#because i hate it and i don't know how to make it stop

[iminyourwallsbabe]

How the fuck is this a good response???? Seriously. You just read about how so many people of color, women, and disabled people are going to die and you somehow made it solely about queer people

Like actually, fuck you. You wanna build community but you come to conversations like this and make it all about you.

We are dying. It doesn't matter wtf we identify as, some of us are getting put in detention centers and dying, some of us are gonna lose our parents not to something they could've gone their whole lives without knowing but because of people who don't like how we look, some of us are gonna lose our healthcare, which newsflash, we need for more than just "living authentically". I have fucking heart problems, I may need surgery one day so I don't die. I can't authentically live my way out of that. Afab people are going to be forced to have kids they don't want or just die. Across all these situations, your pronouns and sexuality do not fucking matter. All these people see first is your skin and whatever gender you present as.

But sure, let's talk about queer people for a second.

It's well known that they want us dead, but you know who will statistically die first? QUEER POC. WE ARE THE FIRST ONES TO GO. You wanna build a community? Fucking acknowledge that! Fucking acknowledge how vulnerable we are compared to the rest of you. We can't just "come back", tell that to all the Native American tribes that don't exist any more. You can't plan for queerness and eradicate it, you know who you usually can get rid of though? Entire ethnic groups. We do not have the luxury of saying "we will come back". You do. Not the rest of us.

This is why we need to fight, and this is why y'all need to stop center your Marshmallow Matey asses in all these conversations. I fucking hate y'all omfg.

If I have to see one more “we survived him before we can do it again” post I’m going to scream.

So many people didn’t. So many more people are going to die. Women are going to bleed out in parking lots because doctors are scared to give them the abortion they need. Migrates are going to die in detention centers. Kids are going to have their parents ripped away in mass deportations. Potentially millions of people are going to lose their healthcare.

Yes, we keep fighting, but don’t say we survived before. A lot of people didn’t.

[bbsmuts]

Anything For The Team ft. Jeon Somi

A/N: I'm writing this to fill in the gap between Mistaken Identity and the upcoming Field Trip finale, which will likely be a couple of months. It was a suggestion by @xiaoondc in light of Somi's appearance at the Tottenham Hotspurs meet & greet. I personally am in favor of the team because my man Son Heung-min plays for them. So consider this a filler smut for the long waiting period. I was originally meaning for this to be a quickie, like 2-2.5k, but I got a little carried away.

Unfortunately all my readers will have to suspend reality a little bit for two reasons. A, because Premiere League games happen in England, and Somi lives in Korea. B, because she'd likely get arrested for what she does in this one. So let's ignore that little snag and those pesky laws and read on. In addition to that, some parts of this were written without a whole ton of thought behind them, since this was never intended to be a long and drawn-out process.

This one will be a little more detailed and a little more accurate than After-match Entertainment, since I actually know how football works (soccer for all you dirty Americans), so I can actually write more of the game into it. Cheers.

And yes, there will more than likely be a part 2 with the Somi x NBA thing.

-상훈

Length: 6.61k

Possible TW: Spanking, choking, noncon, hate fucking, bondage, forced exhibitionism, degradation

Tags: Flashing warning (but literally), gangbang, spanking, choking, hair pulling, slapping, noncon, hate fucking, bondage, forced exhibitionism, spitroasting, DP, degradation

BRRRRRT

Somi's alarm jolted her out of her sleep instantly, the loud tone sending her heart rate through the roof as it always did when she was awoken from sleep suddenly.

"Whatsit..." She mumbled, picking up her phone and looking at it disdainfully. "Come on, it's too early to get up..."

The alarm note read "Don't forget the game, dumbass" and she immediately flew out of bed, suddenly more energized. There was a Tottenham Hotspurs vs. Aston Villa game happening that she had tickets to, and she didn't want to be late.

After speedily getting dressed and doing the quick essentials of her makeup, she went out to the kitchen to grab something to eat before she left. After bolting down her halfassed breakfast she hopped in her car and left, excited to see the Spurs playing in person.

–––

She arrived at the stadium a few miles dow the road later and had to stop and take in the size of the place; it had to be at least 150 feet tall and probably 400 feet long, a truly massive building.

She had her ticket scanned and headed up to her seat, which was located in a private box in the grandstands. She didn't like being in the crowd because she had sensitive ears and all the screaming made her head spin. So she preferred to be by herself. There was still a good fifteen minutes before the game started, and in about ten the players would be lining up on the pitch.

She talked a little to her best friend Eunbin, who unfortunately hadn't been able to make it, before the players were lined up on the pitch and she had to leave the call to see the action. Five minutes before the game, the team captains were to come to the sidelines for the coin flip to decide who got the kick off. As Son Heung-min, who she'd had a crush on for all of her teenage years and still thought was extremely hot, came jogging over to where the referee was, she couldn't help but mentally note the sculpted facial features, the lean and fit body beneath the tight jersey.

"Damn, he's so fine," she murmured to herself, imagination already jumping to filthy thoughts of what she'd let him do to her. Hell, for that guy? She'd do anything. Her mind showed her images of him choking her until she couldn't breathe, spanking her ass until it's red, pulling her hair, fucking her so nice and deep, ohh god yes...

The coin flip was completed and Tottenham got the kick off, so Son and Richarlison were the two who ran to the center of the field, waiting for the ref's whistle to start. The rest of the players took their positions around the pitch and waited as well; after a moment, in which the fans kept up their deafening roar, the whistle was blown and the game began.

Richarlison passed it to Son, who made a move forward past Barkley of Aston Villa, who'd tried to block him. Swiftly and expertly, he weaved and dodged his way between all the Aston Villa defenders and made an appreciable shot at the goal, but it was caught by Martinez, the goalkeeper. The Spurs fans let out a terrible groan, but it did nothing to dissuade the vigor of the team's players. Ignoring the missed goal, they waited for Martinez to throw it back into play.

—————————————————————————————————— A/N: Now, there's a reason I'm not a sports journalist, trying to write out what's usually a mostly uneventful 90 minutes isn't something I want to do here. Xiaoondc and I have planned to make that 90 minutes far more interesting, but for time's sake I'm going to skip around in the game so we're not all here reading a play-by-play of an imaginary game. So for the moment, let's say that it's the 77th minute, and Tottenham are tied with Aston Villa at 2-2. ——————————————————————————————————

It was beginning to look, to Somi, as if the Hotspurs might not win this one. Son, Johnson, and Solanke had been making some spectacular attempts, Son having scored twice, but Martinez's keeping was superb today. Likewise, Aston Villa's forwards had been putting forth a valiant effort against Vicario, but he had held strong and only conceded two goals.

There were only thirteen minutes left in the game, which meant someone needed to score for Tottenham. The trouble was, they were starting to lose focus and Aston Villa was taking advantage of that. If only there were something she could do about it, Somi thought.

And then, it clicked.

There was something she could do. It was risky, risky as hell, but in her mind entirely worth it. After all, she was in a private booth which would, logically, only be visible to people on the field, and...the entire other half of the stadium. The thought, depraved as it was, send shivers running through her and made her pussy wet. But amidst her thought, she saw Son get the ball and make a run down the outer left corner, and the Aston Villa defenders were closing on him...

The want to do it overtook her and with a deep breath, she mustered up her courage and pulled her shirt up, exposing the naked breasts of Jeon Somi to about 20,000 people.

Her mind, having been silent, was not screaming at her to cover herself up, sending the humiliation chemicals to her amygdala. But in the humiliation and risk, she found a thrill that suddenly had her practically panting with lust. With bated breath she waited, her own shirt covering her eyes, and she heard the Aston Villa fans across the pitch groan and then cheer. Confused, she lowered her shirt to watch the replay of whatever happened on the big screen on the other side. The eyes of Nedeljković, an Aston Villa defender who'd been about to steal the ball from Son, slid up to what was obviously her box and he slowed hugely, letting Son through with the ball with an expression of rapturous lust. Son made a great shot, but it was again blocked by Martinez, hence the cheers. Somi looked down at Nedeljković, whose teammates were throwing their hands up in real time, not knowing what he'd seen.

Confidence in her tactic increasing in light of her small victory, she retreated from the window and waited. She'd distracted Nedeljković for the second Son needed to get through, and if he could put the ball into the goal past Martinez, that would almost certainly guarantee the Spurs' win. Approaching the 82nd minute, both teams seemed to be getting more desperate. They started to get rougher, more agitated, and Villa came close to scoring twice. But then Somi's moment arrived, and Richarlison got the ball and sent it down the outside right. Taking another, deeper breath, she slid her pants and panties down her legs and propped herself up on the handrail guarding the window, sticking her ass out towards the crowd. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the defenders were too focused on keeping him out to look up at her (for all intents and purposes let's say she's in a private box near their end of the field), but she saw Richarlison give a split-second glance at her, and whether it was due to her or not, he suddenly ran faster, and making it past the defenders, slammed his foot into the ball and sent it speeding towards the goal's unprotected left side.

But Martinez was too quick. He sprang to the side and swung his right foot into the ball to counter. It soared across the pitch to the waiting feet of a Tottenham midfielder, who was immediately swarmed by opponents and teammates.

Somi quickly stripped, tossing her clothes aside. Approaching the window again, she was acutely aware of phones being turned to her, fingers pointing, eyes drinking in her naked body through the glass, making her blush even harder.

What the hell am I thinking? She thought, heart pounding as she stood naked before the eyes of thousands. What if I get caught? What if they put me on the news?

But she couldn't lie to herself. If she was to be honest, she knew that she wanted to be caught, she wanted to have everyone know Somi as the slut who flashed tens of thousands of people just to help her team win. And most of all, she wanted Son to see her and know it was her.

The 89th minute. Richarlison came into possession again and took it down the same way as last time, but something was different. Son was running parallel to him up the middle-left side, and Somi knew what was about to happen. In a last ditch-effort, she swung her legs over the rail, propped herself up on it, and spread her legs wide, pushing her feet against the walls on either side for balance.

Somewhere amidst the immediate shame and embarrassment she felt, she registered the sound of the entire opposite side of the pitch collectively gasping and saying "woah". Looking down, she saw the Villa defenders get distracted by the sound and throw questioning glances around, until they spotted her. Mouths dropping open in shock, the lost their concentration and let Richarlison through. It worked! she thought, but instead of shooting for the goal, he sent it to the center, chipping it up over the heads of the starstruck Villa defenders. Son, perfectly positioned, jumped into the air, leaned back, and kicked the ball directly into the top-right corner of the goal, and landed the flip on his feet.

The stadium exploded, the yells of the players entirely drowned out by the roar of the crowd, and the ref's whistle blew three times to signify the end of the match. Son, yelling "YES!" with the rest of his teammates, was borne onto their shoulders. Jumping up and down with elation while the Villa players shook their heads and beat the air with their fists, they made their way over to the sideline, where they all hugged each other and beat Son on the back.

His eyes traveled up the grandstands to her box. She blushed furiously and nearly fell off her perch as she saw his gaze linger on her body before he smiled and nodded a silent thanks to her. Ready to swoon, she got off the rail and got dressed again, silently jubilant that her tactic had worked and, more importantly, Son had noticed her. And looked at her. While she was naked.

The mere thought was enough to make her exultation die down and replace it with pure lust. Undoubtedly there would be a lot of posts about what she'd just done, and a lot of speculation about whether or not it was her. A hot media debate that wouldn't die down for a long time.

Leaving the stadium, she was almost immediately spotted and pointed out by reporters. She realized she'd forgotten to put her mask back on, but she wasn't opposed to an interview.

The nearest one approached her with a cameraman.

"Miss Jeon, would you be so kind as to spare us a moment of your time?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Somi nodded. "Sure. And please, just call me Somi."

"Alright Miss Somi, who are you here to support today?" The mic was held up to her mouth once more.

"Tottenham."

"How do you feel about the game's results?"

"I'm quite happy with how the game ended, and I'm proud of my team for their incredible win."

"Miss Somi, there have been speculations that you were involved in something that has now gone viral, recognize this?"

Somi's cheeks blazed red as the reporter held up her phone, showing a blurred-out video of Somi's own body being flashed to the crowd.

"I-I beg your pardon?"

"Some attenders of the game have been saying online that it was you who was in the video, are they correct?" The reporter's eyes bored into hers.

"I'm a very avid supporter of the Spurs, but suggesting I was involved in any public indecency is quite ludicrous."

She didn't directly deny it, either.

"So it wasn't you?"

"I was simply passionately supporting my team, any rumors of my involvement in public nudity are pure conjecture."

Her avoidance of a definitive answer definitely did not go unnoticed by the reporter, whose eyes narrowed before she concluded the short interview.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Somi."

Grinning to herself, Somi fished her mask out of her pocket and slipped it on before heading back to her car, feeling immense satisfaction in today's events.

...

Late that afternoon, her phone started ringing and she picked it up to see an unknown number calling. The Caller ID was someone named Ange Postecoglou.

"Hello?" She said, accepting the call.

"Good evening, this is Ange Postecoglou, team manager of the Tottenham Hotspurs. To whom am I speaking?"

"Jeon Somi," Somi said, ear-to-ear grin returning to her face. "How can I help you?"

"You're by yourself, I presume?"

"Yes, what is it?"

He lowered his voice. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Somi didn't even need to ask what he was talking about.

"Yes, it was." Her smile widened.

"Well, I'd like to offer you my sincerest thanks for your...erm...assistance today. If not for you, I fear we would have lost."

"Ah, well," Somi said, sitting down on her bed and dangling her feet over the edge, "I just did what I could for my team."

"We'd like to offer you an exclusive opportunity to meet the team."

Somi paused the swinging of her feet, surprised and immediately overtaken with excitement.

"Really?!" She half-shouted, then blushed at her own reaction. "I mean, really?"

"Really." She could hear the amusement in his tone. "They'd like to, uh...thank you personally."

His double meaning was not missed.

"When and where do I go?"

"A black limousine will be outside the Lotte World Mall at 6:30 pm sharp."

"Thanks, I'll be there."

After hanging up, she reverse checked the number and everything checked out, so, nerves jingling with anticipation, she waited the remaining hour and then got ready.

Having more time to prep herself for an outing this time, she selected her favorite and most revealing lacy black bra with matching panties. A short, ruffled black miniskirt and a skimpy red long sleeve crop top were her choices for outerwear.

(Yes, I know the outfit's not the same.)

Adding something a little hotter to her already done makeup from earlier and adding a subtle hint of her sexiest perfume, she gave herself the final touches to make herself as alluring as possible. And so, having prepared, she set out for the mall, which wasn't a far drive. She arrived at 6:27, parked her car near the mall, and waited outside it.

Only a minute later, a black limo with tinted windows and silver lining on them pulled up next to the curb, driver's side facing the sidewalk.

"Miss Somi?" The driver rolled down the window.

"That's me."

"Hop in."

She opened the back door of the limo and got in, immediately surprised by the quality of the interior. Beige leather seats, soft carpet padding, a massive moonroof spanning the entire ceiling of the car, several drink dispensers opposite the seats, a wine rack in the same place, and LED strip lights lining the entire thing. It was one of the nicest limos she'd ever been in, and after sitting down and giving the window separating her and the driver two taps to get him going, she quickly made use of the large bottle of whiskey sitting opposite her. Couldn't hurt to be a little tipsy meeting them.

A few minutes later the limo pulled to a stop in front of a massive building that she could only assume was the Spur's training facility. The driver disembarked and opened her door for her, then led her in through the front doors of the facility, then through a few hallways and a set of double doors. The doors led her back outside to a football pitch, where six of the eleven players who'd participated in the game were lined up on the opposite side. Son, Richarlison, Solanke, Johnson, Moore, and Lankshear, Son in the lead.

The driver left them and Somi, heart pounding with excitement and lust, approached the eleven.

"Mannaseo bangapseumnida, Somi-ssi." Son said, bowing respectfully.

Somi returned the bow. "Machangajilo, oppa."

Inwardly, as she greeted all the others, she found it a little ironic to be addressing each other so politely when they were most likely going to be fucking her senseless momentarily. Their eyes roved over her body, which was barely concealed by her outfit and left almost nothing to the imagination. They seemed hesitant, unsure of her allowance. She reached up to the hem of her crop top and stripped it off, revealing the scanty, lacy bra underneath. Immediately they seemed to become more confident, now that she'd shown them that she had no reservations. They closed in on her, hands feeling up her torso and sliding under her skirt. She bit her lip as their hands explored her body, feeling her arousal increase. She was quickly surrounded, various hands tugging at her skirt until it slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet.

"Mm, like what you see, boys?"

The only response she got was a powerful slap to her ass, which made her moan. Her slick was practically spilling down her thighs, a situation that did not go unnoticed by the team. Various filthy utterances filled her ears, the hands now roughly fingering her pussy making her gasp, pant and moan like she was in heat.

"Fuck, I want it so bad..." She bucked her hips into the hands, feeling her bra being unclasped and her breasts being freed. Hands slid over them as well, squeezing and pinching her nipples. She sank to her knees, grasping and feeling up the rock-hard cocks in their shorts. They wasted no time in ridding themselves of the shorts, revealing 6 throbbing shafts waiting to be sucked dry.

Somi eagerly jammed the first one into her mouth, bobbing her head back and forth passionately. She raised her hands to jerk off two more as more spanks rained down on her ass from behind her. Each slap send a thrill of pleasure-pain through her, and she relished in the sensation as much as she could while going down Solanke. He gathered her hair into a loose ponytail and pulled her head into his crotch. Pumping his hips into her face, driving his cock deeper into her throat, he made her gag and choke on the saliva she inhaled.

"Yes!" She cried as he let her take a breath, pussy throbbing with need. "Fuck my mouth harder daddy!"

He thrust back into her mouth, her eyes rolling back as her throat was bulged. She moaned the fingers getting more daring with each passing second. Her breath hitched at the sensation of three fingers being pushed into her tunnel, her g-spot being ferociously fingered. Pleasure flooded her nerve endings, and her moans increased in volume, in desperation. The thrusts to her face got harder, faster, and she knew he was about to cum.

When a thumb pressed against her clit and circled roughly, she lost it.

Her orgasmic scream was muffled by the thick meat in her throat and Solanke's groan as he shot ropes of cum down her throat. She struggled to draw in oxygen past both blockages, and he pulled out to allow her to breathe.

She gasped in a breath and panted, letting herself fall back to the support of her arms. A large wet spot on the grass made it muddy where she sat, and before long they pulled her onto her knees.

"Please," she murmured as more fingers delved into her hypersensitive slit, the brutal thrusts putting her on edge again. "Please, I want your cocks so bad...please, daddy..."

A pair of powerful arms lifted her into the air, and from a glance over her shoulder she gathered that those powerful arms belonged to none other than Son Heung-min, who'd shed his shirt and shorts. The tip of his cock pressed against her entrance, making her eyes and mouth widen in pure shock and pleasure at the sheer size.

"Please, daddy," she moaned, feeling her hands being cuffed behind her back, "please fuck me! Fuck me so hard I scream and cum on your fucking monster, make me squirt for you, please!"

At this point Somi was shut up by the tip of Lankshear's pressing against her lips, which she opened obediently. Simultaneously, both of them pushed their hips forward, a lot of inches being pushed into both sides of her. She cried out into it, pussy being blissfully stretched out. She felt every inch, every centimeter, every throbbing vein and ridge.

And then they started moving from either side, the sound of skin slapping into skin echoing around the pitch. Her muffled moans, their groans, and the lewd schlicks of both his cock pumping in and out of her slick hole and the other four stroking themselves to the sight.

She closed her eyes and bobbed her head in time with his thrusts, trying to distract herself from or stave off the impending orgasm, but it was pointless. The way the veins on Son's shaft grated against her g-spot felt too good. Her moans turned to cries, which turned quickly to shrieks as the waves of pleasure tore through her, obliterating her mind momentarily. Lankshear pulled out momentarily to allow her to release the wail of pleasure that had built up in her lungs. Eyes rolling back, the sensation wracked her body and she squirted hard, drenching the group and Son's thighs with cum. She couldn't signal to Lankshear that she wanted his cock back in her mouth, so she rolled her eyes back, opened her mouth, and stuck out her tongue to entice him. He took advantage of her tongue being out to achieve deeper penetration in her throat, meanwhile Son kept determinedly pumping away at her pussy. She could tell both of them were nearing orgasm; the telltale moans and "fuck yeah"s didn't do much to hide it.

Lankshear gave out with a groan and buried himself in her throat, choking her and spewing his cum deep down her gullet, delivering a hard slap to her face that only got her going more.

Free from the member bulging her throat, Somi could now fully vocalize the pure bliss she was feeling. Son pulled her upright so they were facing each other, and she felt the steel-solid cords of muscle flexing to hold her up.

"Fuck, fuck, yes, yes right there daddy!" She cried. "Oh my god, yes, right there, you're so big, I'm gonna cum again! You're fucking me so deep, I love it, yes!"

What took her by surprise was Bissouma coming up behind her and taking advantage of her ass cheeks being spread.

"God, that's so deep!" She groaned, three quarters of the big dick in her ass in one stroke.

Son took one hand off her ass and slapped it, earning a yelp from her and more natural lubricant down below. Both fucked her harder and faster, spanking her more, pushing her closer to her third orgasm.

"Yes, yes, yes, more, please!" He took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and pinching with his teeth, and she threw her head back, humping into his thrusts desperately. "Ohh fuck yes daddy, please pound me harder, it feels so fucking good, yes! I'm cumming!"

"Jenjang, nado keuraeyo!" Son groaned, keeping up his pace. (Fuck, me too!)

He slammed her down onto his cock while jerking his hips up into her, reaching new depths inside her and firmly pushing into her cervix and causing her third orgasm.

"FUCK!" She saw stars as the pure sensation making fireworks explode in her brain. The orgasm ripped through her body like a gunshot, her nerves on fire with pleasure as she rode it out. She then registered their hot cum spurting into her womb and bowels, the surges of warmth triggering a fourth, mind-shattering orgasm. An overstimulated, moaning sob left her, tears welling in her eyes from the intensity of the feeling. Son gave her supple cheeks one more spank before putting her down none too gently.

She lay still on the ground, chest heaving, covered in sweat. The mud she'd created smudged on her ass and back, having turned cool in the absence of her body heat. Her brain had checked out; there was no comprehensible thought running through it at all.

They allowed her a couple of minutes of recovery time, and when she noticed them approaching she sat up, biting her lip with half lidded eyes. She got on all fours and wiggled her ass, smirking up at them.

"Ready for round two...daddies?"

...

She left the compound with her holes fucked wide open, cum leaking out of every single one, and a fair amount still on her face. She'd decided to keep it there a little while for some selfies.

"I trust you had fun?" Her driver asked once she got back in the limo.

"I did. Back to the mall, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

After the quick drive back to the mall and the selfies she had wanted to take, she thanked the chauffeur and stepped inside the mall to wash off her face. Deciding to go for a little walk over the Jamsil Bridge in the cool night air, she started the entirely deserted footpath.

She was about two third of the way through the bridge when a group of men - very muscular men, Somi noted - entered the footpath from the opposite side. As they drew nearer, she recognized one of them. Then two, then three. Then all five of them.

"No way..." she muttered, stopping dead in her tracks as she recognized five of the Aston Villa players, Nedeljković in the lead. And none of them looked happy to see her.

"Well, well, well..." Nedeljković said, tone low and menacing. "Look what we have here."

"If it isn't Jeon Somi," said Torres, voice laced with anger, gesturing for the other three to surround her from the back. "The passionate Tottenham supporter."

"And dressed like she's heading to her night shift at the local whorehouse." One of the voices behind her said.

She took a step back from Nedeljković, a feeling of fear rearing its head inside her. Surely they wouldn't beat her up? A five on one? With cars watching?

But the cars weren't watching. The cars were on the uppermost section of the bridge, and the six of them were directly beneath, completely out of sight. The fear intensified.

"What do you say boys?" Nedeljković asked.

She sensed the three behind her closing in as the two in front did the same; panicking, she turned around and tried to push through them, but their arms shot out and held her back. Nedeljković took her by the hair, bicep flexing with the force with which he was holding on, and pulled her head back to look at him.

"We're going to make you pay for what you did, Somi."

"Please," Somi whispered, not even attempting to escape for fear of further abuse. "Don't hurt me...

"Hurt you?" The entire group laughed, and he took her arms and pinned them to the fence wall she was backed against. "God, she's so naive. We're not gonna hurt you, you dumb bitch. Pretty little thing like you, we're gonna pay you back for what you did another way..."

Her eyes widened at the implication and her cheeks flushed red.

"No, please don't!" She struggled a little bit, to which he put a hand around her neck and pushed lightly. "Please...have mercy..."

Despite how scared she was of them, she couldn't deny that the position he had her in was making her very aroused. Being helpless like this, it turned her on to the point where she was literally trembling, cheeks flushed red and pussy wet again.

"Look at this, lads!" He said, grip tightening on her neck. "We haven't even done anything and this slut is already panting like a bitch in heat!"

His hand left her neck and trailed its way down her body, caressing her breasts, down her abs, and up her skirt, pushing a couple of fingers into her past the panties.

"Mmm~" She purred, biting her lip at the sensation and the fact that she was completely helpless to whatever he wanted to do.

"Yeah, you like that, you little whore?"

"Yes~" She bucked her hips into his fingers, gasping, her eyebrows arching upwards as he roughly palmed her clit and rubbed her g-spot. "Oh fuck - oh my god yes - just like that~"

He slapped her face hard, making her gasp again, and kept fingering her.

"When I ask you a question, you address me properly, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" She rolled her hips into his hand desperately, already on edge from his skilled touch. "Oh, please, sir, keep going, make me cum!"

She moaned desperately, needily, begging for release, but his fingers disappeared at the last second.

"No, please!" She squeezed around pure air, whimpering at the absence of the fingers.

"Shut up." Another slap landed on her face. "I said we're giving you some payback, not rewarding you."

He turned her around, and she felt leather cuffs being secured into place on her wrists behind her back. The next second, three fingers had been shoved into her pussy again, making her cry out.

"Fuck, that's it...ooh yess sir please keep going, just like that..."

"Shut the fuck up and take it." He smacked her ass.

"Yes, sir," she gasped, wiggling it as his fingers moved in and out of her.

"Oh my god yes, I'm cumming, fuck!"

But he pulled the fingers out at the last second, denying her the orgasm again.

"Fuck you!" She cried in frustration, an involuntary whine leaving her mouth again.

Quick as lightning, he darted around to where her face was and roughly grabbed her by the jaw, making her look at him.

"What did you just say to me?"

"Nothing!" She immediately became small and submissive again, made nervous by his aggression. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean it."

He sat down on the ledge and pulled her over his lap, lifting her skirt up over the swell of her hips.

"Now, you're going to learn what happens to bad little whores when they misbehave and talk back their owners.

He bent her over his knee and put his right leg over the backs of her knees, effectively trapping her, and started viciously spanking her over her panties, which did nothing to protect her ass from the relentless assault.

"Ow! Fuck! Sir, please, it hurts!"

"Of course it does, you dumbass whore!"

Tears sprang to her eyes at the continued abuse of her pinkened cheeks, and she struggled a bit, which only earned her harder smacks.

"I'm sorry, sir!"

"You better be fucking sorry!" He continued, heedless of her words.

And yet, in the pain of his powerful spanks, she felt her arousal spike. She arched her back into it, suddenly craving more punishment, more humiliation. She was totally, hopelessly turned on by the position she found herself in.

"Harder!" She begged. "Please, sir, punish me harder!"

"You hearing this slut?" He muttered to the rest of the team. "Begging for more punishment. Just a masochistic little pain slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!" Her own submission driving her crazy with lust, she kept arching her back, wiggling her hips. He increased the force of the spanks, making her moan louder, and when he added the fingers back, she fell apart.

She barely recognized the voice that screamed out of her throat; it sounded most unlike her: high-pitched, desperate, needy. And in her body, among the orgasmic eruption inside, she recognized another feeling: Hunger. She wanted them, she wanted them a lot.

"P-please," she whimpered, her entire body hot and shaking, "please give me your dick, s-sir..."

"You hear that, lads? She wants our dicks."

"Please, sir," she almost whispered, eyes half-lidded, "I want it so bad..."

He positioned himself behind her and pushed into her, groaning at the tightness. He ripped off her panties, reached forward, and pushed them into her mouth; she could taste her own arousal and it only made her hornier.

"Fuck me...fuck me hard, sir, I need it..."

Fast, hard, brutal strokes were what she got in return. The sheer force of each thrust pushed her forward and made her ass and breasts jiggle. Though muffled by her panty gag, her cries could easily be heard by all.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, just like that, fuck me just like that sir! Ohh god it's so good, so deep inside me!"

He stopped momentarily, laid down under her so she was on top, and then resumed. A second cock pressed against her asshole and entered, making her double over, not expecting the sudden penetration. One of Nedeljković's hands reached up and grasped her throat and she bit her lip in arousal.

"Now, tell me Somi, are you ever going to do something like that to fuck up our game again?"

She shook her head, earning her a slap, which intensified her lust.

"Say it properly."

"No, sir," she moaned, "I won't, sir..."

"Good girl." She shivered. "You kept us from winning by doing that."

"Well, maybe if you'd – ohh fuck~...played better, you wouldn't have lost." She was playing with fire and she knew it, but it was worth seeing the surprised and angry look on his face. His hand closed on her face, pulling it close to his.

"You better watch what you say to me, slut."

"Get better at football."

He slapped her, grabbed her hips and started slamming his into them. Her moans turned to screams, her entire lower region being overridden by the sharp increase in pleasure.

"F-fuck, that's t-too much!" She cried, involuntarily bucking her hips, her body betraying her words. "S-so good!"

He ignored her and , keeping the impacts in time with his thrusts.

"Care to take that back?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean it!" She was going to cum again and she knew it, and there was nothing she could or wanted to do about it. She reveled in the harsh treatment, in the submission they required from her, that she so willingly gave. The throbbing in her asshole intensified, and another torrent of warmth shortly followed a groan, leaving Nedeljković as the last one in the game.

"Do you wanna cum?"

"Yes, sir, please, make me squirt for you!"

"If that's the best you can do then I don't think you want to cum. You'll have to beg me."

He slid himself out from under her and stood, his cock resting on her face as she knelt and looked up at him.

"Please, sir, please let me cum, I want to cum so bad! I want to squirt on your big dick, I need you to fuck me and make me cum again, please~"

"Oh, you need me to? Well, if you insist..."

He pushed her down onto all fours and knelt behind her, slapping her ass before entering her again in a single, well-lubricated stroke.

"Oh god yes," she groaned, feeling him push down on her head, ensuring she was under his control. "So fucking big..."

"Keep your pretty head down, Somi," he growled in her ear, his voice making her shiver with arousal.

"Yes, sir," she moaned breathlessly, trying to buck up into him to impale herself deeper. Her shouts and his grunts reverberated around the footpath, and she did nothing to stop them. Dimly, she recognized the feeling of the cuffs being taken off her, and she pushed herself up with trembling arms.

"Oh yes, fuck my little pussy harder!" He reached around, pressed his index and middle fingers to her clit, and rubbed hard, sharply spiking her pleasure. "Ngghh fuck yes! So deep, yes, yes, please don't stop! I'm cumming!"

His fist closed on her hair again, the vicelike grip unyielding. It took only a few moments before she herself closed like a vice on his cock, and she gave a wild yell as a stream of cum sprayed out of her. He grunted, breathing out heavily in an almost-groan as his own cum spurted deep into her.

"Oh god...oh fuck..." She breathed like she'd been running for miles, and her arms folded under the weight of her own upper body.

"God damn..." Nedeljković commented, getting dressed again, "Much as I hate this bitch's guts, she is a good fuck. Cuff her to the fence."

Wait, what?! She was woken from her stupor by the feeling of two strong hands lifting her up and dragging her to the fence, directly into the view of traffic. The leather cuffs clicked into place, leaving her sitting on the concrete with her arms above her head, and she was too weak to resist.

The three who hadn't fucked her stepped forward, finally unleashing their loads on her. Thick shots of cum streaked her thighs, abs, breasts, and face, the last few landing in her obediently open mouth. The three quickly got dressed and her brain was immediately awake as hell when they started walking away.

"Wait! I'm still here!"

"Yeah, we know." Nedeljković called over his shoulder. "I wonder how long it'll be before someone finds you?"

"Let me go! Please!"

They ignored her pleas and she settled back down, resigning herself to it. A flash of white caught her eyes, and she looked up just in time to see a phone being stowed back away before the car drove past.

"Great," she muttered to herself, feeling her face grow hot. "Guess it's gonna be a long night."

...

A/N: Yeah, I did just leave her there for all the traffic and walkers to see. Thanks for reading!

[cl-0v3r]

Mel is alive, but at what cost

Mel was nearly killed TWICE, her mother began being a struggle, she'd been thrown aside and trying her best to stop her, her boyfriend is not doing well, neither is anyone else (can't blame them) and the fact that she hadn't cried or spoke much about this situation to anyone a single time?? She IS upset about every single thing, yet she stays strong and enduring every bit of torture. The most she did was tell Jayce that Ambessa put her palm on the table, and let him know that she is going to push for hextech. That's it, nothing remotely related to her feelings.

The fact that she was constantly looking at Caitlyn, being able to understand her grief and knew she was in pain?? Mel knows this feeling. She'd went through it.

And in the end SHE has to pay the price of her mothers incompetence.

The intro is very much foreshadowing, we know the hands represent black rose/LeBlanc.

This is what happens in act one, she gets kidnapped by them. The lyrics do correspond to the characters as well (not just Mel, everyone.)

"Tell you you're the greatest" plays as a petal of the black rose floats down the screen, I think it adds significance to the power this organization holds, possibly the Medardas greatest foe.

"But once you turn, they hate us" both Ambessa and Mel were present in this line, I think its foreshadowing for when Ambessa switches up for whatever reason and goes against both Piltover AND Zaun. And Mel WILL go through change as well, a change that could hurt her relationship with others, and receive interest from others too.

"They hate us" could be read individually too, I feel like its a sort of "realization" ?? Perhaps Ambessa WASN'T the one that switched up, maybe Piltover switched up on them, and maybe Mel JUST got out of wherever she's taken to, and saw the mess Ambessa had done to her city??

I think this represents ACT TWO.

The hands pull away and it sort of looks like Mel is fighting back, a "get away from me" type of scream. you know what this reminds me of??

Don't mind me just pushing my Jinx/powder-Mel parallel agenda

Here is when i think Mel truly learns about LeBlanc/BR, she curiously and slowly goes to grab the rose, she learns about the history between her Mother and them, Kinos death, and most of all, learns about HERSELF. The lyrics speak otherwise.

"Pray away, I swear

I'll never be a saint, no way"

This feels like a parallel to caitlyn of sorts if that makes sense. Caitlyn had done everything to try and stop the council from attacking the Undercity, she kept her mouth shut when Jayce asked about Jinxs grenade, she was willing to protect Vi and the undercity, but how many times has she been tossed around? She'd been burned, exploded, kidnapped (god knows what happened during that time) and hit in the face by the same person, her MOTHER died because of the same person. She has every right to go insane. And she is hunting ONE person, which is Jinx. Although she is harming the people around her along the way.

What if Mel goes through a similar situation? Her mother pushed for war in her city, she dragged the enemy along with her even if she didn't mean to, she manipulated everyone around her INCLUDING Jayce, she LITERALLY got Mel hurt from the chembarons attack and killed so many people during a MEMORIAL to get her hextech weapons, Elora is most likely DEAD, not to mention whatever happened in the past between them. And the thing is, this will NEVER end throughout the entire season.

And what if she learns what she is? That she's 'blessed' by Kindred? The fact that the wolf is quite literally in her blood?

I feel like the "ill never be a saint, no way" also sort of indicates Mel will realize she'll never be able to push for peace and mercy like she always hoped for no matter what, and she comes to accept that as much as it hurts. But not like how ambessa accepted the wolf, but she sort of realizes she needs to push a little violence, towards nobody but the one and only, Ambessa "fine, if you want me to be like you, I guess I'll be like you towards YOU." Type of acceptance.

I think its also related to Mels new outfit too, she's dressed like her mother, in red and all of that. I will still stand by the idea that she has plans to decieve, but she will do something she doesn't want to do.

Mel was left with no choice, that lyric sounds like realization, acceptance, but also like a plea at the same time, an "I'll never be who I wanted to be" because in the end, she's still a Medarda, she's still her mothers daughter, she still has violence in her veins, she will never not suffer from the weight her name holds, and she will never escape it either, its like a shadow.

The Characters won't be themselves at their core this season. And those vital parts of their characters that represent them are no longer there in the intro, they all have given up what makes them, THEM design wise. (e.g.) Vi without her tattoo, Viktor hiding his identity with the mask. And the thing is, they did that to themselves because they do self-harm, they're changing themselves because THEY want to, they're forcing themselves to do that, they think they're undeserving and they're erasing their past selves.

But Mel? Mel doesn't have her gold accessories, Jewelry, or her Armor, she'd been stripped bare and hidden away because of the brutality of her name. She pays the price her mother brought to HER city. She's forced to change herself against her will, because nobody is giving her a chance to push for her ideals.

This entire theory never ends, and with all of this? I kinda do see Mel actually committing Matricide, it lifts the "Ambessa will die" theory further.

[robo-writing]

we’re being horny on main ?? BEAUTIFUL. LETS GO GIRLS (gender neutral)

imagine period sex with Logan, y’all start making out and reader stops him before it goes too far to let him know that it’s shark week. He asks:

“You sayin’ that because you think I’ll find it gross, or because you feel gross and don’t want to fuck right now.”

because sadly men tend to find period sex disgusting and maybe it makes reader feel gross in return. Logan assures them that he’s seen plenty of blood in his lifetime and had plenty on his hands as well, he literally doesnt give a fuck about period blood. he just wants to make his pretty baby feel good, and orgasms help ease cramps too.

….this totally didn’t spawn from Logan laughing and grinning when Wade’s blood splashed in his mouth or anything 👉👈

Between his wandering hands and worshipping touch, there's a growing worry eating at you alive, one that he's able to sense far too well. Almost as soon as it begins, you stop, and it takes one worried look at you before Logan's grilling you for answers.

Something's different this time—you're hiding something. And he's not going to continue until you tell him. "What's on your mind doll?" He says. "Nothing," you lie. "Just don't feel up for it is all." "Okay, there's nothing wrong with that," his hands smooth over your ruffled shirt, his attempt at making you feel a bit more comfortable. "But that's not what I asked." It's times like this where you hate how perceptive he is, how he's so quick to know your tells. He stares you down until you finally relent with a sigh, looking away from him. "I'm on my period." "So?" A pause. "Logan, I'm on my period." "Yeah, you said that already." He answers annoyed. "Your point being?" "Logan, I get that you're a gentleman and I love you for it, but it's okay if you don't want to continue—" "Okay, wait, lemme get this straight," He interrupts you with a shake of his head. "You don't wanna keep going because you're on your period and you think I care?" There's a palpable silence between the both of you, laced with confusion. "Well, don't you?" You don't know how you expected him to react, but laughing wasn't on your list. A real, chest-bursting laugh reaching your ears, immediately followed by his arms around your torso. "Doll, I couldn't give two shits about what time of the month it is, the last thing I'm afraid of is a little blood." His voice is like honey in your ear, a reassurance that sets your mind at ease and causes your body to relax in his hold. You can tell he meant every word, and if you needed any further evidence, you can feel exhibit B currently prodding against your thigh. "Now, since we've cleared that up—lie back and lemme handle the rest."

[edisacornball]

I hate to say this, because it's a really soul-crushing answer, but there isn't going to be a clear enemy, especially if people are trying to claim that all of a demographic is the enemy. This is an all or none fallacy. If an organization or person is trying to convince you that all the people of one demographic are your enemy, it's a way of creating alienation, isolation, and dehumanization. This is how soliders justify that it's okay to kill "the enemy" in a war.

The enemy isn't an entire demographic. Think of the other times in your life when you've been convinced that an entire demographic thinks or feels or believes in one way. Were there any times you were forced to confront that that wasn't actually the case? Okay, now also think about a time you met a stranger who immediately formed opinions about you just based on traits about you that you have no control over. How did that feel? Were they right and that's actually who you are? Or was it just easier for them to dismiss you that way?

It's hard. It's really, really, really hard. Part of the whole way our brains work is that we're trained to look for patterns and shortcut work whenever we can. Sometimes that means making quick, easy assumptions. But sometimes, we have to take the time, effort, and work to recognize that sometimes we built our pattern recognition from really faulty sources. Like Hollywood. Or a racist upbringing. Sometimes, we grow up not knowing that the ideas around us can really hurt the people around us, and it's really hard to recognize how deeply that can work into our own psyche.

The hard pill to swallow is that other humans are not your enemy. Stop going for the easy answer. It's easy to hate a gender, a race, a religion and say anyone associated with it is the "enemy." Don't be so naive as to believe that the enemy is a tangible being, a supervillain wrapped in an easy package to defeat. The difference between stories and life isn't "reality," it's complexity. Stories are based in truth, absolutely, but a shrunk down and simplified truth, able to fit an entire lifetime inside, what, less than 500 pages? Life is so much more complicated, and that's what people are trying to mean when they say "stories aren't real."

The "enemy" isn't a race, a religion, a nation, an age, or even a gender. It's so much more intangible and insidious than that. Because it's just... belief. Belief that some are better than others. Belief that anyone is deserving of pain. Belief that some people should be prevented from building happy, stable lives. Belief that exists a concept such as a person not doing "enough" with their life. And the hardest part of accepting that as the enemy... is accepting that you're going to see it in yourself a lot. And it's probably actively hurting you.

TL;DR: The enemy is hate.

garden variety conservative transphobia is going to get worse but radical feminism is also going to get worse. if youre a cis women terfs are going to try to recruit you and make you believe that the reason your rights are at stake is because of trans people. they're going to tell you that all men are your violent oppressors and they're going to include trans women in that category. they're gonna tell you about women who are gender traitors and joined the enemy and they're going to point to trans men. don't believe them. trans people are not your enemy, we have no power over you, and we desperately need your support and your solidarity.

be aware of radfem pipelines and dog whistles too. be skeptical of anyone that talks about the divine feminine or correlates birthing, menstruating, or female reproductive organs with womanhood. be especially skeptical of people who use those biological things as reasons to why women are more spiritual, or more in tune with nature, or just that they're better than men (read: anyone they decide is a man)

radical feminism is an expected reactionary outcome from cis women who are being oppressed by conservatives, especially when all they practice is ciscentric, liberal, white feminism. they feel the need to be radicalized but don't have the experience and information to pinpoint the true source of their suffering. trans people are not your enemy, AMAB people are not your enemy, anyone who identifies as a man is not your enemy. we're all being crushed under the same stone

[ashomodeus]

Hi all, it's been a minute... Work has been really rough. I promise I haven't disappeared again. Here's this.

Where is each brother + Dateables favorite place to... connect with Mc.

Gn!Mc, Smut warning, bad grammar, take a shot every time breeding is mentioned, food porn for Beel.

Why am I at work for 12 hours???

Thank you, Beyonce, for providing me with this phone to write. She's my ghost writer if anyone asks. If her lawyers ask, this is a joke.

Lucifer 》 His study

●With under the desk support from Mc all his stress is magically gone.

●No one bothers him when he's in his study, meaning hours... and I mean hours could go past and no one would question why he's in there so long.

●Would test Mc's limits, having them cock warm him as he finishes his last bit of work. Don't think that Mc is the only one being teased. Lucifer has always been able to focus on one thing at a time but with Mc there? Forget it. 'How would Mc look bent over there, How about on my desk, or right in front of the door for his brother's to hear MC is all his for the night'

●Mc giving him head while he's trying to have an important conference call.

●Having Mc lay on the couch exposing their filled holes threatening to drip out while he finishes his work.

●He has some things in his office for Mc like a designated drawer for Mc that only Mc and Lucifer can access like rope, towels, a change of underwear, some toys for Mc to use while Lucifer is busy.

Mammon 》His car

●Two things that he loves.

●His favorite thing is to recieve head while driving. He enjoys edging and pushing himself as far as possible until he has to pull over. He wants to pull over because he wants to be milked until he's weak.

● He would want to drive while pounding into Mc.He would never be able to drive without Mc again without having to pull over and masturbate to the idea of Mc being there.

●Mammon likes to convince Mc to go run an errand with him just for them to both to come back disheveled. Mammon doesn't want anyone to see Mc in that way and doesn't want anyone to hear them so he'll find a few places.

●Once Mc did a nude photo shoot in Mammons car and those photos will always remain in his empty wallet.

●Mammon hates messes in his car but he so his seats have waterproof covers for certain reasons...

Levi 》Anywhere with water

●Listen water can make you feel weightless. Since water is his strong suit he knows how to control water and make sure Mc doesn't drown.

●Beach trips normally involve Mc and Levi leaving for a swim and not coming back for hours. Mc would think the sand would get everywhere but devildoms sand is so much different.

●Levi loves sneaking into the shower while Mc is showering. Sometimes, he just loves to watch Mc. He especially gets turned on if Mc doesn't notice he's there watching. He slowly strips as he walks into the shower with Mc, only startling them for a second. He loves taking the shower head and putting it on sensitive places of Mc's increasing water pressure the more sensitive Mc got.

● He loves "accidentally" spilling water on Mc while gaming together.

Satan 》 Library

●Knowledge is power and just when he think he's read every book. There's a new series he can read. Once he met Mc it was a bit difficult to focus on both reading and Mc. He soon realized he can have it both.

●Having Mc read to him while he fucks them. He would stop everytime Mc would stop. He just loved felling Mc tense as he stopped.

●Another fun thing to him is that Mc would have to keep quiet since they were in a public place. The rush he got thinking of someone walking in on him having his cock rammed into the beloved Mc.

●He keeps a list of books to the said that he thinks would sound a lot better with Mc's breathy moans. He also finds it as great stress relief. They would sneak into the library after hours so Mc could make as much noise as possible.

●Sometimes when they're reading together Satan makes Mc wear a vibrating toy and silently turns it on and off when he pleases.

Asmo 》His bedroom

●Asmo is an expert when it comes to connecting. His room has all the necessities. Sound proofing, toys, ropes, leashes, wax, towels, everything. He could give Mc a facial mask after giving them facial.

●Theres a mirror on the ceiling that is right above the bed, mirrors everywhere. If Mc was having a low confidence day he would cover up the mirrors or fuck Mc in front of them in every position to show them how hot they truly are.

●Asmo room also has a camera that follows sound so he can record whenever they are fucking but of course that involves being loud enough.

●Sometimes Asmo will indulge in black coffee because he doesn't want to loose energy or stamina. He wants Mc to do so many things and make sure that Mc's mind is just full of how good they feel and how horny they are.

Beel 》 Kitchen or bedroom

●Duh

●Food play. He loves nyotaimori/ namtaimori; Body sushi, Human tray. He loves to layout his favorite foods on Mc, keeping them as protected as possible. He also would love to fuck Mc with a certain things then eat them. Ie: Cucumber. He wants to see how much of the thick cucumber Mc could take, licking the cucumber in-between tries. Then proceeding to eat it after.

●His fantasy would involve him coming down for a midnight snack and Mc is there surrounded by his favorite food. Mc being just as hungry for Beel as he is for them.

●Ever since the few nights Mc slept on Beels bed. He's been hungry. Their smell is permanently embedded into the bed. He would want to fuck Mc in that bed. He would give Mc a lot of oral. Making sure to taste every drop of them.

●He would to fill up Mc with his load to make sure Mc is as full as he is.Though he's very considerate Mc should expect a bit of soreness next day.

Belphie 》 Attic

●A place to be by himself in a cozy bed Mc riding him as he's slowly woken up.

●The attic is a quiet place. He normally dreams the most about Mc in this room. If anyone tries to interrupt their time together Belphie will quickly cum inside Mc and plug their hole with their underwear. He likes to see them squirm around at the discomfort of the underwear getting soaked with Belphie's juices.

●He likes waking up Mc with him about to cum on their face. He also loves sleepy horny sex where they can't even tell what's where.

●Belphie is extremely possessive so everything is on his stuff. It's not because he's lazy It's because their sent keeps him calm and makes him want- actually NEED them.

●He once used bedsheets to tie up Mc to the bed to overstimulate and exhaust them.

Solomon 》 Anywhere and everywhere

●Mc's room, his room, over here, over there, everywhere. Solomon is proud he scored the hottest human out there. He will fuck Mc when he wants wherever he wants. The idea of someone walking in on them makes him fuck Mc’s throat harder.

●One of his favorite places is the empty classroom right next to an active classroom.

●He admits to watching Mc change in their bedroom from an enchanted mirror he gifted them.

●He loves to tease Mc while they are out. Together they can make a single trip turn into an 8 hour errands day. Once he had Mc pinned in an alleyway while feeling them up and giving them aggressive hickies. He walked away as if nothing happened and Mc weak knees would struggle to carry themselves.Mc would get so desprate that they would drag Solomon to another alleyway and they would be at it for at least an hour.

Diavolo》 The balcony of the Castle or even hidden rooms

●He loves to show what he can offer Mc besides he massive cock. Of course he's anxious to rule devildom but he will do what needs to be done. Mc grounds him. What he doesn't tell Mc is that it's practically impossible to see that balcony. He would never jeopardize Mc or anyone's respect. The balcony gives him time to think a time to feel and reflect. Making Mc feels good makes him feel good.

●He loves exposing Mc's gaping hole towards the balcony. It shows everyone that only he can fill that hole.

●Diavolo is constantly hiding from Barbatos and he loves to drag Mc with him. Sometimes Diavolo forgets what rooms are in this huge castle so it's an adventure with Mc. Small rooms where Mc can barely move due to being pinned by Diavolo. He loves the rush of hiding and trying to be as quickly as possible. He wants to please every part of Mc.

●He loves when Barbatos finds themsawsee and he awkwardly leaves while Diavolo continues.

Barbatos 》 Mc's room

●He wants Mc to be as comfortable as they can be. He enjoys giving Mc massages. Waiting on Mc hand and foot. He wants Mc as comfortable as possible.

●He's more of a pleasure dom than anything. He gets off by just seeing Mc sprawled out on the bed shaking from pleasure. He could simply cum to the thought of it. It's private and quiet. He doesn't have to worry about anyone else except Mc. After he Mc into mush he'll be in the kitchen cooking them their favorite meal. Just to give them enough energy for a round two. He would snap photos of the exhausted Mc to keep for later just to stare.

●Mc's room is also good for Barbatos because Diavolo won't bother him as much. Barbatos only uses his demon form when he wants to fill all of Mcs holes.

●Any messes made in the room he'll clean it up. Since he knows he'll be cleaning anything that happens to get dirty. He's into a lot of WAM (wet and messy) Mainly with saliva, cum, sweat. The more the better it shows him he's doing a good job at pleasing Mc.

Simeon 》 Mc’s bedroom

●He wants Mc to be comfortable. He's never really felt as calm and confident ever since meeting Mc. When Mc looks like they are calm it calms him. Simeon feels safe to sort of lose control. He's a tease outside of the bedroom but now he can actually act out everything he wants to do. By everything, he means everything. Everyday he thinks of a new way He could fuck Mc or even have Mc fuck him.

●Mc's room feels familiar enough for the both of them. Of course it's a bit difficult when the brothers are home but that's when Simeon implements the quiet game. He slams himself into Mc and see how long it takes for Mc to almost give out.

●He loves texting Mc to meet him in their room. He's just so excited to be able to show Mc he's not just an Angel. He can make Mc feel things that they have yet to feel.

●They barely use the bed. Simeon likes to make sure there's a different position everytime. His mind is corrupted by how many positions or how many times can he make Mc cum that night.

[honeygrahambitch]

"Even Will Graham has a better sex life than I do." Jimmy said, as if he had been holding that sentence inside for too long.

Beverly and Brian abandoned the blood samples they were working on and looked at him in disbelief as if they were trying to make sure they got it right.

"One question would be how do you know that?" Brian asked. "I doubt Will is the type to talk about stuff like that."

"That's easy, haven't you seen Hannibal?" Beverly asked rolling her eyes.

"I am not particularly into men."

"You don't have to be in order to tell that someone must excel in bed. It's the attitude."

"Stop that." Jimmy interrupted their banter. "I overheard a discussion between the two of them."

"Do we really need to know?" Brian said as he looked at Beverly for support. However, her opinion was different.

"Share."

"Alright but this doesn't leave the lab. It stays between us." Jimmy said. After all, Will was his friend and he didn't have anything against Hannibal. He was usually not the one to gossip but this felt like something that needed to be debated. "They are having a threesome."

"No way." Beverly said as she elbowed Brian who remained dumb.

"Who's the lucky lady?" Brian asked.

"Why did you immediately assume it's a lady?"

"For more diversity? I don't know how these things work?"

"Can you shut up and listen?" Jimmy cut them off. "I overheard Will asking Hannibal whether their plans for the night have changed. Hannibal had said that they did not and then pulled out this business card and handed it to Will. Will was like- a sport trainer? He will be a handful."

"I told you it's a man!" Beverly told Brian then turned back to Jimmy. "That doesn't prove anything though."

"Maybe if you two listened I could get to the point. So, Will said that and Hannibal was amused and said "I am confident we can handle him. Cannot be worse than the one last week. I was not proud of the way we left his bedroom"."

"Shut up..." Brian whispered. Beverly didn't say anything, her lips parted in disbelief. "And then?"

"Then Will said...damn, I hate that I have to repeat his words but he said..."He was bigger than either of us expected. I mean, for a finance guy, he was quite a challenge. My back still hurts."" Jimmy went on. "And Hannibal was like "the one we are having tonight will definitely be in good shape. I will be there, I am not letting him touch you.""

"Christ." Beverly said. "And?"

"And Will said "As if I need you to take care of me. Remember how the one from two weeks ago surprised you from behind? You were lucky I was there." Then they noticed me because of the stupid coffee machine who started beeping. And I swear to God, their surprised expressions indicated exactly the fact that I was not supposed to hear that."

"Wow." Brian said thoughtfully. "Every week. Good for them. That's how you keep things interesting in a relationship."

"I wouldn't have believed Hannibal would share Will with anyone." Beverly commented.

"Will might have a say in that?" Jimmy suggested. "Anyway, I couldn't believe it. I was afraid I took things out of context maybe?"

"Definitely not." Beverly said. "What else could they have been talking about?"

***

"Do you think Jimmy overhead us earlier?" Will said as he looked for their knives in the trunk of the car.

"I doubt it. It doesn't prove anything. We were quite subtle." Hannibal replied as he put his scalpel in his left pocket. "Ready? He must be home by now."

"Let's go. I don't want to spend the whole night butchering this guy. By the way, what did he do?"

"Insinuated I do not take my physical health seriously."

"He just hasn't seen what's underneath that suit." Will replied, making Hannibal smile.

[ennn]

Unpacking the Deals of Ep 8: Why and What They Mean

So episode 8 is... let's say a bit of a mess. I know there's some confusion around why Agatha proposes her terms for the first deal, why Rio flipped into cackling villain mode, why Rio makes another deal, etc.

Here's my read that hopefully helps draw a line from point A to B to C.

Let's consider the context of the first deal: Agatha's not having a good day. Two coven members who Agatha never expected to care about have died trying to protect her – a thing that has never happened before. And Death happens to be a person she can blame.

Death, who is pressing on that bruise ("Your coven is shrinking") and making her shitty day worse because she wants the kid Agatha is hardcore projecting on (and also didn't plan to care about) to die. Just like Nicky.

But Agatha then realises she has leverage on Rio. For the first time in forever, she has an advantage she can exploit. She can be in control.

And it's almost instinctive for Agatha at this point: finding the best buttons to push, the best terms for her given the opportunity.

Agatha: If I deliver Billy, you let me go. Rio: You will eventually die, Agatha. Agatha: But I want you to stop pursuing me. I want you to stop making my life hell. And when I die, a long, long, long, long, long time from now, I don't want to see your face. Rio: ... Okay.

The terms that Agatha sets out seem cruel because they are. She says what she does because she wants it to hurt. Agatha's not only rejecting Rio's continued presence in her life, she's denying all the love that Rio's given her, building on what she's said before ("You gave me nothing.")

From Rio's POV, Agatha's cutting words aside, this entire deal sucks. Because the options are:

(a) Agatha doesn't hold up her end, which Rio knows might happen: Rio knows Agatha cares about Billy ("I know how you feel about him"). Rio's constantly reminding her he's not Nicky. She was already doubting Agatha would deliver her usual number of corpses. She saw how affected Agatha was after Alice's death.

If Agatha doesn't help, she'd be choosing a boy over everything Rio's done again – and this time another woman's.

And if Rio somehow manages to take Billy anyway, Agatha will end up hating her twice forever.

(b) Agatha does hold up her end, which might also happen: Rio knows Agatha's manipulative and smart and capable. More than that, she's well aware Agatha hates her. That Agatha still doesn't see what she's done for her ("No one in history has had special treatment like you").

That she knows Agatha does care about Billy but maybe hates her so much that she's willing to go through with this to cut her out from her life. Billy would be a dear price but one Agatha's maybe willing to pay.

Even if it was a 50:50 chance for these options, I think Rio realises her relationship with Agatha is doomed either way.

Either way she does her job, with or without Agatha's help, she's going to be rejected and lose. One's just a slower path than the other.

I think that's why Rio gives in to her rage and bitterness and spite. Agatha thinks Rio's been making her life hell? She'll show her hell.

And Agatha, well I think there's some merit to the thinking that she didn't expect Rio to fold that quickly and completely.

Now for the context of the second deal, it's not clear whether Rio knows what happened with Tommy. I assume Rio doesn't – not yet anyway – as she doesn't mention it at all and seems focused on squaring that one life Billy stole.

Now here's where it gets a little squirrely, to borrow Schaeffer's language. Because if you don't look too closely, it seems to make sense: Billy stole a life so to maintain the natural balance, Rio needs to take a life, the one Billy has now.

But how does Agatha's life work as a substitute for this imbalance (“This means you’re coming with me”)? Would any other person’s life work? Could Rio have swapped someone else's life to save Nicky then? Agatha would have been all too happy to arrange for that murder.

I doubt the show is ever going to explain this so I offer few possible theories to deal with this weirdness:

Billy Maximoff is a product of chaos magic, so his existence and everything he affects already throws off the natural order, just to different orders of magnitude. Agatha’s life works as a substitute because his life is now intertwined with hers e.g. his hex probably saved her life from the Salem Seven and has the potential for greater imbalance

Rio is aware of Agatha’s tendency towards chaos and defiance of the natural order. Rio bent the rules of the universe only for Agatha. Taking her life would protect the balance in the larger scheme of things – if only so Rio won’t be further tempted to give her special treatment.

When Rio’s torturing Agatha it’s before she presents the second deal. So she’s still intending to go after Billy, she’s just removing Agatha as an obstacle while lashing out in rage and heartbreak.

In this moment Rio probably thinks Billy's in the wind. She saw how upset Billy was with Agatha at the end of episode 5. And Rio knows the reputation Agatha keeps ("Why do you let them believe those things about you?"), Rio probably thinks Agatha deliberately drove him off to keep him safe.

Then Billy pops up and Rio sees that Billy and Agatha care about each other and they're both aware they care about each other.

Fuckin��� great. Rio's not bitter at all.

Looks like you two are finally on the same page. So I'll let you decide. One of you stays with me. The other walks free.

Agatha proposed a deal designed to hurt her? Now it’s her turn.

From Rio's POV, I think here are the possible outcomes:

(a) Agatha sacrifices herself for Billy: Not impossible I think. Rio knows Agatha cares about the boy but she also knows Agatha will do anything to survive. She thinks she's above death. But again, I think Rio also knows Agatha would have sacrificed herself for Nicky if she had that choice.

What did Lorna want from the Road? To save her daughter.

This isn't an ideal outcome for Rio but she’s already resigned herself to losing Agatha I think, one way or another. This way if Agatha wants Billy to live so badly, this is the price she has to pay. The high cost of living.

(b) Billy steps up and sacrifices himself: Very possible given that Billy’s a young heroic sort and already showed up, risking his life to power up Agatha. Rio gets to do her job. Agatha will probably hate her more given the Nicky trauma but Rio’s already resigned to this on some level already, which is why she's raging.

Either way Agatha's going to hurt, and Rio's going to hurt.

It's interesting that when Billy does volunteer himself and Agatha seizes the opportunity to remind Rio of their earlier deal, Rio just shakes her head and looks amused.

You can also see for a brief moment Agatha looking almost remorseful about doing this before slipping her theatrical villainous mask on, overcompensating for her true feelings.

Do you remember pain? It kinda tickles doesn't it?

By the letter (not the spirit or intent) of the first deal, Agatha did ultimately fulfil her part:

I can arrange that. I can get him to the finish line and deliver him to you.

This is an opportunity that's almost impossible to resist for someone as calculating and ruthless and selfish like Agatha. She has power (chaos magic no less), she can have Rio leave her alone forever (she knows Rio honours her word), she knows Billy cares about her but can she really trust him?

But Agatha ultimately decides to take a risk. A calculated one sure, but still a risk.

I think the beauty in the kiss and her sacrifice is how – despite her calculating the odds – Agatha is choosing to give in to what she feels and wants in that moment.

Because she does want to protect the boy in a way no one did for her when she was young. She wants to save Billy like she couldn't with Nicky. And she does want Rio so much despite everything that's happened.

[frou-frou-deserved-better]

[Image: screenshot of a Reddit post from r/parenting reads "6:30 AM conversions with an ADHD kid (before meds kick in)

Her: mom, do you think there are sniffing cats? Me, who hasn't had the fucking chance to pour a cup of coffee yet: uh? Her: yeah, like you know how there are sniffing dogs at the airports, do they have sniffing cats? Me: I have no clue but i don't think so. Her: ok.

20 secs later Her: mom, do adults loose their teeth? Me (screaming in my head and glancing at the bottle of vodka "it's always 5 o'clock somewhere"): no, Sof, only children loose their baby teeth. Her: why? Me: cause they are temporary. Her: why? Me: i dunno, cause that's what happens Her: ok.

Another 20 secs later Her: mom? Me (" omfg, kill me now!): we have to go NOW, or we are gonna miss the bus!

Is it 5 o'clock yet (here in Michigan)?" /End ID]

I have watched my late diagnosed ADHDer partner dissociate for days on end because he forgot to fold a towel the way I like. When we first started dating, he thought I would break up with him because he spilled something on the floor.

He is one of the kindest, smartest, coolest people I know and I love seeing when his brain sparks. He has supported me through recovery from being hit by a car, a toxic workplace taking away all my joy, and the symptoms of multiple severe disabilities, but I know he still worries deep down that I'll stop loving him if he leaves a cup out one too many times.

Reading these posts makes me disgusted and devastated. Every one of those kids deserves better, and the way those parents speak is not blowing off steam. Talking shit about our disabilities is a love language in many of my friendships, but I couldn't imagine thinking the way those parents do about my loved ones even on my worst days.

Also, this kind of trauma is insidious. You are communicating to your child how much you hate them, but they don't have the social of emotional maturity to recognize it. There's no need to weigh and compare childhood trauma, but this self loathing is a belief that will be reinforced silently for the rest of their lives. Every breakup, every friend that stops texting, every job they don't get will be framed through this.

To parents like this: please get help. You are quite literally traumatizing your children in a way they will struggle to even explain.

To the kids: you deserve so much love. You are valuable to the world (there's literally research backing up how ND people make groups better). There are people who will absolutely adore you. It can be so much better, and no one should treat you this way.

I ended up on r/ADHDparenting (a subreddit about parenting kids with ADHD, not about being a parent with ADHD) and Jesus fuck.

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Nights Like This: Part Three

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: language, angst

Word count: 1.4k

a/n: guys are we riding at dawn or not lmaoo??? if i forgot to tag you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list please feel free to lmk 💕

“Tell me what?”

Serena and Roman froze, which angered Zoe to another level, because it’s one thing to screw her over, but its another to play in her fucking face.

Roman turned towards Serena,“Give us some space…” His voice was stern, more of a demand than a request. Serena briefly looked at Zoe and sighed, she proceeded to grab her keys and walk outside.

“Where the fuck is she going, you both seemed to have a lot to say.” Zoe started walking towards the door to confront Serena, but as she was about to reach the door her movements were halted when Roman grabbed her by the waist gently pulling her back.

“Baby we need to talk, just you and me please…” he pleaded. Seconds later she heard a car engine start. This bitch really had the audacity to leave without saying a word.

“Oh so now you want to fucking talk? Because you damn sure didn’t have shit to say before I found the condoms,” Zoe sneered as she yanked her body away from him.

Roman paused and took a deep breath, slowly rubbing his hand over his beard, “Baby I fucked up, I’m sorry...”

“You’re sorry, is that really all you have to say?” Her voice cracked, she could feel her throat begin to tighten.

Roman felt like the biggest piece of shit. Seeing the exhaustion and pain in her eyes, hurt him. He hated to see her cry, let alone being the reason behind it. There was no excuse for what he did, and he knew it. Which is exactly why he didn’t want to tell her, but actions have consequences. He made his bed, it was time to fucking lie in it.

“Baby I—” As he began to speak Zoe cut him off, “Roman I’m gonna ask you this one time. Did you or did you not, cheat on me with Serena?”

Roman lowered his head, his gaze now shifted towards the floor. He paused in silence for a short moment, she could see his hands were slightly fidgeting. Roman briefly looked up at her, still avoiding making eye contact.

“Yes,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

Zoe’s heart felt like it was ripped out of her chest. She knew the answer, but she wanted him to have the balls to actually fucking say it. Tears that she had been fighting back started to roll down her face, sobs escaping her. “Fuck you, Roman.” She started to walk away, but was stopped when Roman walked in front of her stopping her in her tracks.

“Zo don’t leave, please just talk to me.”

“You’re such a piece of shit, I fucking trusted you. She wiped away some of her tears, which was of no use considering she couldn’t stop crying, “My best friend? Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve only met her a handful of times!” she yelled.

“I want you to tell me why, you wanted to talk, so fucking talk,” she hissed.

Roman’s eyes were glistened with tears, his shoulders were slumped as he inhaled a deep breath, “I—I came to her to help me plan our trip and your birthday dinner. I figured since I don't know shit when it comes to throwing parties, I’d hire someone who not only works in that profession, but someone who would know what you’d like.”

“Yeah it seems she ended up finding exactly what I liked,” she scoffed.

Roman put his head down, his voice getting lower, “I ended coming over at different times over the span of two months to approve some of the planning details. Little by little I noticed she was flirting more than usual, in the beginning I tried to ignore it, but over time I—I began to like the attention.”

Zoe felt sick to her stomach, she listened quietly while angrily wiping away her tears. She wanted to leave to avoid hearing this bullshit, but a part of her wanted to know why. Why would two people who claimed to love her, hurt her in the most disrespectful way possible.

Seeing Zoe silently crying made the pit of Roman’s stomach drop, he was disgusted with himself. How in the hell did he let something so stupid, jeopardize what he had? He loves Zoe, he couldn’t give two fucks about Serena. Yet, he let a moment of weakness ruin everything and hurt the one person he loved more than anyone.

He walked towards her, and gently lifted her face. “Baby, please look at me,” Zoe refused, and that fucking killed him.

“I don’t need all the details, just tell me what happened...” her lower lip was slightly trembling. She pushed him away, making sure to keep a distance between them.

“Before my last visit, I let my ego cloud my judgment. I went to the store, bought the condoms and headed over to her house.” Roman paused, he was internally struggling to say the rest, but he knew he had to, he owed her that. “We kissed, and she ended up giving me head.”

“Let me guess, you returned the favor?” Silence. Just as she expected. “Of course you did because you’re such a generous tribal chief, right?”

He took a deep breath, his chin dipping to his chest. “I went with the intention to fuck her Zo, I did. And I know that there’s no amount of apologies in the world that will change what I did, but I need you to know that I didn’t fuck her.”

“So you’re telling me the condom unwrapped itself?”

“I was going to fuck her baby, I was. But when the time came, I thought of you, and I just— I just couldn’t do that to you.”

Roman walked towards her, gently moving some of her hair out of her face, he wiped some of her tears away with his thumb. He felt a sharp pang of guilt seeing her so broken, the weight of what he did was fully sinking in his chest.

“Baby please look at me.”

She doesn’t know why she actually did, but she felt so numb as if nothing even really mattered anymore. She looked at his big brown eyes, eyes that she once viewed with love and admiration, she now saw with despair.

A few tears slipped down his face. “Zoe please understand that she means absolutely fucking nothing to me. I love you baby. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I lied to you, I’m sorry that I hurt you—”

“If it was me that did this to you, how would you feel?”

He sighed heavily, facing down. He couldn’t even say a word. What a fucking hypocrite.

“You knew all the bullshit that I went through with my ex, and you went and did this shit. I opened up to you, and you promised me you would never do what he did to me. I feel so fucking stupid to have actually believed you. The fact that you wouldn’t have told me shit had I not caught you makes me sick to my stomach. You want to know what I think Roman? I think you’re a fucking coward.”

Zoe grabbed her keys and headed towards the door. She didn’t care about leaving her things behind, that slut seemed to like her leftovers anyways.

“Zo, please don’t do this to me,” he pleaded. Every single emotion that she tried to hold in was released, she was crying uncontrollably. She ignored him and was able to get in her car.

“You did this to yourself. You don’t have to worry about me anymore Roman, you and Serena can go fuck yourselves.”

Zoe started driving home, but the farther she got the more her anger built. She pulled over at a store to park and try to compose herself, she was so mad her hands were trembling. The memory of Serena letting her cry on her shoulder while being the actual cause of her tears, and leaving without even trying to apologize made her even more pissed. Fuck this. She put her gps back on Serena’s address, enough is enough. The only thing on her mind right now, was beating this bitch’s ass.

[arcanegifs]

This is the last time I'm going to be annoying about this, I swear.

A few examples of that I, a gifmaker, personally love seeing under the tags:

Analysis of said scene, show, or character, especially the long ones going in depth that span like 1000 words

People saying how crisp the GIFs look and how nice the coloring is THANK YOU. ILY GUYS. That's always huge praise for me.

Reacting with how emotional you got with the scene. How painful and emotional or how touching a scene is.

People making funny jokes, memes, comments, etc.

Literally ppl horny posting LMAO. It's super funny to read and I love seeing all the unhinged comments.

Seeing how much you loved the show and its characters

Things I don't like seeing under the tags. And these are just two very specific things:

How much you hate the show, how much you think a scene is bad, how much you hate a character, the ship, the creators, etc. or how much you dont like this ship anymore, calling a ship horrible because ____ reasons. OKAY! I get it! But I don't want to see that. Make your own hate post on your own blog! You're free to have an opinion on how much you hate something. Just do it on your own blog.

Asking why I leave out certain scenes out, why I decided to gif this scene, or not gif more of these characters. Sometimes, I'm just exhausted. I can overlook things. You guys don't know how draining making gifs can get to me, especially the scenes that are really long. But I do it because I LOVE Arcane, the story, and the characters, and the particular scenes that I make gifs of. I have my own biases too. Of course I’m making them first. Please, just make them yourself instead of complaining under the tags of my edits. Yes, I can see them.

Don’t get me wrong, I wholeheartedly appreciate everyone who supports and follows the blog. I want to make a million more HQ gifs of this amazing show, but sometimes, the very rare negativity can still get overwhelming, to the point where it demotivates you.

Arcane is extremely special to me because it's such a fantastic show, and that alone motivates me in trying to create more GIFs. Honestly, if it was any other fandom or show? I would've probably left already. Arcane is THAT great.

I know the block button is there. I use it too, but sometimes, the amount of effort and time you exert to create FOR FREE just isn’t worth it. And that’s why gifmakers and creators stop making things for fandom. It’s not fun anymore. It’s not worth it.

Some people think that making my style of GIFs is easy. Then great! Since you think so, then do it yourself and help create for the fandom too! I wholeheartedly encourage you to do it!

TLDR: Don't be rude on people's fanwork, especially when they are created FOR FREE. If you don’t like their fanwork, you can make them yourself.

[taliesin-the-bored]

It was a musical, but...I am not beating the allegations.

I shall take this as an opportunity to ramble about Rómeó és Júlia, the subject of said allegations by @unstark, who may have created a monster (/j; thank you for doing so).

The first thing to know is that I haven't read Romeo and Juliet since middle school and liked it well enough then but wasn't really enthused because I liked the poetic elements but found the romance somewhat grating. However, I am a theater kid/opera nerd at heart, and looking at different versions of things and analyzing the connections, sometimes to an obsessive degree, is one of the things I live for (that's part of the lure of Arthuriana).

The second is that Rómeó és Júlia (ResJ) is fantastic, in large part because the cast is incredibly talented. I've seen all or a good portion of several different language versions of the musical, which originated in France as Roméo et Juliette (RetJ), and they all have good or decent but reasonably similar Juliets and mostly fine to mediocre Romeos. In addition to having a good Juliet, this Romeo, played by Dolhai Attila, was quite charming as an actor as well as a great singer so the rest have been mostly downhill. I am afraid, though, that like most of the people on ResJ/RetJ Tumblr, the characters I found most interesting were Mercutio and Tybalt, who both vary wildly from production to production. In ResJ, Mercutio (who fans call Zolicutio because he's played by Zoltán Bereczki) is a force of nature, and I did not properly appreciate that the first time I watched it. He sings, dances almost constantly, acts well, and raps in Magyar, and he never seems to stop or slack in energy until he dies. Tybalt, on the other hand, is a deeply tortured soul who's occasionally comedic in his melodrama (he does the Mr. Bean walk once) but has genuine pathos. I originally watched the first half without subtitles and did not realize the...ahem...concerning nature of his thoughts about Juliet, but that's in almost every version of the musical, and it is not as big a trigger warning as the obvious one, which is that Romeo and Juliet includes onstage suicide and murder, as well as references to sexual content. This is probably the first thing anyone learns about Romeo and Juliet, but I thought I should put that out there to be safe. Anyway, Szilveszter Szabó was vastly different than how I pictured Tybalt while reading the play, but he was excellent and brought a new perspective to the character. You love to see it. Also, ResJ Benvolio is a punk with the heart of a golden retriever, another far-from-the-play take which works in its context.

Now, the 2010 French version. I followed ResJ with the RetJ revival because John Eyzen's Mercutio is the second most popular Mercutio on Tumblr, after the inimitable Zolicutio, and I wanted to see what the hype was about. He is vastly, vastly different, both from how I imagined Mercutio and how Mercutio is in any other production. Eycutio alternates between stillness and over-the-top energy. He may or may not be bad mental illness rep. He may or may not be beholden to the madness-inducing entities of Chaos. Eyzen fully embraced the vibes of "La Follie" and the Queen Mab speech Mercutio has in Shakespeare to create a very unstable dude who revels in unpredictability and danger to a greater degree than Zolicutio and has probably won Best-Haired Veronese Man three years in a row. He has a love/hate relationship with Tybalt and flirts with him while fighting. (Zolicutio also flirts with Tybalt, but less in a I've-secretly-liked-you-since-we-were-twelve-but-also-hate-you-and-we-kissed-at-a-party-once-but-you-pretend-you-don't-remember-and-I'm-going-to-make-that-hard-for-you way than an I-bet-you're-into-me-and-also-that-you'll-hate-this-and-I-could-be-into-you-but-it's-not-clear-and-I-canonically-kissed-Romeo-but-didn't-seem-serious-about-it-and-I-rap-about-not-liking-romance-and-it-might-be-to-hide/drown/prevent-the-pain-or-I-might-be-aroallo-and-thriving way). Tim Ross's 2nd Tybalt looks and acts like the unlikely and maltreated test-tube child of George Michael and Cruella de Vil, and I'm going to leave it about that, because I have rambled too long without mentioning that Romeo's costume is exceptionally terrible in this one, that I really did not like Escalus, and that the Nurse was fantastic. All in all, what this one has to recommend it is the excellent Nurse, plus Tybalt and Mercutio's unevenly acted but ultimately interesting dynamic, which is the stuff of Fanlore pages.

I have not watched all of the 2001 French original, even though many people say Cécilia Cara is the best Juliet, because the other Juliets are also good and apparently a bald Mercutio is one thing I cannot take. (I could under certain conditions. If he were a young cancer patient, then that would add an urgency to his fervor for living life to the fullest, and a suspicion that he's going to die painfully soon whatever he does could influence his recklessness, but him being considerably older and more sophisticated than Romeo is weird). I might watch more of it, but it's low priority.

Apart from those, I've watched large parts of the Italian and Israeli ones, which I prefer to the French ones in acting but not in singing. The Italian one is a lot more dramatic than the Israeli one, which is maybe the least dramatic RetJ variant ever but pulls it off really well. The characters seem like normal people you would meet who try their best but get caught up in a tragedy bigger than they can understand. Of special note, as usual, is that ever-shifting scene, the duel between Mercutio and Tybalt, and this is the most original take on it I've seen. What sets it apart is that THEY DON'T EVEN DISLIKE EACH OTHER. You get the sense that they've had a lighthearted rivalry since they were kids but they're sort of friends and it's all a game to them. It's also the only version I've seen where those two actually have fencing swords, so the fight looks more realistic, emphasizing that they're playing with fire. When he realizes Mercutio is dying, Tybalt is visibly devastated and seems to lose the will to live. I don't usually cry at movies or shows, but that is the version which brought me the closest to crying.

I would like to watch the 2019 Toho version, since it comes highly recommended, but am not sure where to and might have to wait a while on that one. After I'm done with the Italian one, I intend to watch the Russian one, the German one, and the alternate cast recording of the Hungarian one. As for the English one...well, I've listened to a bit of it, and it was awful.

If you want to watch multiple versions at once or see which ones you might like, there is a great playlist on YouTube where someone edited together parts of the videos of different versions. If you want an incoherent-without-watching-the-full-thing but possibly still entertaining look into it, watch this compilation someone made, which is extremely funny if you've actually seen the full musical.

If you've read this entire semi-coherent ramble, you're a trooper. I hope it was vaguely interesting. Have a wonderful day!

it’s really easy to become obsessed with a shakespeare play you just have to watch one version of it and then read the play and then go mad trying to watch every possible version of it you can find and then study several centuries worth of performance history and controversy

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 14: Don't Be A Bundt Cake

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy, Miscommunication Trope

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Talks of Death, DENIAL, Idiots in Love, Pining by the Reader (and SB, but he won't admit it) Depressing Thoughts, Mentions of sexual assault/rape (not detailed at all, really just in passing) Talks about weed, Sexist comments, Ben makes derogatory comments, Threatening Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this one took me a bit longer. The writers block was fighting me the whole way, but we are very closely nearing the end of this series and the moment the reader and Ben stop being so stinkin' stubborn.

Reader POV

You lean your forehead against the cool window, watching the world flash by in a flurry of color. The wooded forests had vanished hours ago and all that was left were the yellowed sprawling fields of corn and grain and family farms that were laid sporadically along the interstate. Each one a little world that caught the flecks of golden sunlight as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

The bus rolled smooth and steady over the weathered pavement towards it's destination and was filled with an odd assortment of people young and old. There was man with a brightly colored parrot that had been singing "It's A Small World After All" since you left NYC, a woman with a little boy playing with an iPad and who refused to turn down the volume no matter how many times his mother asked him to, a group of teenagers a few seats up that continued to pass around a flask, and due to how far back you were sitting on the bus an uncomfortable smell emanated from the bathroom each time the door was opened.

But you didn't notice any of it.

The only thing on your mind were the events that happened almost twenty hours ago. They continued to circle your mind, playing over and over again like a perverted cassette tape making you sink further into the worn cloth covered seat at the back of the bus. The images were haunting, some new and some old, but all the more still horrible to re-live.

The song "Nights In White Satin" floating into the backseat of your family's car, the flash of unnatural light you knew was never lightning, the caskets at your parent's funeral covered in flowers that were much to pretty to lay on something so morbid, Elijah's body succumbing to the poppies that ripped him apart, the proud sneer on your brother's face when he admitted to killing your parents, Darren's broken and bloodied body strewn in pieces over the street with the creature standing over him with a dripping red maw, the ruined building that housed "Please Don't Die" reduced to nothing more than rubble, and the look on Ben's face when you turned your back on him and fled the scene.

For some reason that particular image seemed to cling on to you and refused to fade. You'd never seen him look that way, almost… helpless and a little fearful. In all the time you'd known him, Ben had never looked at you that way. Sure you'd seen him proud, angry, cocky, lustful, mischievous, but never fearful. And you were sure that it wasn't an emotion that he was used to feeling, but that begged the question… why?

Why was he looking at me like that? Why wouldn't he let me go? And what was he afraid of?

The creature curled in your lap snorts something in it's sleep, turning it’s head further into the cradle of your elbow to shut out the brilliant early morning sunlight. It was now the size of a toaster and had warranted several odd looks whenever you got off to change buses, but you didn't care.

You weren't sure about anything anymore. Everything your brother confessed to you made you feel like you were living a lie and the revelation of exactly what your powers could do- take life from plants to heal yourself, create whatever the hell it was on your lap, and speak to plants… it scared you.

You thought for so long that you knew everything about your powers, that you were in control, but now you weren't sure.

You felt different, as if something had unlocked deep down that you couldn't shut up again.

You'd felt different after you killed Elijah, but this was more alive, weaving and twisting in the pit of your stomach. You felt more connected to the earth, to the world outside the bus even though you were divided by glass and metal. You could feel the energy that thrummed through the body of the creature on your lap, bending to your will, the life force of the plants it was formed from molding with you, becoming a part of you.

You felt so different than the person you had been before Darren entered the shop, so uncertain, and there was only one place you wanted to be when you felt like this… home. You couldn't wait to run up the worn front steps of your grandmother's house and into her arms. She always knew what to say in times like this.

And you desperately needed the comfort of her embrace.

The phone in your pocket buzzes again and you flip the screen to see the ridiculous selfie Annie and you had taken on Halloween last year. The one that you'd both spent dressed up as the two brothers from your favorite paranormal tv show. It wasn't the first time she'd called. Annie had called and texted you more times than you could count over the past twenty hours but you didn't answer her. You didn’t want to.

It was the first time that you didn't want to talk to her, but talking to her meant that you'd have to re-live all of it again and you were clawing at the last shred of sanity you had left to keep it together.

The overwhelming waves of emotion kept pummeling you, dragging you deeper beneath the white surf. Each one brought the memories of what happened surging over you and were followed by everything that Darren said to you. Years of taking care of Darren and doing whatever he wished were tearing at your soul, years of giving up little things in your life to make him happy, and years of taking care of a man who you thought cared about you, but hated you enough to kill your parents and try to kill you too.

It made your skin crawl. Each time your brother told you that he loved you was an even bigger lie and now that you knew the truth and saw him for what he was, it felt like you were drowning. The darkness that ebbed just on the edge was begging you to leap into the abyss, but you were resisting the best you could.

The tears had stopped falling miles ago, but you couldn't stop the memories or the emotion that formed a cold ball in the pit of your stomach.

A sigh works it's way up and you pull your legs on the seat underneath you, jostling the creature on your lap that raises it's head for a moment to blink it's black eyes at you sleepily.

It was surprisingly docile right now, especially considering that twenty hours ago it had ripped your brother to shreds. In fact it seemed to understand how upset you were and had spent the better part of the last twenty hours rubbing it's head against your arm as if trying to bring you some comfort. It was settled on your lap, the weight of it a comfort, almost like a weighted plushy that gave you something to focus on.

"It's alright buddy." You whisper, scratching him under his chin. "We're almost home."

The phone in your jacket pocket buzzes again, but when you pull it out to turn it off, you catch a glimpse of the screen, and you hesitate. Because this time it's not Annie who's calling, it’s Ben.

The picture that flashes on the screen under the contact name "Gramps" is the picture of Mr. Fredrickson from Up. It always made you smile whenever he called you and you saw the picture because Ben did often remind you of him. He was certainly just as grumpy as Mr. Fredrickson and just as out of touch, but you thought it was cute.

Your thumb hovers over the answer button and you think about talking to him.

But what would I say?

You weren't sure what to say to him, or why you wanted to speak to him so badly, why you wanted him to be sitting here on the bus with you as you went home, and why you wanted him to hold you against his chest while you allowed yourself to break, but you did. You wanted to feel his awkward shoulder pat and his awkward version of hand holding and you wanted to hear him try to tell you to "buck up" or whatever he thought that a comforting word should be.

He's really not the best at that.

You smile to yourself at the memory of how he tried to comfort you back at the hospital, but the longer you sit there and look down at the picture on the screen the worse you feel.

Maybe that scared you more than your newfound powers, how much you were realizing that you needed him, how much you depended on him when things got too much for you to bear. The memory of him appearing as soon as you needed him back at the shop, another of him grabbing Darren and throwing him into the street as soon as Darren insulted you comes in a flash, and finally followed by the memory of Ben carrying you out of Elijah's office while you curled into his chest. You couldn't remember too much from that moment, in fact you'd thought that Ben had kissed you on top of your head, but you ascribed that to the haze of pain you'd been in from your broken arm.

What you did remember was how wonderfully warm he was after you'd been trapped in that damn freezer and how nice it felt to be in his arms. Another memory of Ben sleeping on the couch at the hospital bubbles up and you feel something in your chest begin to crack open. And you try your best to tell yourself the same thing that you always do when you feel like Ben might care more about you that he was letting on.

Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear. He doesn't want a relationship. He's only wants one night, that's why he goes out with all those women-

You hesitate, thumb still hovering over the answer button as you do, the memory of the week you'd spent at the apartment with him flickering in the back of your mind. The week where he refused to leave you alone in the apartment, where he refused to do any jobs for Butcher, where he took care of you the best way he could, when he sat with you on the couch and made you laugh with his ridiculous movies, and the week where he hadn't had one date.

Your finger itched to answer the phone, but you couldn't, because you didn't want to feel this way about Ben, not when he'd told you countless times that you kept romanticizing him, not when he told you that he didn't want a relationship, and not when you could feel yourself beginning to fall for someone you thought was the wrong man.

For just a moment you tried to pretend that it was different, that he was different, but you didn't want to. It only made it hurt more.

The phone stops ringing, but the pit in your stomach still gapes open at you and for the first time in twenty hours you feel tears begin to fall. You didn't know why you were crying about this, why the thought of not picking up Ben's phone call seemed to hurt more than everything that had happened, but something made it hurt.

The bus driver announces over the overhead that you're reaching your final destination as he takes the exit for your hometown. The familiar buildings that line the streets are sheathed in a honeyed glow from the sun, the long shadow of the bus darkening them momentarily as it rumbles down the small streets to the bus station.

When it rumbles to a stop at the bus station you wait for everyone else to get off, trying to summon the strength to stand, and swipe the back of your hand across your face to rid yourself of the remaining tears.

The bus station was about a thirty minute walk from your grandmother's house, and you still hadn't called her. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her that Darren was dead and that he was the reason why your parents were dead.

The creature crawls up your body to drape it's warm body over the back of your neck as you stand. It wasn't bothering to hide, besides the people in your hometown already thought that you were odd because you were a supe and you'd always welcomed it. You give him a scratch on top of his head and his warm tongue flicks on the bottom of your earlobe as if thanking you before it curls further into the side of your neck, seeking warmth.

The first few steps on solid ground are shaky, but you find the strength while taking in a deep cleansing breath of the outside world, letting the gentle warmth of the sun and the tickle of the autumn breeze pull at your coat. You hadn't stopped at your apartment before coming here, instead you had stumbled your way to the bus station covered in dust, flecked in blood, and demanded the first ticket back to Illinois. It was lucky that the next bus was leaving immediately, because you didn’t want to spend another second in NYC, not when all you wanted was to be home.

Plus you were worried that someone had recorded what exactly happened outside the plant shop and you didn't want to get arrested.

It was self defense anyway. Maybe Jake would represent me in court.

The thought of Jake makes you twinge. You hadn't checked to see if he was alright before you ran from the scene. Not to mention you'd destroyed the shop he'd put all his life savings into after he stopped being a lawyer.

Oh fuck, what if he sues me? He can't exactly sue Darren…

You hear someone call your name and you open your eyes.

Your grandmother is standing in front of the same baby blue pickup truck that she'd had longer than you've been alive, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a pressed white blouse tucked elegantly into it. Her silver hair is loose and long, curling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looks the same way she looked one week ago when she left, and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

You're running before you can stop yourself, crumbling into her warm embrace, with more tears streaking down your face, but she doesn't mind.

"Shh. It's alright honey." She whispers, rubbing her hand over your back, her embrace steady and surprisingly strong. "Let's go home."

Her home is the same as it's always been. A two story Victorian house painted in a happy yellow shade, with a white wrap around porch and two white rocking chairs sitting empty on the front porch. You'd spent more nights than you could count rocking silently beside her with a crochet project in your lap listening to the rain fall and soak the world outside, while the plants sang praises with every gentle bend beneath the heavy droplets.

You could barely remember the home you spent in your early years with your parents, not when you'd spent most of your childhood spending the night here and after your parents died living here permanently. There was still a large oak tree were a wooden swing swung in the slight breeze on the left side of the yard, a gardenia bush that stretched as high as the second story on the right side of the house and brushed it's soft leaves against the sunshine colored outer walls, a garden filled with both flowering plants and herbs that perked up on both sides of the front yard as you walked up the path, and a cobblestone path that Annie and you had spent hours of your shared childhood covering in chalk art.

Neither of you were good, but when the rain would fall and smudge the clean lines, you'd jump in the puddles that pooled along the walkway singing the lyrics to ABBA's "Cassandra" not quite understanding what it meant.

Standing here outside your house made you miss Annie and feel worse about not calling or texting her back, but you didn't feel like talking about what happened and you were sure that Butcher filled her in. The only thing that you wanted was to collapse in your bedroom upstairs and curl under the comforters.

Despite everything the house was a welcome sight, but at the same time it was different. You could feel the plants calling out to you, asking for you, bending towards you just to touch your shoes as you walked by. You'd never felt so connected with them before, not even when you were in your apartment or working at the shop.  It was overwhelming.

And although a part of you was frightened by it, another part of you rejoiced in it. You didn't feel alone, didn't feel weak, and you knew that you never would ever again.

The creature nuzzled into the side of your neck with a sigh, soaking up the sun's healing rays as you walked up the front steps with your grandmother following behind you silently. She hadn't spoken since she picked you up at the bus station and you hadn't supplied anything in the ten minute car ride back to her house.

You didn't know where to start and you were still trying to process everything yourself.

The inside of her house was just as cozy and warm as it was the day you moved out. There were photos of your parents and you covering the walls (Darren's had been placed in the closet long ago), half-finished knitting projects sorted in different baskets on both the dining room table and the living room coffee table, spools of yarn were strewn over the couch sorted by color, and the fresh smell of gardenia wafted through the open windows on the breeze.

It was home. This was what you'd been missing the moment everything began to crash over you, but as you stood there in the familiar living room it felt like something was missing. Something tugged at the back of your mind, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

There was something or rather someone that should be here, but you didn't know what or who. And your mind supplied Annie, but you weren't sure that's who you meant.

"Let's have some tea." Your grandmother says from behind you and you feel her soft hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the familiar creative chaos and into the large kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen isn't spared from the madness, it rarely was. There are boxes upon boxes of cookies in different stages of being packaged all over the counter, dirty bowls and a measuring cup stacked in the sink, and a large opened bag of chocolate chips spilling over the flour covered kitchen island.

It wasn't unusual to find the kitchen or the house in a state of chaos, your grandmother always said that a house should look lived in and that the mess was part of the fun of any major project as long as you were responsible enough to clean it up.

"Bake sale?" You ask as you sit down in the breakfast nook, uttering the first words that you'd said to another human being in twenty hours.

The next breath that you inhale was supposed to be cleansing, but you can still feel a weight pressing down on your chest, the same one that settled in the moment everything happened with Darren.

You contemplate again how you're going to tell her that Darren is dead and was the reason why your parents died.

Damn it Darren.

"Mhmm." She hums, filling the well used red kettle. "Annie's mother practically cornered me in the supermarket yesterday and begged me to make cookies. I love Annie, but her mother needs someone to pull that stick out of her ass. It's been up there for so long that I'm sure it's rotten."

The creature crawls down from your shoulders and down your arm to sniff at one of the chocolate chip cookies nearest you. It hadn't eaten since…

Darren.

You wince slightly at the thought and hope that you hadn't created something that needed and craved human flesh. The last thing you wanted to unleash on the world was Audry two especially in the wake of Homelander.

Truthfully you were waiting for the guilt at killing your brother to come, but it never had and you wondered if it ever would.

Probably not. He deserved that, he killed our parents, he tried to kill me, he tried to kill Ben.

The thought of Ben again makes a lump form in the back of your throat. You didn't know what was happening to you only that you felt guilty for leaving him like that, for yelling at him to let you go, and just vanishing on him when he probably thought that you were going back to the apartment.

He doesn't know where I am. Maybe that's why he tried to call, because he got back to the apartment and couldn't find me there and he was worried. You press your lips together. Yeah. Worried. Right.

"Honey?" Your grandmother says in a soothing voice

You look up from the box of chocolate chip cookies that you didn't remember picking up. Even the creature is looking at you with an expression that you can only explain as worry.

"Yeah?" Your voice shakes slightly.

She's leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her beautiful grayed hair pulled up in an elegant bun, but in her eyes you can see genuine concern. "Fuck." She sighs after a minute.

You blink in surprise. It was the first time that you'd ever heard her say that word in your entire life.

"I shouldn't have left." She breathes. "I told Ben to look out for you. I told him, that little bastard was bound to show up again and what did he do? He left you at that plant shop alone with no protection!"

You'd only seen her really angry a handful of times in your lifetime. Like you, your grandmother often had a gentle disposition and didn't get angry unless the situation called for it.

I mean, Darren admitted to killing our parents and then got fucking ripped apart. But how does she know about any of that? I haven't told her…

"How did you know that he left me there? Did Ben call you?" You ask putting down the box of cookies.

An odd expression crosses her face, as if she's contemplating something. "No." She hesitates again. "I saw it."

"No." Your grandmother hesitates. "I saw it."

"You saw it?" You repeat, confused.

What's going on?

"Too late of course, but I'm a little rusty. I was able to warn Ben that Darren was coming back. That's how he got there so quickly or rather-" She shrugs sheepishly. "He got there in time to make sure that Darren didn't get you to forgive him. Which you shouldn't have at all, but I know he's always had a talent for manipulating you."

"What?"

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Instead of explaining further your grandmother walks out of the kitchen, leaving the kettle behind on the stove and you in a state of utter confusion.

Is she saying that she can see the future? Because that would mean that she's a supe and there's only one supe in history that I know of that can do that. A supe that no one has seen in over forty years.

You can hear her open the door to the closet under the stairs and the sound of her sifting through all the junk that the two of you had shoved in there over the years instead of finding the right place to put it.

When she comes back into the kitchen, she's holding a giant cardboard file box that you'd never paid attention to each time you opened the closet to find something. Your eyes shift from the box to her still not comprehending exactly what she was saying.

"I probably should have told you this a while ago, but…" She trails off and nods her head at the box before turning back to the kettle on the stove that has begun to scream. "I kept putting it off."

The box is old, worn at the edges, and theres a musty black fabric beneath a collection of yellowed photographs. You pull out the one on top to examine it.

Ben is standing there in his full Soldier Boy regalia outside of Vought tower and the woman standing next to him is Soothsayer. The outfit she wore was familiar, a black-skin tight suit with a blind fold tied over her eyes.

Soothsayer was a supe who could see the future and who was apart of Payback, a supe that had vanished a year before the mission in Nicaragua and no one knew where she went. There were rumors that she'd died and that she'd been a Russian spy, but you'd never believed them. You'd heard Butcher talk about how he tried to find her when he was trying to figure out what happened to Soldier Boy, but he never had. Said that the trail went cold.

But now you knew where she went, because she was standing directly in front of you.

She's Soothsayer? Holy fuck that's why Ben kept accusing her of cheating in the poker game because he knew that she could see the future.

"You were Soothsayer?" You gasp. "But why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?"

She continues to measure the tea leaves. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Grandpa didn't know? But he was alive when you were a supe?"

Your grandfather had never spoken about a history with supes that you remember.

"No." She turns to look at you, a hurt expression crossing over her face for a minute. "Well, I know that I said I was going to have tea, but if we're going to talk about this I'm going to need something a little bit stronger."

Your grandmother opens a cabinet under the stove an pulls out an enormous bottle of scotch. Truth be told you'd never seen her drink more than just a glass of wine, to see her like this was about as shocking as seeing a polar bear sunning itself on a Florida beach.

"Do you still want the blueberry tea or do you need something a little stronger?" She looks back over her shoulder at you as she pulls down a glass for herself.

"I think I need something stronger." You answer honestly.

Learning about everything Darren had done was one thing, but finding out that your grandmother used to be a famous supe and that she never told you about it was another thing. It was like looking at another person. You'd always loved your grandmother's gentle way, her care for her community and her family soft, but now you weren't sure you really knew who she was.

She sits down across from you and hands you a glass of the amber colored liquid. There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you as she tries to find a way to start. The photo of her and Ben is laying on top of what you realize is her uniform inside the box and she smiles down at the photo, just a little twitch at the corner of her lips.

"I met Ben when I was twenty three years old." She begins taking a sip from the glass. "Legend 'discovered' me. I had the injection of Compound V maybe two years before that, not when I was born, but I hadn't gotten popular. Other powers were much more flashy and by then there were so many heroes coming out of the woodwork that someone with the ability to see the future didn't seem as marketable."

There's something reflected in her blue eyes, the same eyes your father had, that you can't place. "I had just moved to New York, I had no money, and the way I was getting it was by pretending to be a fortune teller and betting on some sports events on the side. It wasn't hard to prove that I could see the future, the past was more difficult, but Legend somehow stumbled into my shop and figured out that I was a supe. And he didn't think I was too bad looking so he helped me get big."

"You pretended to be a fortune teller?"

She snorts into her glass. "Mhmm. People really will believe anything if they're desperate enough and back then there was so much turmoil going on with Russia that people were scared and wanted to feel comforted. My job provided some of that."

"But why did you walk away from it if you were such a big hero." You ask. "Everyone knew your name, you were-"

Your grandmother raises an eyebrow at you and you fall silent so she can continue. "When I got onto Payback that's when everything exploded for me, the films, the commercials, the ridiculous ads." She sighs. "That's also when I met Ben."

You take a sip from the glass in front of you, sputtering slightly. It was stronger than you were expecting. "And you two were-"

Please don't say dating, please don't say dating, please don't say…

"Friends. Just friends." Diana sits back against the back of the breakfast nook, sinking into the navy blue pillows. "But he is almost as charming now as he was then."

You cringe at the thought of Ben coming on to a younger version of your grandmother.

She taps her glass with her index finger deep in thought. "But I think that I was the only person that Ben actually talked to, the only person that he was comfortable being around."

"What do you mean?" You ask confused. "Didn't he talk to Countess and to Legend?"

Her expression hardens at the mention of Countess's name. "He didn't talk to her the way he talked to me. Ben is difficult, he always has been and I think that most of the people he meet him write him off as this asshole with a chauvinistic look on the world, but he's not. At least, not all the time. There are so many people that he's met that are never willing to take a chance on him. To trust that there is really something beneath all of that bravado."

It was what you had been thinking for the past week, that there was more to Ben than he was willing to let people see, but you were slowly realizing that Ben was letting you see those parts. In the quiet moments at your shared apartment when he sat with you while you read or made you laugh or walked you to and from work you saw another side of Ben that you never saw when he was around anyone else. The guilt rises again when you think of how you ran from him, how you turned your back and left him standing there to clean up your mess.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it was all just so overwhelming and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"I think that Ben is the most loyal friend I ever had. No one ever seems to believe me when I say that. That we were just friends, but nothing happened between us."

"You didn't date? Or sleep together?" You ask cautiously. It was difficult to imagine Ben being friends with a woman and not having a sexual relationship with her.

Well. We're friends, but that's different.

The last thing you wanted to think about was Ben and your grandmother having sex.

I would need so much therapy after that. You sigh. Yeah, because after all the shit I've been through and found out about my life in the last twenty hours, the knowledge that Ben fucked my grandmother is what's going to push me over the edge.

"No." She shakes her head with a small smile. "About a week after I met Ben, I was running late to a movie shoot and I stepped off the crosswalk without looking. There was a car coming and I didn't see it. Ironic isn't it?" She laughs at herself. "I can see the future and I didn't see a car coming, but your grandfather did and he grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk, saved my life. And the second my eyes locked with his I saw our future. I saw our wedding, our first house, I saw our son take his first steps and I saw how much I would love him and how much he would love me." She clears her throat for a minute, her fingers tighten on the glass, and her gaze drops to the wedding ring on her left hand. “The future is never set in stone, it’s fluid. It morphs and shapes with your decisions, but in the future I saw, I was so happy. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

Your grandfather had passed a few years ago, but you knew it weighed on her everyday. She had spent the week after he died in her room not saying anything to anyone. And sometimes she'd look out the window into the backyard with an odd expression, but you knew that meant she was thinking of him.

Growing up you'd seen how in love the two of them were, more so than your parents. Seen the flowers your grandfather always brought home just because he was thinking of her, watched him do little things around the house without being asked, saw how they never walked away angry from one another, and seen the soppy expression he'd get when he watched your grandmother move around the kitchen baking with a grace that you'd never possessed.

You reach across the table to touch her hand and she takes it gratefully.

"I didn't want to tell him that I was a supe, and at the beginning I thought I could balance it all, but then Ben started dating Countess." She takes another sip from her glass. "She hated me."

"What? Why?" You ask. The creature crawls across the table to sniff at the glass in front of you, before it snorts and falls into your lap, curling into a ball.

"Countess was a bitch." Your grandmother says mirthlessly, her expression hardening. "She wanted to possess Ben completely. Only loved how famous he was, how popular it made her, and he threw himself at her feet, in his own way, not understanding that love didn’t look that way. He’s never had a good example of it in his life. And she never understood that Ben and I were just friends. By then I had been dating your grandfather for a few months and things were getting serious. It was about a year before everything that happened in Nicaragua."

She presses her lips together as if remembering what happened to Ben there. "She was jealous, possessive, and she came to me one night. Ben was out of town for a film so she knew we wouldn’t be interrupted. She threatened to tell your grandfather who I really was and threatened to kill him.” Her jaw sets. “My powers were never really as offensive as hers were. And she said that Ben wouldn’t ever protect me over her because he loved her and would do anything to make her happy. So I left and I never looked back.”

And here I thought I couldn't hate Countess any more than I did for what she did to Ben.

“You didn’t talk to him ever again?” You wonder out loud.

She left without telling him goodbye?

“There was the occasional phone call. Sometimes Ben would ask me to see who was going to win a ball game or something so he could make a few bucks. He stopped by to say hi a few times because he was in the neighborhood. One time he brought your father a baseball glove that was way too big for a one year old.” She snorts, the memory flashing in her eyes. “I always thought Ben would be a good dad some day. But I think seeing your father was when Ben realized how much he wanted to have kids. And I think seeing the way your grandfather treated me made him start to feel conflicted about Countess. But he respected that I walked away, he saw that I was happy.”

“But what about Nicaragua?"

A dark look crosses her face followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I saw what they were going to do to him.”

“What? But why didn't you tell him what they were planning? Why didn't you-"

"I tried." She snaps, shoulders tense, but then they drop. "I called Ben, but Stan answered. By then your father was turning two, your grandfather had opened up his practice, and Stan threatened me, he knew where we were and knew everything about us. So I kept my mouth shut and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You could feel your heart breaking for her.

Ben was her best friend and she had to sit by and watch them do that to him. She saw what they were going to do and they were going to kill her for it, kill my family for it.

The anger that surges in your chest makes the creature in your lap stir and grow a few inches, but you tamp it down before it gets bigger than a small dog.

“Does Ben know?” You ask her to distract yourself.

You didn't want Ben to hate your grandmother for this, didn't want him to hate her for something that wasn't her fault.

She nods. “Yes. I told him everything.”

“When?”

“The moment I saw him in your hospital room. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I wasn't expecting him to be there, but it all poured out of me. I was so surprised to see him there. I hadn't seen a future where he came back."

“Was he mad?”

I mean… he didn't seem mad when I woke up, not to mention he was upset when she left to come back to Illinois.

“Not at me.” She shakes her head. “He knew how much I wanted a normal life and how much I loved your grandfather. He doesn’t blame me for any of it.”

“Good. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

The glass in front of you is still more than half-full but you don't want to risk another sip of what you're sure is gasoline packaged to look like Scotch. Your grandmother reaches to pour herself another glass.

“I didn’t want to until you were ready.”

“And when would that be?”

Your grandmother shrugs. “Maybe on my deathbed.”

You weren't angry for her not telling you, more surprised, but now that you knew everything about her it was hard to see her the same way you had.

 You snort. “And no one knew?”

“Your dad figured it out.”

“How? When?”

“The moment you made that strawberry plant grow from your high chair.” She shakes her head with a smile. “It skipped a generation. Don’t know why, but you got it all somehow.”

“I was never injected?”

“No. That was a lie your father created. He knew that your grandfather didn't know and he knew that I didn't want your grandfather to know."

“Darren thought I was.”

“I know.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you watch her expression harden and she takes another swig from the glass in front of her, not flinching as the liquid goes down her throat.

“Did you see everything that happened?” You ask in a small voice.

You still weren't 100% sure how it was her powers worked, but you figured that she was able to see some of what Darren did and what he said.

“Yes.”

“You heard everything Darren said?"

“Yes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek for a minute hoping that she didn't take it as hard as you did. “Did you know that he killed them?”

“No.” She breathes, rolling the glass between her hands for a moment. “The night they died, I got a vision a few minutes before the car ran off the road. I was the one who called the police and who told them where to look, but I never saw that it was Darren or that it was anyone causing the accident. All I saw was the three of you in the car. I should have known.” Her voice breaks.

“It’s not your fault.” You squeeze her hand.

“And it’s not yours either.” She squeezes your hand back.

The memories are beginning to float up from the recesses of your mind and your teeth clench together as you try to keep them at bay.

“I know.” You breathe. The memory of the ruined shop flashes through your head. “I didn’t know that I could do something like that.” You gently touch your healed right arm and glance at the creature that is nibbling on the edge of the cardboard box with its sharp splinter-like teeth. “I feel so different and I don’t know how to go back to the way I was.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

"Really?"

The thought was unwelcome. You were hoping that all of this was going to blow over, but you knew it wouldn't. Your powers had changed. There was an energy that thrummed in your veins now, stretching out of the house to the plants that grew in the garden. You could feel them all if you concentrated.

She frowns. “When you told me that you were working for Butcher I was worried about you getting involved in the supe world. I didn’t want that life for you, didn’t want you to suffer the way I did-“

“Was it really that bad?"

“Not all the time, just at the end. But I think that’s why I loved your grandfather so much. Because he was different than all the supes. He was down to earth, not just normal but-“ She shrugs. “I think Compound V does something to our minds, makes them more susceptible and when you’re surrounded by people using their powers and thinking that they’re gods it’s easy to lose who you are. I was glad I left when I did."

“Great." You huff, thinking about how your powers had grown exponentially since you killed your brother. It was scaring you to think that you would reach a point where you acted like Homelander, where you saw yourself as a god and killed anyone who stood in your way.

As tired as the stereotype of you only being able to make the flowers grow, you liked doing that. You liked healing plants, tending to them, and helping them grow. For you it had never been about using your powers the way that you had to kill Elijah and your brother and had always been about spreading a little more joy and love like your grandmother did with her kindness in her community.

Your mind flashes back to the first night that Ben stayed with you in your apartment and he'd asked you why you worked for Butcher and told you that he thought you "didn't fit."

Before you hadn't. You knew that. You weren't intimidating to look at or fueled by revenge or had a bone to pick with supes. You'd joined because you thought it was the right thing to do and because you wanted to be closer with Annie. She had been so involved in the supe world and you'd felt like you were losing your best friend. When in reality being at "Please Don't Die" was the only thing that felt natural for you.

You could feel yourself changing and you weren't sure that you wanted to and you weren't sure if you were changing for the better. Deep down you still felt like you, despite everything Darren had revealed, but your powers were greater than you'd thought they could be.

“No.” She squeezes your hand pulling you out of your head. “I don’t see you losing yourself in this.”

“You’ve seen-“ Your eyes widen.

“The future yeah.” Her lips twitch up at the ends in a smile. “It is what I do.”

“That’s so weird.”

You hadn't meant to say it, but you really didn't want to know too much about your future.

Well, not all that much. Maybe just a little.

“You of all people have no right to judge what’s weird. Not with Godzilla sitting in your lap.”

"Godzilla" yawns, flashing a mouthful of his pointy teeth, before settling back down on your thighs.

You smile for the first time in twenty hours, but then it drops. “I don’t like losing control. I thought I knew who I was but now I don’t-“ The emotions were bubbling up again, chest tightening, and lungs beginning to gasp for air. “I don’t know who I am anymore or what I am or what I can do and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not being in control.”

“But what if I hurt someone? What if I kill-“ You body shakes as you think about all the important people in your life, Annie, Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, MM, Frenchie- and then your mind stutters on Ben.

“Your powers are growing and there’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of. If you’re afraid of them it won’t get easier for you. You have to embrace the fear to see the lights that line the path through it.”

"I killed Darren, I killed Elijah-"

"Not because you lost control. You did it because you were protecting yourself and protecting your friends."

"But-"

"Who is it that you're scared of hurting? Annie?" Her expression turns sympathetic. "Annie is a supe and understands what it's like to lose control. None of us are in control all the time and it's ridiculous to believe that you won't lose control at least once."

Your throat clenches tightly, because when she asked the question you didn't see Annie's face, you saw Ben's. You knew that it was probably ridiculous to worry about hurting a guy with a nuclear reactor stuffed in his chest or a guy who'd been through every torture known to man, but you were. And you weren't entirely sure if you meant hurting him with just your powers.

Tears crest and fall down your cheeks as you sit there, throat thickening. "I don't want to hurt Ben."

"He's a little more indestructible than us sweetie." She cracks a smile, but you can't smile back and you don't answer because you're unsure how to.

She sits back against the breakfast nook and sighs, examining your face and slowly realizes what you mean. "Ben is complicated. He always has been. I like to think that most of it, is his father's fault. Has he told you anything about him?"

You shake your head.

"He was a dick. Made Ben think that he was a disappointment his whole life. I don't think that Ben has had someone love him unconditionally since his mother died. And loving Countess only made it worse for him. Her love was jealous, possessive, and I don't think that he's really come to terms with what real love should look like." She lets out a breath, tapping her index finger against the glass. "I never saw him as more than a friend, but I do love him. It's not a crime to love him."

"I don't love him." You say it immediately.

"Why not?"

"What?" You sputter. "I don't know what you're-"

"Tell me why you don't love him." Your grandma says methodically, as if she's trying to talk you through it.

"Because I-" The pressure was back in the back of your throat and you couldn't quite meet her eye. "Because-" You scramble for the answer, trying your darndest to keep your heart from clenching in your chest. "I want what you and grandpa had, what Annie and Hughie have, and what my parents had. A strong relationship with someone who sees all my flaws, the little parts, and the darkness and still choses to fall in love with me anyway. I don't want just one night I want every night. I want something real and Ben has said countless times that he-"

"So you've talked about it with Ben?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only because he kept trying to sleep with me and I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him." You reply exasperated.

"You don't?"

"Gran!"

"What? He's attractive."

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. Because Ben has said that he doesn't have relationships, that he doesn't care about feelings, or emotions." Saying the words that Ben had told you countless times made something inside begin to shrivel up and die. "And I do. And I don't want to manipulate him into being something he's not or force him into a relationship that's doomed from the beginning. Ben is Ben. He's not changing or-"

"He has." She interrupts.

"What?"

"The Ben I saw in your hospital room is not the one I knew." She says it so matter of fact that makes it hard to breathe. "And neither was the one that I saw in your apartment when I stayed with you. I mean he is in essence Ben, but-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He is changing. Not completely, but he's acting differently than when he was with Countess. I mean, I saw all the things he did for her. The way he was around her."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because he loved her."

The words make your heart seize in your chest. "Ben doesn't love me. He's my roommate and my friend-" It was the same thing that you kept telling yourself on repeat to beat back the other feelings that you hadn't quite identified yet. "And he's told me that he doesn't want a relationship and that I should try to meet other people."

That last part was a lie, but you honestly didn't know where she was going with this conversation or why it was getting so hard to breathe.

"Have you thought that maybe Ben doesn't want to love you because he's scared?"

"He doesn't love me and Ben isn't afraid of anything."

"He is. It might not look the same way on him as it does on everyone else, but if you pay close enough attention you can catch it." She hesitates. "And I think if you pay attention to you, you'll see what it is that you're afraid of too."

What does she mean? What the hell am I afraid of? Ben isn't afraid of anything, he's practically shouted that from the mountaintops like Julie Andrews.

"I already told you what I'm afraid of."

"I'm not talking about you hurting someone honey. There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared." She smiles sadly at you. "You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful." There's a far off look in her eyes and you realize that she'd seen something further ahead that she wasn't letting on.

"And it's all I want for you. To be happy." Your grandmother stands from the other side of the booth "I think you need some rest. You drove all night long and I doubt you got any sleep. And I have to package all of these before Annie's mother calls down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse on me."

"Wait-"

"Please sweetie." She lays her hand down on your arm. "I think you'll feel a little better about all of this when you've had some rest." Her fingers raise to push back some of the hair that's fallen forward into your eyes. "Hmm?"

You didn't want to rest, you wanted to talk about this, but you knew better than to argue with her. Not to mention she was right, you hadn't slept.

"And when you wake up I'll make your favorite for dinner, alright?" She smiles, but there's something behind it that you can't place.

"Okay."

And this time you don't argue with her. You go up the worn staircase that you have your entire life and collapse onto your bed, wondering exactly what it was she saw your future hold, and what it is that you won't admit to yourself.

Soldier Boy POV

There was no light in the apartment save from the burning red tip of Ben's blunt and the bluish glow emanating from the tv that caught the dips and sharp edges of his face. But it was nothing more than background noise.

His hand absentmindedly stroked along Bean's back, his eyes focused on the ceiling above the couch. He hadn't moved in hours. It had been over twenty four hours since everything that happened at the plant shop, since you'd summoned a creature from the depths of the store, since Darren had thrown Ben through the plate glass windows of the bakery, and since Ben had last seen you.

He didn't understand why you hadn't let him take you back to the apartment and why it was that you had to leave. Ben hadn't liked the feeling that stabbed him in the chest when you turned your back on him and ran away. He'd felt the urge to comfort you the way he'd watched Hughie do for Annie in the car a week ago, but you hadn't let him.

Instead all he'd done is stood there and watched you run, still covered in dust, rubble, and blood. Worse was you hadn't let him check you for injuries and Ben hated the thought that you were hurt somewhere and he didn't know where you were.

You were so much more fragile than he was. He was realizing that more every day, was acutely aware of it after everything that happened with Elijah. Honestly, sitting there in the hospital with you laying there asleep with nothing that he could do, but wait for you to wake up had been agony. Not to mention that looking at the bruises around your throat, over your eye, and the bright green cast only made him feel worse. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life and he hated it. Because Ben wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, he was a man and a man shouldn't wait on anyone or feel out of control, or at least, that's what he told himself.

Ben hears someone walk down the hallway outside the apartment and he perks up to listen, hoping that it's you finally coming home. Ben's mind stutters on the word "home." He'd lived many places in his life, apartments that felt more like way-stations, and the drafty cold mansion back in Philadelphia where he grew up, but neither felt like home. And although he hated how small your apartment was, it was the first place that Ben liked living in. He was starting to understand the word home.

But the feet keep moving past the apartment and Ben sinks into the couch cushions. Even Bean seems to be disappointed. "It's alright buddy." Ben mutters. "She'll come back."

But he wasn't sure.

Ben also wasn't used to feeling this way. It was close to the way that he felt when he went to Boston and was sitting in that damn hotel room waiting for something to happen and he still didn't understand what it meant. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand it that you weren't back yet. It made him feel like a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work when he told her that he was "running late." He'd tried to distract himself by looking at some possible prospects on Tinder, but just like the week after you'd come home from the hospital and just like the date he had in Boston, no one held any appeal.

His mind was awake and roaming around, pacing back and forth. The blunt was supposed to help, but it hadn't.

His phone chirps and Ben picks it up to look at the screen, but it's not you, it's Jake.

Jake: I know that I'm not your favorite person, but thank you for what you did.

Ben huffs and turns his phone face down on the couch once more. "What a fucking pussy."

When you left Ben had realized that Jake was still inside the building and as much as he wanted race after you, he understood that you'd be even more upset if you'd killed Jake. So Ben had tromped back through the building and found him trapped beneath some rubble. Jake was okay, just unconscious, but Ben had carried him out and put him on the sidewalk before he high tailed it out of there. The last thing that he wanted was to be caught with a shredded body outside a ruined building.

I didn't do it for him. I did it for her. Ben thinks to himself, looking down at the text message.

As much as he hated the thought of saving your future boyfriend, he didn't want to see what it did to you if you found out that you killed Jake, so he'd done it to avoid watching you cry again.

Ben didn't understand why he hated watching you cry.

Women cry. They're damn emotional all the time. He tries to reason with himself taking a puff from the blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And she fucking cries way too much.

The image of you crying outside of the shop in the wake of everything that happened pricks something under his ribcage. Fuck.

Ben didn't feel remorse for what happened, well, the only thing he regretted was not getting there sooner and getting to fuck Darren up himself. When Diana had called him to tell him that Darren was coming, Ben had practically ripped the apartment door off in his haste to get back to you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you at the plant shop, but Butcher had told Ben, that he had a possible location for Darren, but it came up empty and Ben had been at Butcher's apartment chewing him out for sending him on a fucking wild goose chase.

It only made Ben more angry to allow Darren to speak to you, but he was trying to let you handle it even though he wanted to handle him. But it had brought him an unholy amount of joy to throw Darren in front of that minivan and to watch that creature tear him apart while the final whitish blue pulses of electricity jumped and crackled down the street making the streetlights shower sparks everywhere.

But Ben was more upset that Darren had been able to land a few hits on you before you killed him.

Ben remembered the giant lizard that crawled out of what was left of "Please Don't Die" and felt his lips quirk up into a smile. As much as he hated the entire situation, Ben couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride at what you'd done to your brother. He'd never seen you look so powerful standing there in the street, your eyes glowing a brilliant green, arms outstretched, and the ground trembling around you as the world begged to be unleashed.

Of course he'd been just as surprised as you were at the fact that you'd healed your broken arm. He wasn't sure if you'd noticed it yet, but you looked different too. There weren't as many lines on your face and your hair was more springy, the few silver hairs that Ben had noticed in passing were no longer there.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something that felt suspiciously like hope tingling in his stomach, hope that you weren't as fragile anymore and hope that it meant you wouldn't die.

When Diana had told Ben that her husband had died, he saw the pain in her eyes when she said it, saw her relieving the memory, and for some reason as soon as she said that he was dead, the first thing Ben thought about was you. Ben hadn't considered his inability to age as much in the past, hadn't cared about outliving anyone before. Seeing Countess as an older woman had made him more aware of it. Looking at the woman who he once thought he loved, had showed him what that was like. Not that he had a problem with daring older women, Ben always thought that women really did get better with age, but it was what came next that Ben wasn't fond of.

And for some reason thinking that one day he'd wake up and see the marks of age on your face or one day he'd wake up and he wouldn't be able to annoy you or hear you yell at him made his chest tight.

Ben takes another hit of his blunt. The longer he sat there the more then unnatural feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach, thrumming through his veins, the feeling that he was trying to avoid. He thought that the joint would calm him down, but he found himself jumping at every creak and footstep in the apartment building, perking up each time and hoping that it was you coming home.

He didn't know where you were. You hadn't answered any of his texts or calls and Ben was ashamed at how many times that he had tried to call you.

Get a fucking grip. He'd thought to himself when he typed out another text message to send you, stopping himself from sending it.

But he'd been so desperate to hear from you that he'd actually gone to talk to Annie who seemed upset that she couldn't get ahold of you either. When Hughie and Annie had seen how upset Ben had been, Hughie had laid his hand on Ben's arm and told him not to worry. Ben had yelled at him that he "wasn't fucking worried and to mind his own business" and had shaken off Hughie's comforting hand before stomping out of the shared apartment.

No one else seemed to be as concerned about finding you. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie were all deeply involved in trying to figure out the cover-up for what happened outside the plant shop. By some miracle no one had caught a picture of your face, but there was little they could do about Darren's body that had been strewn across the street. Annie was having to deal with the repercussions at work, trying to handle what the news was calling a "super villain threat."

Personally, Ben thought that since they froze Homelander, the Seven looked weak and Ben believed that the superhero team that represented America shouldn't look weak. Of course before Ben had also thought that they looked like a bunch of pussies and again felt himself sink deeper into the couch when he thought about what his supposed son had become.

He shakes off the feelings he has about it and his thoughts turn back inevitably to you.

Ben wasn't used to thinking about someone as much as he thought of you, but each time he settled back into the apartment and you weren't there he was hyperaware of how quiet it was.

Maybe I should call Diana. She might know where she is.

As soon as Ben thinks that, his phone begins to ring, but Ben doesn't bother to look at who it is before he answers it. 

"Hello?" Ben huffs out a breath of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face, catching in the bluish light coming from the television.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice on the other side of the line yells at him.

"Di?"

"Yes it's me. Who did you think it was? Santa Clause?" Your grandmother snarks.

"Why are you calling me and why the fuck are you so mad? What did I do?" Ben answers slightly annoyed.

As much as you got under his skin, your grandmother had been the same way. He actually thought that it was amusing that even before he figured out that she was your grandmother that he had often compared you to her in his mind. You had the same mannerisms, the same defiant and stubborn attitude that drove Ben up the wall, and you were just as beautiful as she was.

Ben was okay with admitting that he was attracted to you. To him that felt normal, it was the other feelings that he was conflicted about, the ones that he'd never felt before stirring in his chest that made him feel "too emotional" and "woman-like."

Truthfully, Ben was sure that if your grandmother had given him a shot that maybe he would have felt that way about her too. She was the only person that Ben actually trusted in the 80's, the only person that was brave enough to call him out on all his shit. You did that now. But he liked her husband also, so Ben was content with letting her go. He liked how happy that Henry, your grandfather, had made her. He knew that she wasn't happy as a supe and seeing her so happy and in love made Ben feel something that was close to happiness.

And it was seeing the way the two of them were together made Ben wonder if what he had with Countess was the same thing. Because he did have feelings about her that were different, but each time he went to visit Diana and saw your father playing on her lap he felt that there was something missing in his life.

It was the same way that he thought something was missing when you weren't in the apartment, but Ben hadn't realized that yet.

"Because I don't understand what the hell you're doing!" Diana replies and Ben honestly doesn't know why she's angry with him.

"About what?"

"My granddaughter."

Ben sits up the blunt in his fingertips forgotten. "Is she there with you?"

"Yes." Her voice softens for a moment.

Ben relaxes and leans back onto the couch, sighing in relief. "Good.  That's good." Relief swelled in his chest when he thought about you staying with her, safe.

That's what she meant when she said that she wanted to go home. Home is with her grandmother. Ben stopped the next thought before he could go there.

The thought that home wasn't with him.

Ben was trying not to think about that or think about you hating him. He didn't think you did, well, didn't think you did anymore. At first it really was touch and go, but now he was almost eighty percent sure after you'd told him more than once that you weren't afraid of him and didn’t hate him that you sometimes wanted him around.

"No, not good."

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" Ben's grip on the phone tightens so hard that he's sure that he hears the screen cracking.

"No."

"What happened?" Ben's voice is a growl, the feelings of relief evaporating as soon as they had begun to bloom in his chest. He mentally calculated how long it would take him to get to you.

"Her entire life fucking fell apart and where are you? Not here!"

Oh. Ben relaxed a little bit.

"I don't need to be there." He says on an exhale of smoke.

"Yes you do!" Diana presses.

"No, I don't. She a big girl she doesn't need me there, she's-" Ben takes a puff from the joint.

“If you were any denser you’d be a Bundt cake Benjamin!” She says exasperated.

"What the fuck are you talking about doll? I am not-"

“Let me guess." She interrupts and Ben can imagine her tapping her foot. He hated when she did that. "You’re moping around smoking a blunt on the couch probably with a glass of something that you're hoping to numb whatever the hell it is you're feeling."

Ben's eyes shift to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table that he hadn't touched in a few minutes.

“I’m not fucking moping and stop spying on me!” He snaps back at Diana.

He hated how well she knew him. She was his best friend in the 80's through all the shit, she had seen him at his worst and at his best too many times to count.

“I don’t have to use my powers to know what you’re doing. I know you Ben.”

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart.” Ben grits his teeth, temper flaring hot. “But if you know me as well as you fucking say you do then you then you know that this is-“

“You avoiding your feelings by acting aloof and brooding like a fucked up version of Mr. Darcy.” She interrupts.

She certainly hasn't changed.

“I am not avoiding-“

“She needs you here Ben.” Diana stamps her foot, the same way you do when Ben pisses you off, and Ben can hear it.

“She doesn’t need me! She said that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t want to be here with me! I tried to-“ Ben shouts back standing up. It was the exact thing that he'd been thinking for the past twenty four hours, that you didn’t need him and that you didn't want to be any where near him.

That last thought made an uncomfortable sensation prickle in his gut when he thought it, because all it did was remind him of how you acted when the two of you first met, when you didn't want him to live with you and tried your darndest to make him go away.

He didn’t want to and he wasn't sure why that was.

“Try harder.” Diana interrupts him again and frankly it was pissing him off.

Ben clenches his jaw. “I think that you’ve confused me with someone else baby.”

“Don’t you 'baby' me Benjamin! We both know that you’re doing what you always do when things get hard for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You pretend not to care and shut out everyone who tries to care for you. Not to mention you drown yourself in drugs, booze, and women.”

“She doesn’t care about me!” He spits.

“She does!” Diana snaps back. “And believe it or not she needs you here and she wants you here.”

"But-"

"Ben please." It was the first time that he'd heard Diana sound softer and almost pleading since the conversation started. "Don't do this to her. She's worth more than Countess and all those other women you've fallen into bed with."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" He roars. The answer surprises himself. "Do you think I don't know that she's different?"

Wait what?

"If you know that, then why aren't you here?"

He hesitates.

Everything you said to him the night of the party comes roaring back. You looking beautiful in a dress that made his throat tight, and you telling him that you just wanted to be friends and that you understood that he wasn't the type of guy to have relationships. He didn't understand why it stung a bit when you said that, but it had.

Ben thinks about the week that the two of you spent together after Diana went home, when he tried his best to take care of you, distract you from everything that happened with his movies, and would sit with you and try to make you laugh. He'd never wanted to take care of someone before.

Not to mention he kind of liked the way you laughed. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but each time you did, it made him want to laugh too. That had never happened to him before. But he wanted to make you laugh to forget everything that happened with Elijah. His fist clenches when he thinks of exactly what Elijah tried to do to you and it makes him feel so mad that he feels close to spontaneously combusting. Ben might not be the best role model when it came to women, but he couldn’t imagine the type of man who would force himself on someone else.

It had made him angry when he thought that you were suggesting that he would try something when he first moved in, because he wasn't that type of man.

Ben was trying to be better for you. He wasn't admitting that, but he really was trying to be better. He didn't understand why. You'd told him countless times that you didn’t want to be with him, that you wanted to be with someone else like Jake.

Ben frowns when he thinks about the man he'd pulled from the rubble of the shop. And again thinks to himself that you should be with someone different, someone who was a supe and could understand you. Ben had seen how difficult it was for Diana when she was keeping her supe life a secret from your grandfather and he didn't want you to have to do that with someone.

"Because I'm not-" Ben begins to say, but he holds his tongue. It was too honest, too raw, too unlike him to admit this to anyone.

Because I'm not this guy. Because I'm not the one she wants. Because I'm not some knight on a white horse. Because she's everything right with the world and I'm just a fucking asshole who sleeps on her couch.

"Ben." Diana breathes and he can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "In all the years I've known you, you've never done what you did for her with anyone else. You carried her out of that warehouse, you stayed with her in the hospital even after she woke up, you took care of her when she came home, you protected her from Darren. You can't ignore all those things."

"I'm not ignoring them. She's my friend." The word sours in his mouth as he says it. "And she would have done the same thing for me." He knew it was true.

She's a good person and she wouldn't let me chase her away if any of that shit happened to me and I told her to leave me alone.

"Yes she would. Because she cares about you." Diana sighs.

"She doesn't."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because she's told me what she wants!" Ben shouts so loudly he can feel the room shaking. "She wants to be friends-“

"Because she doesn't think that you want a relationship you nitwit!"

"I don't." Ben spits the words before he can stop them, but as he does something tightens at the base of his throat.

"How is it that it's been forty fucking years and you're still able to dance on the grave of my last nerve?"

Ben chuckles. "I missed you too sweetheart."

She sighs into the phone again making it crackle in Ben's ear. "She needs you.” Diana repeats. “And I think you need her too.”

His temper was flaring again, the thoughts that his father pressed into him surging up before he can stop the words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m Sol-“

“If you say that you’re Soldier Boy, I’m going to reach through this phone and slap you silly.” She snaps. “And you do need her, but you’re still just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I-“

“Ben I know that everything that happened with Countess was fucked up, but my granddaughter she-“ Diana pauses before she changes the thought.  “You say that you know she’s different, but right now you’re treating her the same way you treat all those other women.”

“I’m not-“

“My granddaughter has decided you’re important to her and once that’s happened it’s hard to make her let go. You saw the way she was with Darren and that guy was a manipulative asshole. Imagine what she thinks of you.”

“I-“

“Stop making excuses!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Ben shouts.

“And I don’t need to! Think what you want Ben but if you’d stop acting so stubborn and so ridiculously blind to what’s right in front of you. I promise that what comes next is worth the risk.”

“Don’t go all fucking mystical on me doll.”

“And don’t go all macho- no feelings asshole on me! So stop being so damn stubborn, get on a plane and get your ass here.” She retorts. “Don’t fuck this up Benjamin because if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

The line goes dead.

Ben sat there for a minute in the silence still holding the phone up to his ear, listening to what your grandmother said to him ring around in his head for a second.

No one ever spoke to him that way. In fact, Ben had never allowed anyone to speak to him the way that she did, well, not until you came along. You reminded him so much of her that it was astounding and he wasn't going to admit that maybe it's why he liked being around you so much.

Ben frowns at what Diana said, thinking about the unusual feelings that were swirling in the pit of his stomach. He felt wrong and the feelings were odd for him. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this ever in his life, not even for Countess.

And although Ben refused to be afraid of anything, the feelings he was having scared him. He didn’t understand and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see where this ended up. He felt like he was in too deep.

As much as he wanted to go to you like Diana ordered him to, he wasn't sure that he should. Something was holding him back, digging it's heels in and refusing to budge.

But why do I feel like-

His phone rings and he doesn't look at the caller ID when he picks up, expecting it to be Diana again, yelling at him.

"Di I-"

But it's not Diana.

"Hello Ben. It's nice to hear your voice again." The familiar voice says, sounding calm and collected.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben snarls.

 "I thought it was time the two of us had a chat.”

A/N: At this point Diana is really just trying to give both Ben and the reader the kick in the pants they need. And yes I know another cliffhanger, but you know you love it. 🤭😉 We are quickly reaching the end of this series, but that means the confession scene is coming and I am so excited about it!!

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78

@spxideyver @zepskies @impala67stellawinchester

@reidtomewinchester @samanthadegaro @glossy01 @nikimisery

@tunnelvisionlove @incandxscents @winchester-stark @samahanta

@melonmochi

@kamisobsessed @whichwitchwanda @karolina-12110905 @jcollins03-blog

@pixviee @filmologetica @yvonneeeee @c1nnamong1rl29 @kmc1989

@livya99 @cherrygirl444

[ree-dee-art]

Honestly, I must admit that I'm not too fond of fan artists changing/headcanoning Harry and James to be as desi/dark skinned. I personally think the Dursleys are far more despicable due to hating on someone not because of skin color/racial prejudice(because then they would've no doubt hated Kingsley), but because someone is not their definition of 'normal'/ looks & acts not to their standards. It's already stretching it with race changing Hermione and making her a big target of wizard prejudice on muggles. And it also kills the prejudice Lily faced, because she's still fair skinned.

Initially, I was just going to respond to this by encouraging anon to go touch some grass.

However, I feel somewhat compelled to respond, because there is just so much to unpack in this single nonsensical message.

Firstly, I honestly don't get a whole lot of asks or messages in general, so receiving this one out of the blue was a bit wild for me. The nature of fandom itself allows for and embraces a plethora of different interpretations and headcanons for any given character. In many ways, this is the beauty of fandom--to take a beloved character and ask "what if?" I have no problem with someone having a different interpretation of a character from my own. What confuses me is this person's method for expressing their opinion. Why are you anonymously sending this to a stranger? Why not make a text post on your own blog about it? Like...what is your goal here, anon? I'm an artist who draws what I enjoy, and sometimes I share these drawings in the hopes that someone else might enjoy them too. Not your vibe? Not my problem. Go find some white Harry artwork to appreciate, there's plenty out there. Were you hoping I would change my own interpretation and headcanon of Harry or Hermione to fit your own? Lol, tough luck. No one is stopping you from drawing your own pictures.

All of that aside, your reasoning for your preference of having characters like James, Harry, and Hermione not be POC is incredibly confusing to me. You said you believe the Dursleys are "far more despicable" for hating Harry not because of skin color but because he didn't match their "definition of normal." I have a few follow-up questions regarding this (wildly inane imo) take:

1. Does this mean you believe the Dursleys hypothetically also hating Harry because of the color of his skin is in some way less despicable than them hating him because he can do magic?

2. What exactly do you think racism is, if not "hating someone because they don't match your definition of 'normal?'"

3. How does Hermione being black and muggleborn erase the discrimination Lily faced for also being muggleborn? Do you know that intersectionaily exists?

Some of the most interesting creations I've encountered in the HP fandom (fics and art) explore the complexities in the intersections between racial discrimination, white supremacy, and pureblood fanaticism. And there truly is so much to explore in these themes (for example: ways in which Harry could have been separated not only from his loving family, but also a part of his culture. It also allows for interesting and more complex ways for Harry and Hermione to bond and relate to each other in their friendship, etc).

For me, more diversity within these characters (whether it be race, queerness, or anything else) allows for much richer storytelling and much more interesting characters. If that's not your jam, then perhaps my work isn't for you.

However, I will say--this message is very much giving "only white characters and muggle discrimination allowed!!!" and I encourage you to ask yourself why that is the only context for these characters you feel comfortable with.

But seriously, go touch some grass.

[eupheme]

you writing is so beautiful. the way that logan tries to stop her - how blunt and earnest he is and the worst person for the job (but also best, in his own way) but he's trying, gosh that got me. love the line about logan's tailights being a lighthouse, guiding her back out in all that dark, and then trying to make her promise she won't go back.

and how they bump into each other again, the way he takes time and listens to her each time had my heart aching. the way you write her grief felt so real (I really appreciate how you wrote this fic - my own mental health over the past few years has been rocky and this felt so - gosh, I don't know, relatable? hopeful? wonderful? to read), and the fact that he understands in a way that no one else she knows does - it such a rough connection but you have me feeling glad for each of their encounters.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

Wheezing omg - perfect Wade introduction. And then that she goes back, and I that she hates but I love that he is getting a handle at how she thinks, how he makes her be honest. And gosh when he opens up in return, that fondness he had for Wade, how he's still hurting from before, I was inhaling this.

Loving 'DVDJ' (and the F9/Wade & Logan references omfg) and I so feel for reader and how hard it is to put yourself out there, but what a great group of people for her to surround herself with. And the whiplash with her finding him like that, how it still comes back to him after all the healing he's been trying to do, all of this made my chest ache.

He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one. // “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Ahh this made me want to cry - I love how you dug into his grief in this. How she's able to help him this time, find the words he needs to hear. And ahh I love how you write everyone - Vanessa, Wade, Althea. Logan's chip! I am tearing up again, especially at this part:

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”

oh!! 🥺💖 and then I love the reveal that the cliff was a space in his world, even with their shared history of it. like they were always meant to meet, the “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.” had me like !!!! - sad and lovely is so right.

“‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

this made me laugh (reference to Hugh's interview right??) omg. and the way you pace things, how they slowly get better and fall into place for her, it makes me so proud, even just as a reader.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.” // It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

Grinning, oh my god. And how sweet she is with the gift and how Wade wants to take a new photo of his new world - my heart. And then how seeing Vanessa and Wade makes her think about more, when at the beginning that was impossible - weeping.

Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

!!!!! god, what a realization. and how she can't handle it, so real. And how he comes through the rain to check on her, oh my god. That he checked, and how scared he must have been!

“I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” // His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Oh. And oh my god that perfectly imperfect kiss, the fact he's been wanting to for ages!!!!! I am screaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?” !!!! (the vein appreciation, loved that)

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

eep! 😳💖 the smut was so perfect, so good. I am obsessed with how soft he is for her -

“Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance.

LOGAN 😳 the desperation with how they’re still on her table, how sweet and pleased he is - the “then get it out”, omg he is so filthy. This was amazing (that stomach vein yesssss) just absolutely steamy as hell and so so well-written and I had to keep taking breaks to stare at the wall. Phew! Fucking her against the wall!!!! I love the use of the strength here and yessss a long night indeed!! 👀💖💖

And gosh, the last segment. No words, my heart is tied up in the sweetest of strings and knots. This was really something special. I already want to reread and pick each line apart. This was Logan and this is canon to me and wow I just loved this so much and I hope you are so proud of this fic because you really really should be. I am going to be thinking about this for a long time 💖 (and I would love to hear about the title, is Logan her cardinal?)(like a sign of hope and new beginnings?)

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes�� everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[atxxzist]

sweetest lies | c.s (final)

prev // series m.list

pairing: choi san x f!reader

word count: 13k

warning: smut that i'm not proud of

a/n: it's finally here! only took like 10 years. apology if i missed anyone on the taglist, it's been forever

you know you're probably wrong. but even if you are, you don't wanna hear about it.

don't wanna hear about all the mistakes and choices you're making on a whim because you've already had enough of today.

you wish you were surprised when san is the first thing you see upon exiting your work building. at this point, it's really just irritating how predictable he is.

he showed up, of course he did. all the purposely missed calls and ignored texts practically an invitation--a mistake on your part.

hands in his pockets and a sullen expression on his face as if you've done him wrong, the beating of your heart louder the closer you are to him, whether you'd like to admit it or not.

he looks tired, even if it's evening and the sun is already faltering from the sky; adorned in his messy unbrushed hair and sweatsuit staring at you with eyes a mix of everything from annoyance, sadness, to anger--all of which you don't wanna deal with right now, if ever.

you suck in your breath and stop in front of him, thinking it's way too cliche if you just walk past him only to be pulled back by the grip on your wrist. so you let him talk.

though it feels like the longest stare-off before he speaks up, after finally picking up the hint that if he isn't gonna, you two might as well stand in unpleasant silence.

"what happened?" is all san says, because he honestly can't even begin to think of what to ask first.

why did you ignore all of his calls and texts yesterday? why are you standing before him now, looking the most pissed off he's seen you in a while when you also just sounded the happiest you've ever been in a while?

but most importantly, how did you all of sudden come to make up your mind so fast about the move? he swears, he was so sure just a day ago you were gonna stay. everything from your actions to body language, even if there were hiccups.

even if there were doubts in the smallest things you did or said at times that had him questioning the possibility for a second... he was still willing to bet you'd eventually end up staying.

"nothing happened. i made up my mind. that's it," you tell him, refusing to meet his eyes while doing so, because if you did, it's almost like you knew he's gonna be able to see through the lies.

either way, he sees through it. some of it, at least. standing unmoved in his spot and trying to make sense of everything.

"i just don't understand," he says defeatedly, probably one of the most vulnerable he's ever sounded. "i was really sure you were gonna stay."

and you'd lie if the way he said it doesn't make your heart pinch with guilt a little, inhaling another deep breath and hurling out words deprived of any empathy, "well you thought wrong."

you can tell he's taken aback by your response; the cold shoulder something he can take, but not when it's also met with harsh words he feels he's undeserving of.

"so that's it?" he says, shrugging with thinning patience and a tone no longer friendly and concerned. "you're just gonna leave?"

after everything. after he's tried so hard to change your mind, and after he was so sure he did.

"i guess so..." you mumble, looking to the ground, ashamed but also too prideful to back down now.

an almost never-ending silence sits between you and san until both of your heads shoot to the opening of the door to your workplace, one of your coworkers making a quick appearance before heading to their car.

san clears his throat.

"can i ask why, at least?"

the question brings an even bigger knot to your throat, because how do you even tell him the real reason at this point and not wanna run away after; losing all of your pride and dignity in front of the very boy you spent most of your life despising.

the same boy, who, you realized maybe you didn't hate so much and that you might even hold some more complex feelings for.

"because," you say, trying your best to sound convincing through all the lies you're about to spew, "i-i just think it's for the best."

it's then that san seems no longer angry or in disbelief, his face turning a softer expression that speaks as if he's come to an understanding, really taking your words for it.

"i see..." he says under his breath, staring down at the ground before looking you in the eyes one last time. "if you're sure that's what you really want, then i hope it works out."

your chest constricts just at the scene replaying in your head again; the defeated look on san's face and the eerie, guilt-stricken sensation you felt in the moment all coming back the same as before.

you down another sip of the drink in your hand, repeating the action every time the thought comes back, losing count on both the number of drinks you're on and the time.

occasionally, the irritating music from the shoddy bar does a good job of distracting you when the drinks isn't enough to overpower the mere thought that you're about to make one of the biggest mistakes of your life.

the bar is nearly empty, like if there weren't music playing, you'd be able to hear a pin drop. but you're thankful for the lack of pestering from guys twice your age due to it, given you're in no mood for confrontations.

it's only peaceful for a moment longer when the front door comes bursting and in arrives what seems like a rather large group of people, the chitters drawing yours and everyone else's attentions.

you groan irritatingly and finish the rest of your drink, considering this as the sign to go home for the night as you ring up the bartender for payment.

grabbing your purse and getting off the stool, you don't make it far past the group of newcomers before a familiar voice calls to you.

"y/n?" you hear him through the now hushed music, turning to your side and meeting his wide but calm eyes.

"hongjoong?" you squeak, swallowing the knot.

it takes him only one glance over to conclude you're a mess, and especially in a place he knows you go to in order to relieve whatever stress and misery you're going through.

"what brings you here?" he asks calmly.

"i should be asking you that," you return, gaze scanning the surrounding and people that has turned such a snoozefest place into a rowdy one.

"had a small but successful showing with the band i'm in, so we wanted to celebrate and invited a couple of our close friends," he answers, much to a silence from you, prompting him to ask, "and you?"

"i wanted to grab a drink," you say, trying your best to sound casual but it's like he saw the buffering in your head when you tried coming up with an excuse.

he raises a brow, his response takes you aback. "you wanna talk about it?"

if you had heard such a thing a couple months ago, you would've scoffed and told him to leave you the hell alone. but currently, you're aware you don't have a lot of choices.

it's either you get some company, or rot in your room for the rest of the night. and maybe hongjoong's in a certainly good mood from the previous event that he's willing to hear you out, because despite the unresolved differences between the two of you, he has always been a good listener.

someone you used to come to all the time when you had problems.

after you say yes (with some hesitation and shame), hongjoong excuses himself, making sure to let some of the people he came with know regarding his whereabouts for the next few minutes.

you both occupy a booth in the far corner overlooking the crowd. hongjoong gets water for you and him because he said he doesn't wanna get buzzed just yet, and that you've had enough for the night.

"been a while, hasn't it?" he speaks, the sight of you across from him in some sketchy bar making him nostalgic.

you both used to do it all the time together; frequenting bars and getting drunk off your asses, seonghwa would have to come pick you guys up.

it's been about three years since the last time.

"yeah," you reply, voice low, because the realization hits you that it has been that long.

it doesn't only make you as nostalgic as him, but also downright depressed because while hongjoong has grown within these past years, truly following his passion and making newer, better friends, you're still in the exact same position you were from before. heck, it's even worse now.

"what's with the long face?" he breaks you out of the thought. "rough day?"

you sigh, mumbling, "pretty much." though you wouldn't even have to answer for him to know. he just does, able to read you like an open book.

he nods understandably and lingers on words he's been wanting to say, eventually giving in.

"hey, look, about yunho's celebration party... i'm sorry if i was a dick."

“fancy seeing you here,” a voice from behind makes you snap around, finding hongjoong with a cup in his hand and something amusing in his eyes.

“thought you got too good for this kind of setting.”

the roll of your eyes is apparent, and you don’t bother to hide it.

“i’m not here to get high or whatever, i’m here for yunho.”

“of course you are,” he snides, the tone and attitude all the evidence that you’re just wasting time talking to him, and that even after all these years, hongjoong still holds a little grudge for you.

"i was just... angry and upset at the sudden sight of you after having not seen you for a while and it all came out without much thoughts."

you shake your head, unfazed from the reminder of your encounter with hongjoong at the celebration party.

"no. i understand. not like i was any nicer that day anyway."

another silence ensues, but you know it's because there's so much to say, hongjoong might not know where you begin. you don't even know where to begin.

"i ran into seonghwa a while ago," you start again, following with a chuckle when you add, "i don't know what it is that i keep running into you two."

hongjoong chuckles along.

"maybe faith wants us back together, i don't know," he jokes, but your laughter fades slowly, turning into something of a light smile.

"i do miss being with you guys," you say, locking eyes with him that speaks more than words can.

not just the parties and crazy memories, but the smaller, meaningful moments--listening to the new track hongjoong just produced as you try not to doze off, being forced to help seonghwa build the lego set he just got, and even just doing homeworks and assignments together although you were failing most of your classes.

it was them who tried to get you back on your feet, and them who tried to uplift you when you were at your lowest.

thinking of it, they might've been there for you more than yunho ever has, because after starting college, almost every instances where you were crying or is a mess, either hongjoong or seonghwa, or both, were by your side.

"i miss it, too," hongjoong says. "we're still great friends, of course, but it's not quite the same without you."

because while you had your shortcomings (most of them related to yunho), you were a great friend nonetheless.

you shared the same sense of humor and you just get him, even in ways seonghwa couldn't; the two of you able to go on for hours just debating and talking about stupid shit.

you were also quite tough in your own ways and never allowed anyone to look down on your friends--not seonghwa's nerdy hobbies, nor hongjoong's occasional shitty tracks.

you can't help the wider smile that breaks out from his comment. hongjoong don't know how much you needed to hear just one thing positive tonight, or maybe he does.

"i'm glad you still ache for my presence," you say lightheartedly, bringing out a chuckle from hongjoong.

"don't flatter yourself."

you laugh the comment off, taking a light sip of water and darting your eyes across the room to the group that came with hongjoong.

"looks like you've been doing well for yourself."

hongjoong nods. "i'd say i'm not doing so bad. and you? what have you been up to?"

it's then that the smile on your face falls, hongjoong taking a notice to it right away.

"you look down tonight, and considering you're here, i can only assume you haven't been having the greatest of time. you know you can always tell me anything, but if you're not ready, i also understand," he says carefully and empathetically, the way he always would when he sensed you were upset.

you take a deep breath because though you haven't properly spoken to him in years, you know hongjoong to be the type to carry a secret to his grave.

"it's just..." you begin, "everything's going to shit lately." obviously.

hongjoong doesn't say anything and lets you carry on respectfully, knowing he's unleashed just about everything you've kept to yourself that's been dying to get out.

"you and seonghwa were right. maybe yunho does love me, but he wasn't in love with me. him and minjeong are together now, and i caught them the night of his celebration party. my parents and his are already talking about an engagement dinner and i don't fucking know," you ramble, watching hongjoong's eyes widen at the revelation.

"woah," is all he can say.

"yeah, i know it's a lot to take in and i'm just starting."

"not to be that person that's a know-it-all, but i kind of felt something was going on between them, too. like there was always a weird ass vibe whenever they were together."

"wow," you say, puzzled. "i guess it must've just been me who was a dumbass and didn't see the signs."

"to be fair, you were pretty full of yourself so it doesn't come as a surprise," he takes a jab, knowing you won't take it to the heart.

you just roll your eyes at the remark, but before you can continue the retelling of your unfortunes, he gets to it first.

"but that's not why you're here tonight, currently drowning in misery?"

you go tight-lipped at that, eventually caving.

"it's not."

this time, he leans in and rest both his hands on the table, never breaking eye contact with you and only making you more nervous about the confession that's to come.

what would he think?

through most of the times that you've known him and seonghwa, you practically spent it denying ever developing any sort of romantic feelings for san, even when they teased you relentlessly about it.

so how would he feel when you tell him that same boy is also the current cause of the misery you're going through?

"tell me about it," he urges in a calm and friendly manner that still makes you have to swallow down the tension in your throat.

"what happened with yunho was a couple months ago," you say, "it was hard. of course it was. but it would've been even worse... if not for san." you almost whisper his name.

"he really helped me during the time. it honestly was nice to be able to talk to just anyone about it." because you're sure hongjoong can already deduce the fact you don't have anyone else besides yunho.

"and it was nice," you continue, " until it wasn't."

"and why is that?" hongjoong asks, his tone slightly teasing though you miss it completely, too immersed in the retelling.

"because..." you linger, biting your bottom lip and no longer able to look hongjoong in the eyes.

"because you've developed feelings for him?" he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, immediately pulling back your gaze as you can only stare dumbfoundedly.

"it's okay. nothing to be ashamed of." he chuckles, making your brows pinch together. "can't say i'm surprised. did think it was only a matter of time."

"wasn't like i planned to," you say, slightly annoyed, because you have no idea what he meant by his last comment.

hongjoong shrugs. "lots of things in life won't go the way we always plan. you know now."

"but only a matter of time for what? for when i'll like him? i never even considered it until some times ago."

"no. i know that. i meant it was only a matter of time till you returned the sentiment considering he's been hung up on you for so long."

you're now even more confused than you were, answering him swiftly, "hung up? as in he likes me?" the response causing the loudest chuckle of the night to erupt from hongjoong, even if he knows he shouldn't be laughing.

you have such a warped view of love, having it ever being in the form of idealizing yunho, he's also not surprise you have no idea that the reason san follows and pesters you all the time isn't because he's doing it to be annoying and make your life harder but because it might've been the only form to get your attention, and he wants it because he likes you--romantically.

hongjoong caught onto that as early as his second encounter with san.

you have wanted to grab a quick snack and drink before your class in an hour and invited hongjoong along, the both of you caught up in a conversation and forgetting about why you even came in the first place, when a tap on the table makes you forget what you were gonna tell him.

"hi," san greets, glaring down at you and smiling even if you're already exasperating just at the sight of him.

hongjoong met a lot of people at the last party, a few he's already forgotten, but he remembers san fondly mainly because he couldn't keep his eyes off of you all night (and cause you went off on a tangent about him not leaving you alone).

wherever he, you, and seonghwa were going, he found the boy following; if not physically, then always with a watchful gaze.

"i saw you didn't get anything to drink so i got you your favorite," he says, settling down the cup of hibiscus iced tea that you shoot to with lasers in your eyes.

"i don't want it," you blurt, not even bothering to look at him as you say it, because he's done more than enough to annoy you this week alone. and now running into him here, too.

"but i got it especially for you, made with love." his voice high and cheery, paying no attention to the irritation seeping from your body language and tone.

you stand up from the seat with a sigh, telling hongjoong you'll be back and head for the women's restroom.

"what's her problem?" san questions, scoffing and taking the seat you were just occupying. "i was just trying to do something nice."

"i don't know. maybe she's just pissed from a certain dickhead following her around all week," hongjoong says sarcastically, san raising an eyebrow in return before he shrugs it off.

"nothing that i also didn't do the week before."

"a pleasant person you sound," hongjoong quips, the both of them holding a stare-off so strong, the tension could probably shatter glass.

"and you are?" though san says it calmly, there's an edge in his delivery that's testing hongjoong's endurance.

"someone that actually respects her enough to not follow her around like a creep."

san snickers from the comment, a smirk overtaking his face.

"you don't have to act all high and mighty when you're just sticking around for the chance to get laid," san snarks, the smugness and such childishness from a person making hongjoong see red, but he manages to contain himself.

"we're just friends, but you can think whatever you wanna think. something tells me you're dying to be in my position, though," hongjoong bites back, the smirk on san's lips slowly fading at the last remark.

because he's seen it, the way san looks at him and seonghwa with envy and resentment written all over him.

but despite the initial harshness of the encounter, san grew on hongjoong overtime and vice versa.

they weren't close by any means (mostly because you wouldn't have allowed it), but they were able to be within the same proximity and actually have a good time together; the young boy even sharing a few of his interests.

"yes, he likes you," hongjoong says, holding back the amusement as if having to reiterate it to a kid. "why else would me and seonghwa continuously tease you about him?"

"but it doesn't make any sense."

you swear you're not that dense, but you mostly just didn't consider it because of the way san is. he did nothing but consistently went out of his way to irritate you, only until the whole yunho and your sister shenanigans did you start seeing a different side of him.

"plus, if he likes me, then why would he sleep with other girls? flirt with them and kiss them?" just saying it brings back that same queasy sensation, similar to when you saw the girl back at san's place.

hongjoong thinks about it. he isn't san, but in comparison to you, he's had far more experiences when it comes to relationships and dating, so he can offer a theory or two.

"i can't say exactly because i'm not him, but my guess is, he doesn't see it as wrong necessarily because you two aren't together."

"but he's also dated people. he was in relationships," you tell hongjoong more passionately, as if demanding for an immediate explanation to this nonsense.

"people date and are in relationships with others they don't like or love all the time," he answers nonchalantly.

but it doesn't make you feel any better, nor did it answer anything.

"so he's just an asshole and this is a mistake?"

hongjoong sighs and face palms, shaking his head before recollecting himself.

"maybe. maybe not. but one thing for sure is that he likes you, and everything you just asked me now, he can answer it himself."

you let his words linger in silence, picking your head up again when he speaks.

"anything else you wanna get off your chest?"

you bat your lashes and bite your lips before telling him, "i-i also might've told him i'm gonna be leaving for japan although i haven't notified my boss of the final decision, yet."

hongjoong tilts his head and quirks his lips to the side, about to say something when someone in the crowd calls out to him.

"yeah i'll be there in a quick sec!" he yells back.

"it's okay, you can go," you assure, appreciative of his time.

he nods. "yeah, i'm afraid i can't keep them waiting any longer. but hey, i hope you figure things out with san and reach out to me if you want. my number is still the same."

"for sure," you reply with a smile.

"but you good? think you can get home by yourself?" he asks worriedly.

"yeah, i'm good. i can call a cab."

"alright. safe trip," he says one last time before standing up, but you stop him midway with a soft call of his name before he can disappear from your sight.

"i'm sorry... for what i said and did that day," you tell him, looking and sounding as apologetic as one can be, because you truly are.

he doesn't say anything until a few seconds later, the blank expression turning into a softer smile.

"apology accepted. i'm also sorry for that day."

"apology accepted."

going off on your own without letting san know the real reason why might lead to one of the biggest mistakes you'll make. but you're not sure if going to his place right now is the right choice, either.

you make your way to the floor he's on, doing the best you can to shut out any images from the other day; standing in front of his door while your heart beats loudly into your ears and stalling even further to think of what he could be up to at 11 in the night.

he might be asleep, or he might not even be home--or there's a good chance he's relieving the stress of today's event the way you know he would, but you'd rather not think about it.

the press to the doorbell is slow and hesitant at first, but you ring it three times at least, standing still for a good minute; the anxiety and nervousness from before replaced by a strange disappointment that he actually really might not be home.

with a low sigh, you turn your back to the door in defeat, barely two steps out when it flings open behind you, bringing back the nervousness from before as you swallow down the knot.

"y/n?" he calls out, your back still to him.

and oh how comforted you are just to hear his voice again, even if it hasn't even been a full day since you two last talked.

you finally face him with batting lashes as you meet his eyes, seeing his hair is still wet and he has a towel hanging over his shoulder, he was probably in the shower when you came ringing.

"hey," you say quietly, your lips drawing a thin smile because this is really awkward. you've never been in this situation with san before, obviously.

"what are you doing here?" he asks softly. "i mean, not that i'm not relieved to see you, but just that... you know, what happened today." his voice thins out toward the end, like he isn't sure if he's supposed to be bringing it up this soon.

but you're glad he does.

"i-i want to talk to you about it... truthfully, this time," you tell him, biting back for a short second before continuing. "is it okay if i come in?"

he doesn't hesitate to nod. "yeah, of course." moving out of the way and widening the frame for you.

everything is and looks the same as last time you were here, duh, but the air is different. it could be due to the fight this evening, or that there's a clear change in your relationship with san and how you view him.

you don't know whether to stand or sit, fidgeting and watching san walk over and plop himself down on the sofa in front of you, a chuckle escaping him when he catches onto the sight.

"you just gonna stand the entire time, or?" he teases, prompting an eye roll in return as you sit down in the very same spot you've sat plenty of times before.

taking in his body language and treatment of you so far, you wonder if this is just how san is. that he copes in a way that seems as if nothing is really bothering him... or maybe he got over it, you don't know.

he seemed upset earlier, but anything can happen in a matter of hours.

the thickest silence enters only a moment after, and it's only fair you take the initiative since you came to find him, and it was also you that made it a problem in the first place.

"earlier," you start cautiously, "i wasn't in the right headspace at all."

you wait for a reaction from him before adding anything else, afraid you'll bombard him with too much at once.

"it's okay. i could tell something was bothering you, but it bothered me too because i could also tell you weren't being honest."

you almost wanna cower because just him saying it already makes you feel guilty.

"and a big decision like that doesn't get made overnight. you were fine the day before. something big must've had to happen for you to change your mind so quickly, right?" the way he stares so deeply as if searching for an answer; the desperation in his voice is felt and only worsening your guilt.

"yeah, something did happen," you say, not sure where to begin but beginning nonetheless.

his features twist, glaring at you with a mix of sympathy and curiosity.

"is it... about yunho?" he asks carefully.

san enjoys the time he spent with you; even more than he would have thought, and though you both didn't start off on the best path, he sees potentials in the relationship changing for the better--not even romantically (he don't know if that's possible), but to where you two could be friends for once in the 20 plus years you guys have known each other.

for a bit, it seemed like it was finally happening. but maybe in your head and heart, yunho will always occupy a special kind of space he cannot compete with, no matter how hard he tries.

"no," you answer, much to san's surprise, taking a long pause and then finally telling him what made you so upset that you considered moving across the sea. "i saw her when i was coming up to your place yesterday."

you have no idea how he's gonna to take it; if it's something to boost his ego or maybe he'll just laugh it off because it's actually so dumb, but you try to figure which is it gonna be, gaze never leaving his sight.

but san raises a brow as if trying to decipher what you mean, then it hits him.

"nari?" he squeaks.

yes, nari. the one you're sure is with him at most parties, and also probably the one he was with that one time you ran into him coming out of a bedroom looking all kinds of fucked up.

you've seen san with a variety of girls through the years, but she's easily the most recognizable.

san looks to still be in his thoughts, now attempting to piece together what is it about nari being here yesterday that could make you so upset.

and when you see his puzzled expression slowly replaced by a smirk that only gets bigger, you know he's figured it out.

"are you... perhaps, jealous?" he says, the slyest tone ever gracing your ears, raising the temperature on your cheeks as they probably burn a bright pink.

you're blushing because of choi san... just incredible.

when you're still to prideful to admit it, he gets off from where he was sitting and shamelessly throws himself down next to you, making you scoot over as a reflex, but he goes out of his way to close the space between you two.

he's so close now, face merely inches away and pestering you to answer while you refuse to meet his eyes.

"you were jealous, right?" he tilts his head, tone annoying but also flirty.

"shut up," you spit, finally facing him and able to pick up his natural scent from this angle, you actually can't believe you'd even think about how attractive he looks in a moment like this.

his showered hair, bare face, and the proximity that makes the scene much more intimate--

"it's not funny," you add, because the smirk isn't leaving him at all, and now he's laughing, too.

"it's only because i think you're cute," he says, now suddenly swinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in even closer. "like i swear, you didn't give a rat ass about me less than two months ago. did i finally win your heart?"

it feels like he's deflecting, so you try your best to ignore the antics, persisting with all seriousness, "so are you gonna explain yourself?" you haven't cracked a smile even once.

the bigger grin on his face mellows out into a softer smile.

"we didn't do anything," he says calmly, much to a silence from you because you're hoping he has more to say than that, which he does. "i had her over because i wanted to talk to her about something."

"like... what?"

he snickers at such coyness that you're doing an awful job at hiding.

"that i think it's best me and her stop whatever we had going on."

you can only blink because it's not exactly the response you were expecting, asking in a low voice, "and why is that so?"

"because i had a good feeling about you, and that you were gonna stay."

it turns so quiet after, you think you can hear the footsteps littering outside the hall; san's answer making you feel all sorts of way, you're not sure how to react.

"i'm sorry," you finally say out loud, the look on san unchanging even through all of this. "it was just overwhelming in the moment and it was as if nothing could make it better... especially after everything."

"it's fine," he assures. "i just can't believe you made such a life-changing decision because of that. is it too late to take it back?" he's a mixture of being absolutely serious and half laughing.

"yeah, about that... i, uh, i haven't told my boss, yet."

because it is big, and it is life-changing, and maybe you were hoping there could be something else that could convince you to stay.

san stares at you in disbelief before he cracks out a chuckle again, shaking his head.

"you're crazy," he mumbles, the comment prompting an eye roll from you.

"you scared me so much," san goes on. "i don't know what i would've done if you really left."

there's a brief stare-off before you blank and move your gaze to the coffee table at the end of your feet, mind suddenly drawing back to the encounter with hongjoong.

"i ran into hongjoong before i came here," you tell him, his head perking with interests. "i was drinking and he came in with his group of music junkies."

san only listens, giving you the space to talk until you ask of him yourself.

"you know what he told me?"

"what?"

you chuckle lightly before you can even get the words out; san watching in amusement and pondering as to what you could find so funny.

"he said that you have liked me for a long time," you say, no longer afraid to look him in the eyes while your heart beats silently but loud to your own ears, hongjoong's words replaying in your head while you await a response.

“maybe. maybe not. but one thing for sure is that he likes you, and everything you just asked me now, he can answer it himself.”

san quirks his lips to the side and shrugs half-heartedly, his relaxed manner tells you he's just teasing you but honestly, san can be hard to read.

then he finally answers, after you're about to open your big mouth again, "i guess that's why i never liked being around hongjoong much, even if he's cool... the guy can be too observant."

he pretty much confirms it without saying so, a part of you relieved and then another now realizing you're gonna have to carry the conversation and decide what you wanna do with this... information. if you even have to do anything.

"since when?" you ask, just a little curious and wondering.

he hums and removes the arm that was around your shoulders this entire time to cross it with his other one as his back falls to the couch.

"to be honest, it comes and goes. but the very first time i remember liking you was actually when i first met you."

even at the age of nine, he thought you were the prettiest girl he's ever seen. the way you dressed and the way you always did your hair, putting it in a high ponytail or a bun; and the way you liked to wear red and black most of the times made it easy to pick you out.

he was too young at the time and didn't know how to go about having a crush on someone, so he might've done a thing or two to piss you off, and it also didn't help that you were an emo ass kid as hard-headed as a rock.

you didn't just treat him that way, but also everybody else. everybody except yunho.

he loves his brother and has more than a civil relationship with him now, but he just never really understood what was it about yunho that made him so special to you.

"i mean, of course, you were mean as hell, but it's complicated," he adds, shaking his head and snickering quietly at the fact.

but you're more fixated on something else he just said, reiterating, "it comes and goes as in... sometimes you would like me and sometimes you wouldn't?"

“yes, he likes you,” hongjoong says, holding back the amusement as if having to reiterate it to a kid. “why else would me and seonghwa continuously tease you about him?”

“but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“plus, if he likes me, then why would he sleep with other girls? flirt with them and kiss them?” just saying it brings back that same queasy sensation, similar to when you saw the girl back at san’s place.

"i guess you can put it that way?" his voice raises in pitch, as if unsure himself. "it's quite difficult to put in words."

"make me understand," you state in all seriousness.

because again, your biggest doubt when it comes to san is his ability to commit to you and only you. even if you wanna believe him, and he's proven himself the past couple of months that he can surprise you in good ways, what happened with yunho and your sister might've instilled some newfound trauma and trust issues.

you watch as he catches his breath and seems to linger on his thoughts for a few seconds more.

he starts, "there were times i really liked you, the feelings can be quite intense. like that one time when we both were dazed as hell and we kissed, it felt surreal. or whenever i think you look super hot in a certain outfit, the feeling also creeps up again. i also enjoy our banters, and pretty much any time we have a somewhat normal interaction, i would also get it."

you listen attentively with your stomach and chest doing something funny just hearing san speak about you this way.

"then there would be those times... times where you would annoy me and i'd think you're a total bitch. like when you insulted me in front of my friends or just the way you'd always flop around yunho like he's jesus or something. plus, my feelings and the chances of it actually happening are two different things, so it not being an exclusive relationship overall made it easy for me to do whatever i want."

“i can’t say exactly because i’m not him, but my guess is, he doesn’t see it as wrong necessarily because you two aren’t together.”

hongjoong pretty much got it spot on, and you suppose san doesn't owe you any allegiance. that would be ridiculous.

"well that's good to know," is all you say, still trying to process everything.

"what about you?" he asks coyly. "when did you start liking me?"

the question takes you aback, always so bold and daring, but now only staring back like a little deer caught in headlights.

"probably when i was most desperate, i don't know," you joke, a chuckle bubbling out of san. "no, but really, i think it's just when you were there for me when i needed someone the most."

you almost wanna cower because just talking about such a thing with san makes you feel cringe and embarrassed, and he sees it all over your face.

"that's nice to hear." he smiles, the sight pleasant to look at; the genuine happiness on him because you're saying so many nice things about him tonight.

there's a quick pause as you both think of what to say next, knowing what kind of questions and conversation usually follows, but not wanting to be the first to say it.

"so are you gonna be staying?" he changes subject, because you might not wanna get to that part, yet.

your eyes sparkles with something mischievous and playful, answering him, "well, i don't have much reasons to leave now, do i?"

he smirks and nods.

"yeah, i guess you don't." his tone changes the next and sounding much serious. "i was happy to see that it was you at the door. i was afraid this evening could've been our last meeting."

the reminder brings back a pang of guilt as you feel yourself shrinking on the couch.

"again, i'm sorry. just still trying to learn how to deal my emotions... efficiently at least."

"no, i understand. in the end, you came back and made up for it."

"i did." you smile lightly. you couldn't have done it without hongjoong.

there's a comfortable silence before san exhales and turns his head toward the kitchen, then back to you.

"have you eaten?"

you shake your head. "no, but i'm good. i should probably get back. i don't wanna be late to work tomorrow."

"i can drive you back, if you don't mind."

given you don't look like you're in the best condition, and along with a rosy scent he's always known you by, there's a whisk of alcohol that you've even admitted to, though you surprisingly look and sound more than coherent.

--

the car ride is quiet but comfortable as you both let the music fill the air. some songs you don't recognize, but it does goes perfectly with the night as san weaves through lanes a little too fast--something you'd probably yell at him for if you were in a more sober state of mind.

but tonight has gone so well and you don't wanna take any chances of ruining it.

he parks just right outside the gate of your parents place, unlocking the doors and snapping to you.

"here it is," he says.

"you not gonna go say hi to your parents or yunho?" you tease, considering his parents place and family is just next door.

"nah." he shakes his head. "it's too late, and i'm sure they already know i love them."

you smile and unbuckle your seatbelt. "alright."

he nods, and you both just sit there for a moment too long; the unspoken words and uncertainty as equally bothering to you as it is to him, but you're not sure how to bring it up.

you just know you don't wanna end the night without talking about it, at least.

"hey," you say softly, your voice quiet and blending into the night while san doesn't look away from you one bit. "i, uhm... i'll think about it, okay? i mean, if you want me to."

you're stammering and sounding the most awkward you've been all night (which is a feat), that san can't help but to laugh it off. and he knows you're not talking about the decision to stay.

"yeah, of course. take your time. you know i'll be here," he assures, always having a way to make you feel secure and listened to.

"i appreciate it," you mumble, sending him one last smile, about ready to head out. "thank you by the way."

he returns the smile and nods. "no problem."

"i'll get going then," you say, opening the door halfway and about to leave, but instead taking a deep breath as you turn to san, which surprises him.

he blinks in bewilderment. "did you--"

then it happens. a quick peck to his lips before pulling away to his stunned gaze, backing yourself out of the car and giggling.

"goodnight," you coo teasingly, shutting the door and waving him off.

it's crazy how just a week ago, there was a chance you were gonna be flying across the sea to go live in another country.

how much more sad and unhappy you felt; as if that was your only option left. but now already feeling two times better with your future looking a little more than just bleak.

you have surely told your boss you're gonna stay; the news a relief to him because it would cost a lot more resources having to find a replacement, as well as provide the proper training.

and you have surely talked to the landlord of the complex you were seeking a while ago that you're gonna take the place, after which she so kindly walked you through all the steps and what documents you needed to provide.

you just finished going over the contract with her the day prior, and all you need to do now is pay the deposit.

you should be able to move in by friday, she said.

when you told your family about the move, you weren't surprised they didn't seem to care all that much--your parents, at least. minjeong visibly took the news a lot harder.

even if you guys didn't have the best relationship growing up and aren't that close even now, the house's gonna feel a lot more empty now, she said. she's gotten used to you being around for more than 20 years now.

but you think a part of your parents are just relieved to finally have you out of the house and start life on your own after being with them for so long. you'd rather think of it that way, but after all, not like it's gonna matter all that much when you are moved out.

you also swallowed your pride and finally reached out to both hongjoong and seonghwa again (you're still a tad ashamed by the events that followed even if hongjoong had given you the green light).

you all have set up a time and place to meet up next month when you all should be available, so that's something to look forward to.

san has been helping you window shop for furnitures, recommending which he thinks is best based on his experiences and whatnot, though you made sure you tell him you want interior as minimalistic as possible.

clean and just overall simple.

you'll be moving most of the things from your current room to the new one, taking your bed that's an actual necessity with, so you'll worry about actually purchasing furnitures when you're finally moved into the place.

as for things with san, it's always a gamble regarding what's gonna go down whenever you do hang out with him.

on some occasions, he'd act completely normal and treat you as a friend similar to before. then more than half the time, he'd flirt and bring up the peck from a week ago, but never going further than that.

you feel as if you're both currently pushing and pulling and playing a game of who's gonna crack first.

"tomorrow," you tell san over the phone, currently ripping everything from posters to every pieces of decorations that might've been there since you were in high school, off of your walls.

it took a day later than expected to process all the paperworks and everything, but you finally received a call earlier that you can finally move in tomorrow on saturday.

yunho must've heard about it from your sister or san, because you definitely did not tell him nor have you even talked to him in a while. but he texted you this morning if you needed any help with the move, to which you kindly declined though thanked him for the offer.

he asked how you were doing and you said you were doing better. that you're excited to finally have your own place and for what's to come after that.

you and san seems close lately, you recall one of his texts at the top of your head.

yeah, a little, you responded.

"i'll be there, definitely," san replies back. "anything for you, my dear."

you grimace at the pet name and scoffs.

"and who said you can call me that?" you throw the things you've managed to gather into the cardboard box on the floor.

"don't act like you don't like it. anyway, i'll be there at 8 a.m. sharp."

"for what you just said, make that 7."

before you can end the call, you hear his laughter from the other line.

--

"and i want the t.v. stand over here... no! over here!" you talk to yourself, pointing to exact spots and ponder just how you want everything to be.

"a little help?" san's voice come from behind you, muffled by the box he's carrying until he plops it down near the kitchen, all out of breath.

"you're a big boy, you got it," you brush off the complaint, walking back to the bedroom and seeing your mattress flat on the floor, already huffing at the thought of having to build the bed frame back up again.

you hear the shut of the front door, san's voice piercing into the bedroom.

"that should be the last of it. for today at least."

you turn to head back into the living room, barely making it through the doorway when you thump against his chest, rubbing your forehead after as you look up at him.

"don't i get something for helping you out?" he says, tone sly and cunning, you don't even wanna admit what it does to your heart.

he's been doing this a lot more often--say things with the slightest innuendos behind them just to get a reaction out of you. or maybe he's trying to see how far he can push now that there's been a change of dynamic. kind of.

but you remain unfazed by his comment, keeping your ground and telling him, "if you come by later, i'll make dinner for you in return."

he looks over your shoulder to the unfinished bedroom.

"don't you need help with the bed frame?"

you shake your head. "i got it. plus, i've bothered you enough for today, so i'll let you go for now."

"i don't mind staying to help."

"no. i need some time to settle in. and, we still got a lot more work to do tomorrow."

he hesitates, but eventually gives in. that it's more about you needing this time to yourself; in a new environment and finally a place to call your own.

"alright. but if you need me, call me."

"i will."

he walks to the door as you follow behind, holding the door open for him while he now lingers in the hallway facing you.

"i'll come by later, though. i'm not forgetting that."

you chuckle and lightly roll your eyes.

"yeah, of course. and bring a drink or two. we'll celebrate."

"for you finally having your own place."

"for me finally having my own place," you repeat, a smile on your lips mirroring san's.

you spend most of the day setting up the bedroom and assembling the bed frame, thankfully remembering where everything goes from the top of your head because you threw out the instructions maybe five years ago.

you unbox everything and attempt to place the decorations where you think they look best for now, shoving all the empty boxes into a corner after for the next morning when you'll have to take out the trashes.

the living room is empty. no couches, no nothing because you haven't bought anything; the area for now only consisting of a rug and a small table you brought from your previous room because you and san need somewhere to sit and eat on.

when you're sure you're done with all the unboxing for the day, you run for the grocery store just around the corner, grabbing a pot, a pan, other essentials, then the ingredients.

it's almost 5 in the afternoon by the time you start cooking, and though it's been a long day, something about it feels accomplishing. being by yourself, cooking in your own apartment and not having to worry about anything else.

it might be too soon to say, but you think you've made the right choice.

as the stew's just about to be done, there's a knock at the door that you happily skip to, flinging the frame open to no one other than san with a plastic bag around one of his arms.

"hey," you greet.

"hey," he returns, taking it upon himself to walk in as if it's his own home, a strong aroma hitting his nose immediately. "wow, it smells good in here."

"i did say i was gonna cook," you say, shutting the door.

"yes, and i brought a drink or two just like you said." he wiggles the bag in his arm, then peeking over the pot boiling on the stove. "whatchu' cooking?"

"kimchi stew," you answer. "but i also bought some ramen just in case."

"that's perfect," he says, walking over and setting down the bag of drinks onto the floor just right next to the small table.

"sorry. i'm still working on getting a dining set." you half chuckle at the sad sight of the current setup.

"this will do."

he works on setting the drinks: two simple bottle of sojus he got on the way here because tonight isn't about having fun or whatever. he wants it to be meaningful, maybe even sweet.

you place the still hot stew in the middle, going back to the kitchen to grab two small bowls and utensils, handing him his and finally able to rest peacefully across from him while the steam from the pot blocks your view of each other.

"so how is it so far?" he asks, being the one to start.

"good," you answer, the same time you go in with a spoon for a taste test.

"feels nice, doesn't it? like you have all the freedom in the world." san does the same, his eyes lighting up when he's able to digest the flavor. "wow. you're amazing, y/n."

you can't help but roll your eyes, still trying to slowly settle into the way he'd just casually compliment you with such sincereness.

"i'm glad you think so. but yes, it is like as if i have all the freedom in the world. for now, at least." you chuckle, and he follows shortly after.

"in a month or so, let me know how you feel again."

you nod to his words, the next minute an air of silence as you both busy yourself with the food and drink.

it's more than past 6, the sky outside turning a darker color and painting the neighborhood more empty.

you're just about done with swallowing the portion of your food when a thought crosses, being the one to start speaking again.

"were you the one who told yunho i was moving?"

he looks up from his bowl at that with blinking eyes, placing it down on the table and shakes his head, his mouth still full.

"why would i do that? then i'd have competitions for who's gonna help you move in."

you laugh at that, placing your utensils down and resting your hands on your lap.

"how's yunho?" you ask, because even if you don't wanna think about it, yunho has been a part of your life. someone you clung onto for a large chunk of it, and it wouldn't be realistic if you were completely over it within just the span of a few months.

you no longer want to be with him, and you no longer think of the what ifs, but it does sting and ache a little when the reminder of the events comes up once in a while.

still, you wouldn't change anything and any regrets you've had, you feel you've already made amends with; only hoping to not make any more.

"he's been doing good," san answers. "the best i've seen from him in a while."

you smile, mumbling, "that's good to hear."

you don't know if you could ever say it to your sister, but for what it is-- whether good or bad, they deserve each other. yunho and her.

they've always been more alike and compatible than you and yunho could ever be and it was something you struggled accepting for the longest time.

"what about you? how are you doing?" san questions, catching your gaze in his. "i know it hasn't been easy."

because san acknowledges it, too. how much yunho meant to you. that you used to see nothing and no one else but only yunho.

"better," you assure, a soft and comforting smile on your lips while you pause and hold the exact words you want to say, letting it go when you feel most ready. "better because of you."

you see san swallowing and his food and the chopsticks he was previously holding now forgotten on the table as he continues giving you his full attention.

"you were there for me when i needed someone the most, and you're still here for me. i don't know..." you practically murmur the last part, shaking your head and chuckling quietly, "i liked yunho a lot because it seemed he was the first person who accepted me for who i am."

you sound like a broken record at this point, but talking about it--your feelings, and especially to san helps you understand it better.

"i was too stupid and uncaring in the eyes of my parents, and too odd and indecipherable in the eyes of everyone else. kind of ironic, isn't it? i hated the fact people judged me without knowing me when i, too, judged you without knowing enough of you."

san listens and he knows this is it. you're pouring all of your heart out with nothing left to hide, whether it's things you've already said or haven't.

you ramble on, "i mean, i always thought some of them might end up liking me if they got to know me, and then that turned out to be true for you, too. i got to know more about you and i do like you..."

san feels his heart caving in, wondering if this might be it as well. a moment he's been waiting so long to happen but unsure if you wanted it as soon and as much as he does.

"is this a confession?" he tries his best for it to come out as light hearted as possible, an attempt to conceal just how on edge he actually is.

there's a pause before you answer, shaky voice and all. "i guess so."

but san doesn't celebrate his victory too early, yet; a "but" coming out of you quick enough to stop him.

"i'm just afraid," you finally admit to him the very thing weighing you down, and why even though you like him, you're just the slightest skeptical actually doing something about it.

"what are you afraid of?" he asks concernedly, desperate to resolve all and any doubts you have.

you take a short breath. "just the entire thing with yunho... i keep fearing the same thing will happen. when i texted you that night that i was going to japan, it wasn't just because i was jealous, but also because it made me realize if i was only replacing yunho with you. i know that's not the case because what i feel for you is different from what i felt for yunho, but i still can't shake it off."

you're talking so fast, you don't even catch the exact moment san's already moved from across you to right beside you, taking your hands into his and looking you in the eyes.

"i promise you that what happened with yunho won't happen with me," he says, passion in his voice wishing for you to believe him. "i will make sure it won't."

and you do want to believe him. end all the doubts and skepticism here, but you also wanna be honest.

"but the way you are, san... it makes it hard for me even if i wanna believe you. you change girls like you change your underwear. how would i know for sure giving this a chance won't be a mistake?"

you can feel the way san tenses up at the harsher words, maybe a hint of hurt in his dull eyes, but he gathers himself rather quickly for his turn.

"i understand. i don't blame you given i don't exactly have the best track record, and i don't know for sure if this is gonna be a mistake, but i do wanna give it a chance... if you want, of course."

he takes a short pause before continuing, "i've never been with two girls at once, and i always broke things off if i don't see it working out. and if i don't want anything serious, i let them know. but i've never felt the way i'm feeling for you right now for anyone else, ever, and it's something that i'm sure of the more i'm with you."

you blink at that, your stomach tightening and breath shallow, the scene much more intense and real than the first night when you two first talked about this mutual interest.

"i always thought that it was because we grew up together, and that definitely played some part, but i also grew up with minjeong and never really felt anything particular about her. i do like you a lot, so let the decision be in your hand whether you want more out of this or not. you already know my answer."

his grip on your hands has become looser with time, the food and drink now long forgotten, the only thing in your mind is the way he's looking at you and how important your next few words are.

"we can give it a try," you slowly and quietly answer, watching san's pupils go wide as he breaks out into a wide smile after.

"thank you," he manages to say calmly and coolly despite his body feeling anything but that.

he places a kiss to the top of your hand, prompting you to pull away in fake disgust and a laughter.

"i guess dreams do come true after all," he jokes, another one that makes you roll your eyes, feeling a little shy all of a sudden.

"well i'm gonna go wash my dishes," you attempt to switch the subject, grabbing your bowl and untensils and head for the kitchen.

san quirks an eyebrow and raises his voice from his seat.

"but there's still so much food left." he stares at the amount left, then back to you, getting off the floor himself to follow behind, watching as you turn on the faucet and completely ignore him.

"oh i know what this is." he smirks, overtaking your hand and turning off the faucet, finally getting a reaction out of you as you snap your neck his way. "you're shy."

you blink, swallowing a quick knot and shake your head.

"i'm not," you say, turning back to aim for the faucet, but san beats you again, a stare-off ensuing with amusement written all over his eyes.

"you are. is it because it's weird we're practically girlfriend and boyfriend now?" he tilts his head.

hearing the terms out loud definitely is weird, you can't even deny the fact, instead nodding your head that gets a snicker out from san.

"yeah, it's gonna take some time for sure." he smiles, and the volume and tone at which he says it almost like he's trying to seduce you.

you've just realized how sensual and close you guys are at this angle. your back against the sink and chest basically rubbing his own as he's cornered you into this state, gawking down at you with a look that makes you wanna cower.

the quietest air goes by with his head only lowering each second, and you realize it, too, that you wanna kiss him just as bad.

with a close of your eyes, his lips is on yours the next, still at first, then slowly moving in an attempt to find the perfect rhythm until you respond.

your hands find itself resting on the counter of the sink as the kiss makes your back dig into the edge. it isn't messy nor done sloppily despite how long san's been waiting for the moment again.

it's rather clean but passionate, giving san a kick back to the night he got to taste you for the first time even if you both weren't in the right state of minds, but it's one he doesn't forget easily.

both his grip has made way to rest at your hips, giving it a light squeeze and it doesn't take long for your arms to come up and around his shoulders, the scene taking a quick turn and you feel yourself losing your breath with each passing second.

when you both finally pull away, you nor san know how many minutes has gone by, only that his hair is already messy and tangled when you haven't even done much to it, and you're still trying to catch your breath.

you're the first to break into a small giggle with san following after, his grip still at your hips and your arms still around his shoulders.

"wow. that kiss already made me hard as a rock," san blurts, breaking the immersion as you roll your eyes.

"yeah, i can tell," you reply, shifting your legs slightly because the entire time, san's boner was pressing down on it.

he laughs shamelessly, proceeding to press only harder because he likes seeing your reaction, and he takes it you're fine with it because you're no longer fighting it.

"tell me, are you the type to have sex first date?" he asks, his head slightly tilted and honestly looking so attractive.

"not really," you answer. "but is this really a first date?" you say it with the tiniest slyness and coyness, a lot of initial hesitation but when you really think about it, there's no reason to not sleep with san at this point.

especially at your age and with the little experiences you have, it's about time. beside, you always hear it's good to know and discover your sexual chemistry with someone in the early stages, because often than not, incompatibilities in that regard can destroy a relationship perfectly fine in other aspects.

"you're right." san smirks, causing a small squeak from you when he snakes his arms aroud your butt suddenly and lifts you onto the counter, but you stop him before he can do anything else.

"wait. can we do this in the bedroom instead? i'd just prefer my kitchen to be, you know... clean, since this is where i cook."

he laughs, catching the way your eyelashes would flutter cutely and nods his head, helping you down onto the floor again.

"thanks," you say, barely able to fix the wrinkles of your pants when he grabs your wrist and leads you to the bedroom, proceeding to throw you down on the bed the softest he can as he hovers over you.

the current position a bit unreal because san never really thought it would happen.

"just out of curiosity," san starts, "have you ever slept with yunho?"

you bite your lower lip and shake your head. "never any penetrations. he always said that should wait till marriage."

it's not that you didn't wanna sleep with yunho, but the other way around it seems. and now you know why.

san quirks his lips to the side and accepts the answer.

"if i did, would you not want to sleep with me anymore?" you ask just for the sake of his response, mirth in your eyes and amusement hanging by your tongue.

he cranks an eyebrow and actually thinks about it.

"that would be kind of nasty, i'm not gonna lie," he says, much to a laughter in response. "so i'm glad that's not the case."

"yeah, thankfully," you say after, teasing him slightly.

the both of you stay still for a few seconds more before san takes it as a sign to lower his lips again to capture yours for another kiss.

he lets his body fall on top of yours gently, his weight heavy but nice as you're comforted by the warmth of his skin that makes you feel even closer to him.

you hear and feel him shift, lifting his left arm off the bed to find the end of your shirt and bury his fingers underneath to where the bare of your skin is.

you can't help the low whimper at the sensation of his fingers crawling on your skin and making way to where your bra is, flinching just the slightest when his entire hand cups the shape of your breast.

he breaks the kiss to look down at your already messy state, whispering, "always wanted to know how these felt." the comment making you bite at your lower lip again, something so alluring about the way he says it.

you take it upon yourself to sit up, san removing his hand to watch you undress your top, the way you do it so sensually and almost teasingly like a scene straight from some porn video.

he's almost too into the sight, he forgets you're actually in front of him all flesh and bones, until you've already rid of everything and calling his name.

your titties out and spilling, the actual thing better than he could have imagined. better than all those times he'd spend trying to make them out and just picture how your actual breasts look.

"fuck, you're so hot, y/n," he hiss, the frustration on him makes you giggle before he latches on with both his hands and takes a dive, one nipple in his mouth and the other one being fondled with.

a moan escapes your mouth at the wetness of his tongue circling one of your nipples, throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling and holding back an even louder moan when he squeezes your other one.

it goes on for a few minute at least; how he switches back and forth between your breasts and hand always on the other to make sure it's not neglected, whether he's groping it or playing with it.

"san," you call his name, his eyes shooting up to look at you with lips red from the service. you don't say anything, instead calmly getting on your knees and breaking the contact with san as he tries to guess your next move.

your gaze moves to his crotch area and he gets the message instantly, smirking in return.

he spreads his legs merrily as you crawl closer, one last look of exchange before you reach for the hem of his shorts, pulling it down along his boxer underneath just enough for his hard cock to spring itself out, his length sitting straight up and making you swallow a knot.

he adjusts himself enough for you to sit yourself between his legs, gaining the perfect access to do what you need to do.

with a careful grip, his cock is in your hold as you're stroking it up and down, observing the sight of him rolling his eyes and looking just so hot; all the more reasons you wanna have sex with him.

he isn't too long in length, but his girth is quite thick and just enough for you.

you get ready to take him in, lowering your head each passing second and stroking it faster until your tongue licks over the tip of his cock and he releases the sexiest moan ever as a result.

one of your hands still grip the rest of his cock while your mouth stays on the tip of it until you're there long enough, tilting your head to lick the side and and coating every inch of it before starting from the top again and taking his entire length in the best you can.

there's tears in your eyes the lower you go, but you also know just when to stop, coming back up just below the tip and going down again, repeating the action until you see san is a groaning mess of pleasure.

nothing but "fuck" comes out of his mouth, his right hand having found itself on a bundle of your hair, helping and guiding you as you give him the blowjob of his life.

he lets go and you pull away after some time, both of you huffing and puffing, smiles crossing your lips when both your eyes meet.

"jesus, you suck cock like you've done it a thousand times before," he comments, because his own is still recovering.

you sucked his cock as if yunho wasn't your only sexual experience.

but you only smirk and shrug, replying mischievously, "i have my ways."

he doesn't have time to think about that right now, though. all he wanna do is be inside of you. fuck you into the mattress and make you feel so good, and he's glad you feel the same with how you're already wrapping your arms around him and pulling him down as your back hits the sheet.

he kisses your accepting lips once more before breaking it to ask you, "you ready?" to which you nod and already starts pushing at the hem of your own pants, san helping you when he catches on, thrusting it until it's off all the way with you kicking it onto the floor.

san catches the light pink lace panties you have on, smiling to himself not long before you also throw that off, now left in nothing but to feel the most naked you have ever been in the presence of someone else.

you can feel san's length brushing the inside of your thighs and it only makes you wanna speed up the process, telling him you're ready.

he creeps his fingers to your opening to prep you up, sticking two in and the wetness already coating him that instant while a low grunt escapes your lips.

he takes it out with a pop and you pant, watching as he gives it a once over on his tongue, clearing all residues off his fingers before gripping his cock for your entrance.

it's suddenly as if you've forgotten how to breathe while you just wait for that delicious and burning stretch, groaning when you feel the tip enter, already leaning your head back as you squint your eyes.

then instantaneously and surprisingly, san shoves in his entire cock, the loudest moan yet leaving you and shortly accompanied by a passionate, "shit!" your arms digging into his shoulders already as you try getting used to the feeling.

your collection of dildos and vibrators nothing compared to the real thing as your back arches when he starts moving.

he thinks you look so sexy like this. under him and taking his cock so well. he'll fuck you, and he'll fuck you good for all those times back then when you'd always say you'd never fuck him.

for all those times you'd hurl insults his way and act as if you don't even wanna be in the same room as him.

but he's going to fuck you good, too, because he wanna love you. he wanna be with you and show you the love he's capable of; hoping this is a start.

he buries his face into your neck while he fucks into you, getting grunts and moans in response and he doesn't stop until he feels himself about to come, removing himself from your neck and hair to see the pleasure overtaking your face; a light smirk on your lips and eyes rolled back.

"i'm gonna pull out, okay, baby?" he whispers into your ear that you nod to, placing a kiss to your cheek after and getting up, pulling out of you and leaving your inside so empty now that you've come to love the feeling.

he pumps his cock a few times before shooting his load onto your stomach, your gaze fixated on it before he grabs both your legs and hangs it over his shoulders, going on to scoot you closer with a grip of your waist.

you're not sure what he's gonna do until you feel his warm fingers rubbing over the entrance of your vagina.

"can't leave you hanging," he says simply, his middle finger especially running up and down, then he slowly enters it along with his index as the sensation comes back even if not as fulfilling as his cock.

he keeps thrusting until your wall closes in on his fingers and a look of euphoria crosses your expression, pulling out sloppily and throwing his body down next to yours while you're still trying to catch your breath.

"how are you feeling?" he asks, moving a strand of hair covering your eyes behind your ear.

"good," you answer. "and you?"

"the best i've been in a while."

you both enjoy the temporary silence with the occasional breathing of the other person, staring back at the each other for what feels like a long time and a smile on both your lips.

san finally sits up and blinks down at you, offering a hand.

"let's go get cleaned up, and make sure you pee."

a relationship with san isn't gonna come without problems and challenges, but you suppose love is all about giving it a chance and putting efforts into it, and you wanna put all you've got and see where this goes.

a/n: welp, girls or boys... i am not happy with it but i'm glad it's over lol. (taglist gonna look mad weird bc it was being a bitch / apology to anyone who got tagged like twice. also removed lots of ppl who deactivated)

taglist: @freeandrealme @shingene @cherrychristie @softie00 @crimson-mia

@hexheathen @lixpixstix @atinytease @turtash @moonseonghwa

@justineasian @sannie-pudding @itsokaytobedumb00 @nerdy-kimchi

@fannyxmh @acciocriativity @mel-the-mad-hatter @diorwoo @devilsmatches

@kyume02 @distvrbia @wonwowzers @endeav0rsb1tch

@sannwa @brown88 @eburneon @hotteokhatyu @yeosangsbiceps

@sankatchu @harusoraa @ad0rechuu @woojirang @revehosh

@byunniebaekhyunnie @nabi-sannie @gugggu6gvai @rockstarsanie

@shakalakaboomboo

@yeosangsbbg @yawnzshit @avantalem @lelaleleb @mountiiny

@svintsandghosts @kkayfan @arinyyy

@nevieatiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@nescaffei @vixensss @santineez