to be the one telling him he needs him but never got it. He could’ve just followed him anyway but I guess he thought Hiragi’s words meant he doesn’t need him.

He wanted to prove how wrong Hiragi was by joining Shishitoren and become strong enough to beat him one day. Welp. Since their fight, Sako must’ve wanted to hit himself for being such an idiot.

i feel like Inugami was kinda inspired by what happened in the Shishitoren fight that he was able to face his senpai. And Sako got to see the “what ifs” if he did the same thing back then to Hiragi. If he just denies what Hiragi told him and said "It doesn't matter. I will continue to follow you"

No wonder Inugami’s been sticking with Sako since then. The fact he knows his senpais's past tells how close they are.

I really wondered what went down with Shishitoren after their fight with Bofurin. As expected, there were scuffles within the group here & there. Surely, some left. Choji & Togame have to be strong enough to face such hurdles after what they’ve done. But look at them now.

Because they cared so much for their group and have each other to help through those trying times that they were able to reform Shishitoren the way it is now. What a domino effect.

Sako became inspired himself to face his own mistakes as well. And it led to this.

That “Aaaah finally” panel…I really felt that. Relief to finally apologize after holding unto bad feelings for so long. Relief to finally mend their friendship. I freakin' teared up. This manga argh!

And of course they were interrupted! Ah, I wanted to hear what Hiragi has to say to Sako, but I think we get the idea, judging by those soft eyes gazing at his kouhai.

Looking at the panel wit both Sako's Shishitoren friends and Hiragi's Bofurin kouhais, it's another glimpse of what we will see more in the future. A unity and camaraderie of different gangs.

Thank you for reading! 💚

Next chapter will release on Kodansha this coming Tuesday 🎐

🧵Versions: Twitter/X 📖Where to read the manga: Kodansha | Other 📺Watch Season 1 now (S2 in 04.2025!): Crunchyroll, Netflix

[foodtruckery]

cart holy fuck i am NOT NORMAL about this AT ALL. i am "surprise i wrote 3600 words in one sitting" not normal about this. i am so sorry.

Ford hears the door to his lab open and puts his face in his hands. 

He doesn't have to look to know who it is -- nobody else stops by, unannounced, without so much as a knock, after all. But he also doesn't want to see Constance's face when he breaks the news to her. She's going to be devastated, and it's going to be his fault.

Not for the first time since he started working on this latest compound, Ford deeply regrets having produced the first one.

It's his own fault, he knows that. Even if he hadn't meant for all of this to happen, he has only himself to blame. Stan hadn't asked him to spend two and a half weeks obsessively formulating a topical ointment that would reduce the visibility of cellulite.  He did that himself, unprompted. All because his sister had been a little upset.

But she wasn't just a little upset, was she? a traitorous little voice whispers in the back of his mind.

Stan had never cared enough about locking a door, and after so many years of sharing so little space, she had a distressing lack of concern for being seen in her underthings by her brother. Ford would complain more about that if he wasn't--

Well.

Walking in on Stan half undressed wasn't a novel occurrence, was the point, no matter how certain base functions of his physiology always wanted to treat it as such. What was novel, however, was walking in on Stan scowling at her reflection in the single full length mirror the apartment housed. And not her angry scowl, either. It had been an expression that Ford recognized, one that he knew meant Stan was upset by something but found being angry about it easier.

He didn't have to ask. He didn't even have time to offer up a performative apology for interrupting before Stan asked:

"Do my thighs look bad?"

Ford distinctly remembers the question because he'd been staring at the reflection of those thighs when she asked it. Luckily, so had Stan, so she'd missed the way he turned as red as her work blouse. She'd been standing with her back to the mirror, twisted around to get the best view of the back of her thighs. Her completely bare thighs, uniform skirt tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair and the cut of her panties horribly narrow.

"Wh-What?" Ford croaked.

"My thighs! Do they look bad?" Stan had asked again, turning away from the mirror to turn her 'upset but pretending to only be angry' scowl on him.

Ford remembers swallowing down all the things he'd wanted to say -- about how her thighs were perfect, about how much he'd always wanted to feel them, wanted to see the way they'd look and how much they would give with the divots of six fingertips pressing against them. Other things he'd thought about pressing between them--

"Since when do you care what I think of your thighs?" Ford had asked instead. "Didn't you tell me last week you'd bought shorts specifically to, ah, show them off at the roller rink?"

Stan had grabbed her lower lip between her teeth and, graciously, turned back around to look at her own reflection instead of the increasingly uncomfortable state Ford found himself in.

"....Yeah, I guess I did say that."

"Then why do you think they look bad now?"

Stan huffed, planting her hands on her hips and pushing her lower lip back out in a way that drew entirely too much attention to it.

"I didn't!" she said firmly. And then, with uncharacteristically less certainty, "I don't."

That had finally shaken Ford out of his decidedly unbrotherly attention. "Stan?"

"Ugh, it's so stupid," she said, turning away from the mirror to snatch her skirt off the chair. "Some grody spaz at work said I had cottage cheese thighs."

"What?!"

"I know, right?" Stan had laughed while yanking her skirt back up, but there wasn't any humor in it.

Ford frowned. "It's not like you to let one ignorant customer get to you like that," he said, and the silence that followed, Stan's pointless fussing with the waistband of her skirt, had been telling. "...Was it more than one customer?"

She'd shrugged, still not looking at him. "Group of 'em. All got a laugh outta it."

"Stan, I--"

And then she'd tossed her hair out of her face and flashed him the gap in her teeth. He remembers her lips forming the shape of a smile but her eyes had been shiny, the skin around her neck and ears ruddy with embarrassment.

"Eh, don't sweat it, Sixer! I'm not gonna get bent outta shape over a couple of wannabes taking potshots at the waitress."

But she had, and Ford knew she had. He knew it in the way she wore stockings to work the next day and how she chose jeans instead of her new shorts to go skating in. He also knew, with less immediate evidence but with the same certainty, that it wasn't just a shitty comment from a stupid customer at the diner that was upsetting her.

It was being on the other side of the country and still having stupid customers at a diner. It was so much of her being pressed into so little space, carved out in the margins of Ford's college experience. The Stan that still believed they would sail away from New Jersey together would have found a whole tub of cottage cheese from the cooler and upended it on those idiots.

The Constance that had been sent with him to Backupsmore was folding in on herself more and more as the days dragged by.

Ford knew he couldn't fix the second problem, the bigger one. And he also knew that creating a cosmetic to reduce the visibility of her cellulite wouldn't necessarily fix the first problem, either. But it felt like the very least he could do, to give his sister a shield. A bit of her confidence back. 

To the chagrin of their mother, Stan had always been loudly and unapologetically confident in her body and the attractiveness of that body. The idea that something as ridiculous as the texture of her thighs could be unspooling that core tenant of her?

Absolutely not.

So Ford had spent the next two weeks taking every advantage of his chemistry labs and his star pupil status, studying and mixing and studying and mixing. It had been over two weeks away from his personal projects and had cut tremendously into his time to prep for the third theoretical physics elective he'd been considering. But the look on Stan's face when he'd finally handed over the unassuming little tub of ointment had been well worth every minute spent pouring over cosmetic compounds.

He wasn't surprised that it worked. After all, he never would have given it to her if it hadn't. But he was a bit surprised by how well it worked. Or at least how well Stan insisted it worked. Honestly, the back of her thighs were just as appealing as they had ever been. And when she'd grabbed him by the wrist and yanked one of his palms to land entirely too high on the back of her leg, supposedly to feel the new smoothness of her skin, Ford truly hadn't been able to feel anything beyond how warm and soft she was.

He also hadn't heard a damn thing she'd said while his hand was glued just under the curve of her buttocks, barely two fingers away from the scalloped edge of her panties. He couldn't remember what Stan said, but he absolutely remembered how stark the emerald green of her underwear had stood out against her skin.

And when Stan had beamed properly up at him, showing off the gap between her teeth and the bright, hopeful shape of her eyes, and asked if he could make more, how could he say no?

He'd missed the part about selling the stuff. He'd missed it right up until Stan turned their tiny dinette into an impressive packaging station, all pleasantly pink boxes and customized logos and flyers boldly inviting women to "MAKE A RACKET."

".....Constance this...this is a racket," Ford had protested weakly when she explained the business model -- Mary Kate and Avon if they were run in as tight of a loop as Amway.

And she had grinned at him over a mess of pink and white shredded filling paper. "Exactly! That's what makes it funny," she'd said. "But don't worry, we're gonna market it like one of those ‘well behaved women rarely make history’ kinda slogans."

"We?"

"Of course! Someone's gotta make the product," she'd said, easy as you please. And when Ford had displayed some visible sign of hesitation, she'd stuck that lower lip out at him. "Oh, c'mon, Sixer. I already got four girls at the diner who want in after I showed 'em how good your stuff was!"

And then, softer, picking at the crinkled strips of paper between her bitten down nails, "If it doesn't work out, I promise I'll drop it. But I just...wanna try something different, you know? And I can't do it without ya. Please?"

And that's when he'd realized that maybe, just maybe, he could fix the second problem. The bigger one.

How could he say no?

But that had been nearly eighteen months ago. And now, hunched over his desk with his palms pressed hard over his face, Ford knows he should have said no. Because Stan had been so good at it. She had taken that little tub of cream, gotten a veritable gaggle of women hooked on it and convinced that gaggle that they should have a flock of their own. Once all of them had gotten accustomed to beating back basic biology, it was hard for them to go back.

And then Stan started cutting product size, raising kit prices, and introducing new merchandise to keep them on the hook without forfeiting an inch of her profit margins.

But the new merchandise was carefully selected and strategically introduced. Over half of the MAKE A RACKET catalog didn't do a single thing it advertised. They were largely white label products, purchased at viciously negotiated wholesale prices, and resold with a cheerful pink logo and an exorbitant markup.

And yet, Constance Pines had a devout, cult-like following of bored, suburban women who swore they saw results with every product, and who convinced other, gullible suburban women to pay into the funnel.

Because some of the products did work. The cellulite cream had never lost popularity, and it was regularly pointed to as proof of the effectiveness of the whole bunk catalog. Alongside it, their hair thickening oil and line-reducing eye cream (which was just a smaller amount of the cellulite cream but colored pink) produced real, noticeable results. And so long as Stan had one legitimate product she could throw in for every five or six scams, the triangularly shaped market under her continued to grow.

And that was exactly the problem.

He hears Stan making her way further into the room, her shoes clicking louder than normal, like they're out to drive the nail into Ford's proverbial coffin on his behalf. He slumps further in his seat and wonders if he still has time to slink completely under his desk. Maybe he can buy himself a few more hours before he has to admit that he can't do it.

And that's the double-whammy, isn't it? It's bad enough that he's going to disappoint Stan, that he has to tell her that he doesn't have the new product he'd promised for the winter catalog -- the Christmas catalog.

But he also has to admit that he's failed.

Either oblivious to his mounting dread or simply unwilling to give him a graceful out (either is possible with Stan), he hears her come to a stop on the other side of his desk.

"So, whaddya got for me, Poindexter?"

He swallows, twice, before he can make the words come up. He doesn't lift his head. It's a coward's choice, he knows, but it's the one concession he allows himself. Without a proper hit to drive sales and pull in new "Racketeers" through the Christmas season, the likelihood of MAKE A RACKET maintaining its trajectory falls off a cliff. He's going to single handedly force his sister back into her waitressing uniform, and it's going to kill him.

"....Nothing," he says. He intends to be blunt and to the point, but he finds he's whispering to the desktop instead.

"Huh?"

"I don't...Stan, I don't have anything for you," he admits, voice and spirit meek. "I can't make it work."

Ford hears her shoes again, circling around the desk, and he manages to catch a brief, blurry glimpse of them - heels, she's wearing heels, oh god since when? - before he screws his eyes shut. And there's shifting, and he's painfully aware of the warmth of her next to him.

Even still, the hand brushing over the top of his head makes him startle.

Stan plucks off the glasses that have been jammed halfway up his forehead, setting them down with a soft click. And then her fingers come back, stroking lightly through his hair. She's been keeping her nails long lately, the tips delicately painted and questionably sharp. It takes more willpower than he cares to admit not to lean into the scratch of them against his scalp.

"That why you've been holed up down here for three days, smart guy?"

He makes a pathetic, wounded sound for being so easily called out.

Stan snorts softly next to him, and he really can't see what there is to be amused about. He can't even properly appreciate that, when she shifts, it feels like she's sitting on his desk by his elbow.

"Well, I see a whole lotta bottles down here, Ford. What's wrong with 'em?"

He sighs, opening his eyes to stare down at the desk -- and out of the corner of his eye he can, in fact, see a curved, charcoal shape that's probably Stan's slacks.

"I can get the formula to reduce fine lines, and I can get it to provide about twelve hours of pigmentation in six colorways."

Stan gives a curl on top of his head a sharp tug. "That's what I asked you for, dummy."

"But," Ford stresses, sighing. "The texture is...wrong. I can't maintain the degree of fine line reduction with a gloss texture. It keeps coming out too thin."

He feels Stan shrug beside him. "Okay? So I call it a lip oil instead. Is that really what you've been moping over?"

Ford shakes his head miserably, and this time when Stan runs her fingers and her long nails through his hair, he does lean into it.

"It...it has a..." he rubs one of his hands down his face before dropping it to the desk. "Numbing effect. On the lips. I can't get rid of it."

The hand in his hair doesn't stop stroking, but Stan does hum quietly above him, thinking. He swallows, hard, and risks glancing up at her.

He swallows again. Harder.

He wishes he had his glasses on.

The charcoal color he'd caught a glimpse of had not been a pair of the tapered, smart slacks that Stan's been wearing lately. It's a suit. It's a slim, short skirt that, sitting on his desk with her legs crossed the way she is, has ridden so far up her thigh that he swears he could make out the color of her panties if they were crossed the other way. Or if he leaned back at the right angle.

Her matching blazer is narrowly cut, exaggerating the divot between her waist and hip in a way that makes Ford desperately want to reach out and fit his hand to it. It's so narrowly cut, in fact, that Ford is temporarily struck stupid -- he does not remember Stan having such a distinctly hourglass shape around her soft midsection, but there is a very clear angle being created with her clothes.

It takes entirely too long for him to realize that there's a corset underneath the blazer. He can just barely make out the boning without his glasses. But devastatingly more distracting is the way that all of Stan's significant curves have been shifted. Stan's...bossom has certainly never been lacking by any means, but cradled in something more structured than her cheap bras and bracketed by the crisp lines of her lapels...

Ford's mouth is horrifically dry.

It is also, apparently, hanging open, because when Stan finally looks down at him, she takes her hand out of his hair and chucks the underside of his chin with a smirk.

"You're gonna catch flies, Sixer."

"I-- Sorry. You look, uhh...n-nice?"

Stan laughs at that, a round, boisterous sound that doesn't fit the sharp little suit but absolutely fits the round, boisterous shapes of her. "Really? Cause you kinda said it like you're not sure I do."

"N-No! No," he says, grabbing his glasses and shoving them back onto his face hard enough to twinge the bridge of his nose. "You look....really nice," he says, mortified by how breathless he sounds.

But he can hardly help it, not when all of Stan's soft, blurry edges have suddenly snapped into perfect clarity. The sharp lines of her suit, the tauntingly high hem of her skirt, the exaggerated shape her cleavage makes above the corset. And now, with the ability to notice the details, he can see the faint edge of her pantyline through her skirt when she shifts, and the delicate gold chain tracing the swell of her breasts where it's looped around her neck.

"Aw, thanks," she says, her tone teasing. "I'm gettin' my picture taken for the new fliers, so I figured I should zhuzh it up a bit, y'know?"

Ford doesn't but he nods anyway.

The mention of the fliers, though, remind him that he's miserable. He snaps his eyes away from the necklace and, with difficulty, past the very plum shape of her lips.

"Constance. Without this lip product--"

Her fingertip touches his mouth and Ford goes very still, unable to help glancing down towards the pointed, red tip of her nail.

"Just nod yes or no, Sixer," she says, leaning towards him in a way that makes the chain slide over her chest and pool against the crease where her breasts are tucked tightly against each other. "Since it's a lip product an' all, is it edible?"

Ford furrows his brow and tries to open his mouth to explain the nuance of that, but Stan raises a second finger and presses them both against his lips to stop him. "Just nod," she repeats.

He considers it for a moment, unsure what this has to do with anything. It certainly isn't food grade, but a lip product does have to assume a certain amount of consumption. And he's fairly confident that there's room for a few adjustments that will put them more safely in the "edible" category. So he nods.

Stan flashes the gap in her teeth at him, her smile bright and delighted, and he immediately misses the feeling of her fingers when she takes them away. "Perfect!"

"But...Constance, that doesn't address the numbing factor," he protests.

"Good! Don't change that at all, that's gonna be the selling point," she says, hopping off the desk and doing a horribly distracting little shimmy to get her skirt back down the generous shape of her thighs. His palms itch to find the skin she'd let him touch before.

"I don't understand how that won't be a turn off for potential customers," he manages to argue, briefly irritated by her nonchalance, though it’s hard to track that feeling under everything else.

Stan spins around on her heel to face him. Ford had no idea she was this adept at walking in high heels. Even if they aren't terribly tall, it's impossible for him not to notice the way they elongate her legs and make her stand just a touch higher than he's used to looking when she comes down to chat at his desk.

"You leave the messaging to me, Sixer," she tells him, reaching to straighten the edges of his sweater vest. And then, before he can prepare himself for it, she swoops down and presses a plum colored kiss to his cheek, just a hair too close to the corner of his mouth. Just close enough that he'll be able to touch the tip of his tongue to the stain later.

"I knew I could count on you!" she says when she pulls back, the clicking of her heels already taking her away from the desk, her voice laughing on its way across the lab. "Don't worry! I guarantee you there's a huge market for a lip oil that might numb your throat a lil' if you swallow it, if ya catch my drift!"

The lab is achingly quiet when Stan leaves. And Ford is left aching and quiet in return. There's a spark of relief that he has not, in fact, ruined his sister's multi-level marketing scheme. But it's hard to relax into that relief when he can still feel the slip of her lipstick against his cheek and the drag of her nails over his scalp.

Groaning, Ford puts his face in his hands and does slink underneath the desk this time.

Please, I have so much love for your fem!stan, please tell me your thoughts about fem!mulletstan, or fem!drifterstan. I once read a fanfic where Filbrick kicking out Stan was just a scare tactic, I imagine he’d have the same sentiment for a female Stan as well, but he’s too prideful to go get his little girl after it backfires and she doesn’t come back home.

Meanwhile, Stan’s determined to prove she’s just as capable as any boy after years of being undermined for being born a girl! Even so, she’s not above using her feminine wiles to sling her FDA acknowledged merchandise, after all sex sells. Eventually she soon realizes that sex does indeed sell.

OOOHH Anon, tesoro, SAPESSI! You have no idea how happy your messages makes me, because you’re enabling me to YAP about my favorite topic, that I’ve been thinking about A LOT. Thank you so much! WARNING: Stancest is ALWAYS implied/established in my musings. The following lucubrations are no exception. In general, I think fem!Stan would get punished way less harshly than his canon male counterpart. Not that she’s coddled or untouchable- Constance would get hit occasionally, if she acts way out of the line, by both parents. But, I personally don’t think kicking her out would ever be a thing- not even as a threat: Given the time period/culture, the (horrible) assumption that throwing a teen boy out would not only be a punishment, but also a formative experience of sort- to make him self-sufficient- would NEVER be expected to apply to a girl. On the contrary: Constance would be perceived as someone that could NEVER be self-sufficient. Not only because she’s the “gentle sex”, but also because she’s a weird, off-putting dunce of a girl, unlikely to get picked by a wealthy enough- or even honest man that would take care and provide for her. If we were talking about a version of this universe where the machine accident happens like in canon, Constance would receive a slap across the face, as a punishment for what she did, and a particularly heated, demeaning tirade from Filbrick, imo. Now, that said--- I have two main favorite divergences, I’ve toyed with, for fem!Stan's future:

1) A version where Constance did destroy Ford’s machine, on purpose, in a fit of anger, because she’s subconsciously trying to get kicked out: rationally, she is aware how hard and scary it would be to run away from home, and that her family would look for her. But, if they HATED her, not only they wouldn’t feel bad, they’d also take the very hard decision for her, of cutting her out. But, what happens is that- they DO act like they despise her- but still, they won’t kick her out! It’s an outcome so painful and so humiliating, it’s the final straw that makes Constance snap and run away- to basically become drifter!Stan. And, Ford’s resentment and hatred, in this version, not only comes from Stan taking away his chance to go to his ideal College, but also because she abandoned him! Off to live her indecent, dangerous life with some biker- probably- when if, had she been patient for a few years- had she truly loved him as she said- Ford would had been the one to provide for her- spoil her rotten, even. Like, this is a universe where Ford was THE only eldest son, with an implicit duty to be his sister’s protector, and if you add in he’s been in love with her, too… In the 10-years-later reunion, Ford would have this incel-like feeling of pain and humiliation- because his baby sister at his door is wearing a miniskirt, and her hair is cut so short, and it’s evident she’s not that innocent anymore. But still, as tired and battered by life as she is, Constance would still NOT be begging Ford to be her savior and mer-- and let him take care of her! [Complicated incestuous tension ensues].

Version number 2) Constance accidentally destroyed Ford’s machine, just like in canon- but doesn’t get kicked out and- since she’s a girl and Ford is more protective and softer, after some silent treatment, he forgives her. And actually, he uses what happened to his advantage, to coax Constance into following him to Backupsmore: "it’s gonna take him so much more time to become successful, now that he’s relegated to that college, meaning he and Stan would end up separated so much longer! She’d have to remain at Glass Shard Beach all alone, for ages! But.. if she followed him, she could get a job, a room apartment of her own, and… nobody would know them, over there. They could even date in secret." And, Constance would hesitate, because she dreads an unfulfilling future as her brother’s accessory, but also, she is in love with him, and she inevitably internalized part of the sexism she’s been subjected to for most of her life, so… she accepts. Even pumps herself up, gaslights herself into thinking it’s gonna be a fresh, exciting new start, away from her shitty small town. And indeed… Even if the twins enjoy the relative freedom of their romance, far from home, inevitably Constance feels unsatisfied, like she just switched the background, but she’s still working as a waitress, doing nothing she truly loves, or feels good at. That’s when I like to imagine she ends up messing it up big time, by joining an MLM or something, in attempt to find her own success lmao. AND, it’s complicated, because she does find out she is actually GOOD at selling shit to people. This is her true calling! But, the business was scummy as fuck- to an illegal degree- and she ends up arrested for the first time. And, escapes from prison for the first time. Stan is a chaotic disaster, impossible to contain, in every universe. To make it short, once again the story goes back to its tracks, and Ford and Stan separate dramatically. Now, this version actually had a VERY angsty ship-focused sub-divergent version with Fiddleford involved, and a very jealous Ford. But I don’t even know if you’d be interested in that, so I’ll stop here. ++++ I do love that part of your ask, about Stan realizing she can use her sex-appeal to her advantage... To imagine her seducing people into helping her/condoning her schemes is so fucking sexy~ I will think of a specific scenario, because damn.

[star--nymph]

thinking about how as a templar, Cullen wasn't functioning as a person. He was just a cog in a machine; a rusted, chipped one that screeched when it connected with another cog, but a cog nevertheless. Templars don't have belongings, they don't have interests, they forfeit their family, if they are allowed to marry it's under strict guidelines. the lyrium isn't just there to make the powerful, it's to make them subservient, in theory it is meant to be the leash that yanks when the templars speaks for themselves or others. You want to rebel, you want to advocate for others? The leash can be pulled, taking you further and further away from a new drought of lyrium.

no one pays a templar to think. you are there for the honor and love of the Maker and you swing your sword for Him and no one else

and when he comes out of it, what does Cullen have? His suit of armor, his sword, his mantle, maybe an under shirt and a pair of breeches, and his coin

the coin that was his one act of rebellion in his seventeen year tenure

no one wonder he says to a romance inquisition 'when it started, I hadn't considered much beyond our survival' because why would he? Templars don't have futures, they have service and they either die in service or die on the street, starved of lyrium and dignity. It's an act of rebellion in and of itself for Cullen to think he has the possibility of a future with anyone or anything

maybe that's the greatest gift an inquisitor, romanced or not, can give him--a chance to leave service and for once, be a person with dreams and desires. And what does he do when he's given that? He creates a sanctuary for other templars, so they may no what it's like to be a person as well.