#but also remember things get better! promise
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sbuttnutt ¡ 2 days ago
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Some things to remember with Plan B, progestin-only pills, and other emergency contraceptives:
- Plan B is less effective if you're over 150 lbs. Some sources say that taking two increases effectiveness over that weight.
- Plan B HAS to be taken within 72 hours of unprotected sex, and the earlier its taken the better. Stock up if you can!
-Plan B prevents ovulation, and it's not going to work if you've already ovulated for the month. Only take 1 per menstrual cycle.
- Even if you haven't ovulated, it's still not 100%, so always take a pregnancy about 2 weeks after unprotected sex.
-PLAN B IS NOT AN ABORTION!! Again, it just prevents ovulation, it will not harm an existing pregnancy.
-Progestin only birth control pills HAVE to be taken at the same time every day, otherwise the effectiveness decreases considerably.
-There are NO "PLACEBO DAYS" with progestin based birth control pills!
- Combined pills (which is what most people are familiar with: estrogen and progestin) come with a week of sugar pills that people can take to maintain the habit. That's when you get your period. With combined pills it's possible to just not take those pills or start a new pack instead of taking them to skip a period. That is NOT POSSIBLE with progestin pills. You have to take EVERY PILL IN THE PACK!!
-Progestin based methods (progestin pill, Nexplanon, IUD, Depo) can sometimes be better if you have intense migraines (especially with an aura) than estrogen/combined methods (combined pill, patch, nuvaring)
-Medication doesn't quite expire the same way that food does. Anyone with more pharmaceutical knowledge feel free to expand/correct me, but if your only options are to take an expired Plan B or don't take one at all, take the Plan B. OBVIOUSLY, TALK TO A DOCTOR OR PHARMACIST BEFORE YOU DO THIS!! Taking expired meds should be an absolute EMERGENCY LAST RESORT OPTION!!
- If you have health insurance and you're able to go to a doctor/urgent care, see if you can get a prescription for Ella. It's another type of emergency contraceptive (like Plan B) but it's more effective, more consistent, has a higher weight limit, and can be safely taken up to 96 hours after unprotected sex (5 days). However, it's prescription only. See if your provider will put in refills so you can easily and quickly pick it up from a pharmacy if you need another in the future.
-Plan B can also be written as a prescription, therefore covered by insurance! For example, in Colorado, Medicaid will cover the cost of Plan B completely if it's written as a prescription, talk to a pharmacist or your doctor about it!
-Some IUDs can be used as emergency contraception as well as long as they're placed within 96 hours of unprotected sex! In those instances they are over 99% effective as emergency contraception, and you can keep it in to continue to avoid pregnancy for 7-12 years. NOTE: this is ONLY the Paragard (copper, non-hormonal, and good for 10-12 years) and the Mirena/Liletta (hormonal, good for 7-8 years.)
- If nothing else works, use condoms or the pull out method!! It's not 100%, but it's WAYYY better than nothing!
There's obviously so much more to be said about birth control and emergency contraceptives. Please please PLEASE, if you can get pregnant and don't want to, go to a Planned Parenthood, OBGYN, urgent care, primary care physician, or even your pharmacist and create a birth control plan. A lot of pharmacies will have a telehealth program that's very cheap and easy to get prescriptions, and will even provide discount codes for medication if you don't have insurance. With a GoodRX coupon, common birth control pills are like $10 a month, sometimes even cheaper.
There are no morals attached to getting an abortion. As someone who has worked directly with patients in abortion care for over 3 years, I promise you that you are not a bad person if you need one. Many people do, it's a fact of life. But for the majority of people, it is much cheaper and easier to come up with contraceptive plan first.
You don't HAVE to use hormonal birth control, but take some time to come up with a plan! I promise it'll make your life much simpler in the long run.
(PS: There is, of course, much more nuance to this than I've addressed. Not everyone can take hormonal birth control, but if you're in the US or somewhere else that severely limits abortion, it is YOUR responsibility to come up with a contraceptive plan. There are tons of non-hormonal options, and honestly some of them really suck, but they're ALL better at preventing pregnancy than no contraception at all.)
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years
(Also, you can get 4 months of over the counter birth control (progestin-only pill form) at Costco for $50. Or 3 months on Amazon for about $45.)
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gwaynesprincess ¡ 1 day ago
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Good Boy
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Content: NSFW, face riding, cunnilingus, praise kink, poor self-image, discussions of BDSM etiquette, safewords, handjob
Note: This exists in a modern, alternate universe where Aemond is very submissive. I intend to turn this premise into a collection of loosely related drabbles with little to no plot. Also, thank you to @peachysunrize for encouraging me and for making the GIF that I used! 💚
Aemond fucking loved when you sat on his face. There was something absolutely wonderful about you smothering him with your cunt and using him for your pleasure. He hooked his arms around your legs, pulling you closer, prioritizing eating your pussy over breathing. Above him, you moaned, rocking your hips as his nose ground against your clit deliciously. 
“You’re doing so well,” you gasped, clutching the headboard desperately as your third peak drew closer and closer. “Aemond, you’re so good.” 
He groaned happily, working his tongue inside of you as you praised him. He had always thought that he would never enjoy letting someone else be in control of him in such a vulnerable state, but you always seemed to know exactly what he needed. You were so gentle, so kind to him, that he was afraid that you would leave. How could someone like you want someone like him? He could never understand, but he could try to convince you to stay by committing to making you cum until you physically couldn’t anymore. 
You had made him promise to tell you if he couldn’t breathe, but he was tempted to ignore the lack of oxygen in favor of bringing you pleasure. He wanted you to tell him that he was good, and he wondered if you would do so if he told you that his head was spinning. What if you were upset with him? He could tell that you were getting close, and he didn’t want you to be disappointed in his weakness. However, he remembered the last time that he had tried to keep going. He had almost passed out, much to your horror. While he had been more than alright, he was completely confused why you had been so saddened by his willingness to suffer for your pleasure. You hadn’t told him that he was good, despite him making you cum four times, because you were so concerned for him. But that had been four times, and this would only be your third… 
He whined in panic; he didn’t know what to do, so he desperately tapped on your thigh and tried to pull your cunt closer at the same time. You pulled away from him immediately, searching his face for some kind of hint as to what was wrong. 
Fuck. He was suddenly afraid that he shouldn’t have tapped your leg. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled, trying to pull you back down. “I’ll try again, ‘m sorry. I’ll do better, I’ll fix it.” Gods, what was wrong with him? He should’ve just let you ride his face until he passed out, but he had to go and fuck it up by being pathetic and weak. 
To his horror, you crawled off of him. He froze, fear coursing through him. Were you going to leave him? He needed you to stay and care for him. What did he need to do to make it up to you? Whatever it was, he could take it. 
And then, you did the most surprising thing: you pulled him into your arms and began to caress his hair. “There’s nothing to fix,” you said lightly, gently kissing his temple as you carefully wiped your own slick off of his chin. “You did the right thing by asking me to stop. I’m very proud of you, Aemond.” 
A warm feeling erupted in his chest at your words, one that he didn’t quite know what to call. He was very confused why you were telling him that he did a good job, but he liked the way that you were holding him. He hesitantly nuzzled you, a lovely feeling encasing him when you pulled him closer. He let himself enjoy the sensation for a moment longer, then swallowed hard. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled, loathing himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t get it. I must be stupid.” 
“Oh, Aemond,” you whispered. “No, you’re not. What don’t you understand?” 
He whimpered, squirming until he was able to hide his face in the crook of your neck. “Why are you proud of me?” he asked, his voice small. “I made you stop; I didn’t make you cum again.” 
You gently stroked his hair. “You didn’t need to. This isn’t good for me if you’re hurting. Stopping isn’t bad. You were very good because you let me know that you couldn’t breathe.” 
Aemond felt warmth pool in his stomach when you told him that he was good. He was quite certain that he was being bad now, since you were trying to help him understand and his cock was hardening. “I just want to make you happy,” he said softly. 
“Oh, my sweet boy,” you murmured, “I will always be happy when I am with you.” Aemond felt a smile threaten to make itself known on his lips at your words. He blushed slightly when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he gasped when you slowly wrapped your hand around his swollen cock. “We will need to talk more about this later,” you told him, “but I wish to pleasure you now. Would you like that?” He nodded vigorously; you shook your head. “Use your words.” 
“Yes,” he blurted. “Please, yes. Stroke my cock, please, I beg you.” 
“Good boy,” you said, slotting your mouth against his own as he whimpered in delight at the praise. 
You began to slowly jerk him off, your grip wonderfully tight. Aemond whined as your thumb circled the swollen head, a shiver running through his body as he hesitantly bucked upwards into your hold. It felt so good, having your warm hand work him towards his end. 
“I wish you could see yourself,” you whispered against his lips; Aemond whimpered. “You look so pretty, fucking my fist.” 
“Please,” he gasped. “Faster, please, I need it faster.” 
You complied with his request, moving your hand rapidly along his length. Your thumb gently traced his sensitive tip, gathering his precum and using it to make his cock slick. He couldn’t believe how good it felt as he rolled his hips faster, his cheeks burning at the wet sound that was proof of the mess he was making in your soft palm. 
“I hope you like your treat,” you said, gently stroking his hair with your fingertips as your other hand worked quickly on his aching prick. “You were so good for me, fucking me with your tongue and making me cum. And you’re so pretty when you let me jerk you off. Are you close?” 
He was embarrassingly close. Aemond could feel the coil in his stomach tightening at your praise. He nodded desperately, then buried his face in your neck. “Yes, I’m close. Please, I’m so close.” He needed you to tell him that he could cum. He was going to go mad if you didn’t give him permission. 
You kissed his forehead. “Good boy. Cum for me, Aemond.” 
He would have been ashamed of the whorish moan he let out, but he was too focused on how good it felt to worry about how he sounded. Spots danced in front of his eye as his entire body tensed, his cock spasming in your palm as he came all over his stomach. You continued to stroke him throughout it all, helping him to ride through his high as he shuddered and whimpered. He needed to feel like this every day for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. You were so good to him, being kind as you used him for your pleasure and rewarding him when he pleased you. 
When his breathing finally slowed several moments later, he realized that he was trembling and clinging to you. Sheepishly, he let go, attempting to move away from you. To his surprise, you gently took his hand in your own, lacing your fingers through his and squeezing gently. “You were such a good boy, Aemond,” you said, smiling as he blushed. He gasped as you brought your cum-stained hand to your lips, sucking his release from your fingers before kissing him. He whimpered as you slid your tongue into his mouth; he could taste his own cum and it was fucking hot. 
When you pulled back a few moments later, Aemond smiled at you, reveling in the warmth that bloomed in his chest. He hesitated for only a brief second before cautiously curling up in your arms, sighing in sleepy contentment as you held on to him. “Thank you,” he mumbled. 
You pulled him closer, keeping him safe as he relaxed in your embrace. “Of course. Rest now, my darling good boy. You deserve it.” 
For the first time in a long while, Aemond was calm as he closed his eye and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
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defmaybe ¡ 1 day ago
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Rockland
NewJeans’ Kim Minji x Reader
500 words
See also: I Love You, I'm Sorry
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A/N: I know I promised y’all Mistake, but this is what I can write now.
—
I see you every night in my sleep
Anticipating every bad dream
Like falling with a knife you cut deep, you cut deep
You cut deep, you cut deep
—
“HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN, FIVE YEARS?” Minji shouts, battling the booming bass of the bar.
And you have to do the same to not get drowned out in the wave. “YEAH, FIVE YEARS.”
The sound doesn’t come out as well as you’ve wished. It stuck in your throat like a fur ball.
But she catches it anyway.
She lets out a smile; you remember it, of course: every contour of her face, every muscle used, and the small giggle she always lets out when doing it. It’s all the same.
“Let’s talk outside,” she mouths.
—
“How have you been?” The techno music is completely absent on this side of the bar, letting you and Minji talk in peace. You can see the vanilla sky through the small window on the outside, light shines through it.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. How are you?” You turn back your blurry vision onto her, still adjusting to the light.
You aren’t fine, really, but you can’t have her know that.
“I–” Her eyebrows furrow, as if to contemplate her next words. It’s enough to let you know. “I’m fine.”
The left hand shuffling in her hairs and the black hue under her eyes further support the case.
You let out a smile, a faint one. “Good to know.”
“How’s love life?” she continues. She has this look that you can’t quite make up, but you know that it’s determined to pry an answer out of you.
“I’m–” You can’t seem to find the answer inside your head, at all. It’s all blank, somehow. “I don’t know, really.”
“That’s fine.” She laughs, before her friends call her out from afar. “I think I should get going.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, and I unblocked you like–a year ago? I think you still blocked me then, didn’t bother to check after that.” You aren’t thrilled to be the one to let go before her, really. Too much of a sore winner to relent first, but letting it gnaw you from the inside isn't any of a better thing to do either.
“A year ago?”
“Yeah,” you answer.
“Before or after your birthday?”
You’re taken aback by it a little, just a little. Can she really still remember your birthday?
“Before, it’s on your birthday, I think?”
“That’s why, that’s why.” She laughs. “I unblocked you on your birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you, too. You’re better at this than me,” she says, smiling. But you catch something in her eyes, it’s definitely there—the sadness.
“You know, I’m–” She averts your eyes, finding comfort in the vanilla sky. “I’m sorry.”
“No, Minji. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
She resigns, “Truce?”
“Truce.”
—
As you walk back home, a notification on your phone pops up.
kimminjeans started following you
You smile, knowing that it’s all over, a new relationship can blossom under this vanilla sky.
And you open your eyes.
—
I see you every night in my sleep
Anticipating every bad dream
Like falling with a knife you cut deep, you cut deep
You cut deep, you cut deep
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merakiui ¡ 2 days ago
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going back to read your contractual fwb azul cause it’s my favourite fic ever and i have to wonder; what would azul do if you never used his wishes to your own advantage? like it was always small stuff, so you ended up having to get a new job (sex is banned and let’s pretend like theres some random cafe on sage island or something like that you’re picking up shifts. just not the monstro lounge) and the hours you work there give him less time. would he beg you to use his money? to take advantage of him? it feels like the terms he picked also come from a domestic standpoint of wanting to provide for you. and your new job is really getting in the way of that. rely on him and no one else >:(
(also i’d like to imagine you falling asleep sitting in his lap in his office chair sometime before the confession so he carries you back to his room and you spend the night. the next morning you wake up to him pulling away and in your extremely sleep deprived mind you get upset that he’s leaving. cue him promising he’ll be back—maybe a quick round just so he can get you to wish it and no it’s definitely not because he wants sleepy morning sex—and eventually he comes to wake you back up with flowers, tea (you know the one), and telling you you have a day off somehow.) thank you for listening to my tiny brain rambles
hiiiiiii this is just a question i forgot to add to my last ask that i submitted like 2 seconds ago.
how does your relationship with azul go now that you’re actually in one and not just fwb? like does he still spoil you with whatever you ask for in exchange for sex or just give it to you and sex happens whenever? (more than the average couple cause, cmon) he gave you the fish shoes even though you lost so it stands that he’d spoil the hell out of you whenever he can
- - -
Hi hiiii!! :D omg contractual fwb tako..... I miss thinking about that fic. Peak Azul is him developing a relationship with darling via contractual means and slowly but surely the feelings shift (through dubious efforts hehehe). >:D that dynamic is just so *chef's kiss*!!!!!
Oooo if reader got a job!!! If not at the lounge, which is secretly what Azul hopes, then the place better pay good wages and the hours and work better be reasonable!! >:( he won't have his angelfish struggle. Maybe he'd even visit you during your shifts on occasion and make up some excuse like "I need to know what sort of competition the lounge has" blah blah blah etc etc even though it's quite clear he's checking up on you. T_T I like to think Azul wants you to take advantage of him because it's a deal in which you're both using the other for certain things, so wouldn't that make the most sense?? That's how the logic works in his give-and-take, equivalent-exchange brain.
Azul gets really particularly when it comes to giving gifts and he always seems to want a valid reason for the exchange (like in Glomas where he buys souvenirs for his dorm so that they can remember this good deed and know that they are technically indebted to him even though to Deuce and Epel it appears as though he's just being a kind Housewarden). But also,,, he's so iffy when it comes to accepting gifts himself and always seems to think there's some underlying reason behind it. ^^;; perhaps he'd just feel more comfortable if you were openly using him and this deal to your benefit just as he's doing the same with you. It's probably why he even makes the terms so domestic because, beneath all of the pompous showmanship and businessman flair, he genuinely wants to provide for you and make your life better and be your beloved. <3 but because he's Azul he can't just tell you that. >_<
AAAAA FALLING ASLEEP IN HIS OFFICE!!!!! OTL waking up in his bed all bleary-eyed and sleepy....... grabbing at his arm and begging him to stay,,, the sleepy morning sex... maybe it's the one moment he allows just some of his defenses to fall because most of yours are nonexistent in this moment. Having sex just to have sex without any thoughts about your contract..... of course he's still going to remind you later and insist you use one of your wishes/favors since you technically indulged him with sex, but then you wanted it, too. He's so fussy!!!! Please just ask him for something—anything! He isn't going to beg, but sometimes you really do make him contemplate it when you're so determined to not make use of him and his connections.
You're one of Azul's greatest weaknesses and if you know this then you can easily exploit this because this tako adores you. He is so utterly whipped. Whatever you want, you can have it. Spoiling you is one of his many love languages. He loves giving you gifts, especially when he knows they'll make you happy. Like those silly fish slippers. They are so dumb, but they make his angelfish smile and that's enough reason to purchase them for you. I think once you're in a real relationship the fwb contract is dissolved, but a lot of what you did during those two months still occurs into your relationship. Like the smoldering tension and the chemistry. The silly banter and smart quips. The attraction. And of course lots of love (real and potion-induced mwahaha) and sex. He railed you once in mer form and you better believe he'll do it again now that he's slowly finding the confidence to do so with you.
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sleepyparalysisdmon ¡ 1 day ago
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SVT when you're distracted by him
Requested? Yes! (and they are still open!)
Genre: FLUFF. NOTHING BUT FLUFF.
Mercilessly makes fun of you - Jeonghan, Joshua, Wonwoo, Seungkwan
Is anyone surprised by this first one on this list? Probably not so we’ll get this out of the way lol. Jeonghan's very obviously the type to laugh at you when you trip over your own feet while looking at him. Of course, he’s helping you up, but not without a taunting, “I know I’m attractive, but come on.” Might even let you trip a few more times because he's equally entertained and touched by the effect he has on you.
Listen, I’m convinced Joshua is super cheesy, so when you trip over your own feet while looking at him, he’s helping you up with a “Falling for me already?” You scoff at him, but he thinks the way it flusters you is so cute. Another one that might let you trip a couple more times. 
Wonwoo pulls you out of the way as you almost run into a light pole while walking, looking kind of smug. “Distracted, huh?” Don’t bother objecting because he saw how focused you were on him. Don’t worry, the other two above might let you make a fool of yourself again, but Wonwoo will keep pulling you out of the way and keep you on your feet, even if you can tell he finds it entertaining.
Now for the exact opposite. Seungkwan will stop walking to fold in half, laughing hysterically. It might even make you a little mad how embarrassed you are and how funny he finds it, but between giggles he’s asking if you're okay and suggesting you look where you’re going. 
Totally oblivious/confused - Seungcheol, Woozi, Minghao, Vernon
Seungcheol’s got a new hair cut and you certainly complimented him already. When you trip over your own feet and blame him for it, he can’t help but be outraged, because what do you mean?? He didn't touch you!! When you say he looks too good and it's distracting, he does a little ‘oh’ and then gets a little smug. 
When you nearly run into something and dodge it, Jihoon asks if you're okay. You say something along the lines of, “I’d be better if they'd close the gyms.” Totally lost by what that means and hours later remembers that he was wearing a tighter shirt today. Huh, he’ll think. Maybe the workouts are paying off. 
You’ve dropped like five things this morning and Minghao’s starting to get kind of concerned. Are your hands okay?? He’ll ask. “Put some sleeves on or something, please,” you’ll beg. Does not understand right away because it’s hot out, what is he supposed to do?? But later he’ll feel a little smug about it, pulling out all of his sleeveless shirts. 
You bump into something and whine to Vernon. “Put those big brown eyes away, man!!” Blinks said big brown eyes at you in total confusion. “But I need to see where I’m going,” he’ll say blankly. Totally lost when you walk ahead of him, claiming you can't bump into or trip over anything anymore. Maybe, perhaps, likely will never get it. 
Equally distracted - Jun, Hoshi, DK, Mingyu, Chan
I promise this is not a cop-out. I genuinely believe all of them are also tripping over, running into, and dropping everything because they’re equally distracted by you. A clumsy couple!!! My favorite!!!!
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misofist ¡ 3 days ago
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I did a pretty interesting scene with my girlfriend @trannytheophage last night.
She is *very* susceptible to hypnosis, and she has a trigger that can be used to make her forget anything of your choosing. She's also kinky enough that (in the right setting) she can take almost anything she hates and sexualise the suffering until she enjoys it.
I had something in mind that I knew she'd hate. So in the afternoon while we were getting ready to go to a play party, I gave her a sneak peak. I showed her exactly what I was planning to do. As expected, she hated it, but I was wanting to make sure that she wouldn't hate it enough for it to be a consent issue. Then I made her forget, so it would still be a surprise.
Early on at the play party I ran the scene I'd been planning. Another friend at the party joined in, adding extra parts to the scene that made it way better than I'd originally planned. My girlfriend fell deep into subspace.
When she surfaced, she growled and hissed at me and promised that she'd get me back. And I told her that no she wouldn't, because she wouldn't remember. I also told her she should mind her manners or I might extend her torment.
When the scene ended, I used careful phrasing to edit her memories, so she could remember everything she'd done with the third person in the scene but not anything I'd done, not the part that she'd really hated.
Trouble arrived only a few seconds later. My girlfriend was puzzled at some lingering sensations she had which couldn't be explained by what she remembered. I gave a kinda half-hearted "oh that's strange" and she leapt at me, pinned me to the ground by my neck, and asked me "What did you do? What did you make me forget?"
My other girlfriend opportunistically tickled my feet, and as I squirmed desperately I could not barely catch enough breath to say a single word. Once I was afforded the ability to speak again, I gave in. "I'll tell you I'll tell you! I'll whisper it to you." So she leaned in to hear, and I used her trigger to make her forget that I'd made her forget something.
She blinked a bit and then went "Why do I have you pinned to the floor by your neck..." and after a moment of puzzlement it dawned on her why she was feeling confused. And she started right back in, "What did you do!?"
This second time, after I offered to whisper it to her again, I managed to wriggle out of her grip as I was pretending to reveal it to her. And so as she forgot what she was doing once again, this time she came back to without anything obvious to remind her. I had gotten away with it.
Later in the night, she asked me to take a photo of her ass (which had just been spanked). I took the photo and showed it to her. As I took my phone back, I mentioned how I had a lot of other great photos of her from the night. And she looked confused and said "what do you mean, we haven't done any photos... we haven't played together tonight?" And I ineffectually deflected with "oh yeah of course".
She dropped me to the floor and started kicking me quite viciously. The third person from earlier joined in on the fun, stomping on me with her boots. I playfully protested, and eventually pulled the "I'll whisper it to you" trick again.
The other person said "oh that's a shame, I was hoping she'd realise who else had the information she was looking for" so I turned around and sweetly said "Hey <girlfriend>, <other person> has information about something you've forgotten." and then let the violent interrogation scene play out between the two of them.
The third person ended up being made to spill their info, and as my girlfriend walked away triumphantly, I whispered the trigger in her ear again. She wondered aloud why she'd been topping the other person, and I told her that it's because they'd been wanting to be bullied. She does aftercare for them, and then we all split off to do our own things for the rest of the evening.
And now I have written this, so she can enjoy the knowledge of how I toyed with her mind, and still feel the frustration of being clueless about what happened in the original scene.
I'll tell her what happened from time to time. I'll show her the photos. But it's not a memory I'll allow her to keep. She will only be able to savour it in brief flashes, as and when it suits me.
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thephoenixandthecrocodile ¡ 9 hours ago
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A Light in Dark Places - Chapter Two: Adar Meets Sauron’s Other Ex
Alternate Title: We Really Need to Get Adar A Boyfriend
Summary: Adar wasn’t expecting his son, Glug, to bring him the fallen lord of Eregion. Now he must decide how best to use Celebrimbor to his advantage while ignoring the rush of long suppressed memories and forgotten emotions triggered by the Elf Lord’s own relationship with Sauron.
EDIT: Here's a link to chapter 1:
Tagging: @adventurepunks @angel-astre @eowyn7023 @plotdesigner @illegalcerebral
Adar forced himself to remain an unbending, unaffected fixture on the front line. His children needed to see him as they marched to their deaths and he needed to acknowledge the ones he sacrificed for Sauron’s downfall. He knew the name of every Uruk as they marched by, remembered their first steps, their first set of armor, their endless cries of pain as Morgoth and Mairon shaped them into unloved but not unloving creatures. No, despite the worst of Morgoth’s designs, love still existed in their shattered hearts, even if it was a love unrecognized by Elf, Dwarf, Man, or Valar. The world’s disdain for the familial love that bound every Uruk in this camp made it all the more precious. Maybe the most precious thing in all of Middle-Earth.
He was willing to sacrifice it all to end the last remaining architect of their fallen condition. Better to kill all his children by himself than see them enslaved to Sauron once more. Was that not true love?
He inhaled and forced his face to adopt his determined facade. His children trusted him to do what was best for them. He could not shatter their trust with even a hint of doubt. He had always been the battered but unbreakable defensive wall they could shelter behind as the world threw its worst at them. A being that did not doubt, that did not hesitate, that did not mourn what had to be sacrificed for his children’s safety and happiness.
“Lord Father?”
Adar glanced at Uzog, the cautious archer with a metal prosthetic hand like their father.
“Yes, my child?”
“Glug brought back a prisoner when he shouldn’t have. A golden haired elf.”
Lady Galadriel.
Galadriel had escaped only a day ago and, while he assumed she would remain near the battlefield, he had not expected her to be recaptured so easily. Then again, Glug was growing into a capable Uruk commander.
“The Elf is as bloody as a warg’s breakfast, Adar. He is as dark as the one you hunt.”
This did not sound like Galadriel, unless Sauron found her first, although Adar doubted he would let her go if that was true. Galadriel was many things, but she wasn’t stealthy enough to escape Sauron’s grasp unless he willed it. Nor could Sauron expect Galadriel to return to Adar considering the last time Sauron saw them together, Galadriel had threatened to kill all of his children in front of him.
“What game are you playing, Gorthaur,” Adar muttered to himself in Black Speech.
He commanded Uzog to take him to Glug and this strange prisoner. They rushed through marching ranks of proud and shouting Uruks. War was the one thing they knew how to do better than anyone. War was the one thing Adar swore they would never have to indulge in again, once they created their homeland. Was it not Morgoth’s and Sauron’s nature to twist and break all promises and was he not their child?
Uzog led Adar to the clearing in front of his own tent where several Uruks gathered together around Glug and his prisoner. Before he could properly identify the elf, they ran straight into him. Adar grabbed the Elf’s arms to prevent them from falling and he was bewildered to see that not only were they not Galadriel, but for a moment he thought he was looking into the face of Feanor himself.
Bloody, defiant, on the verge of losing his mind, but also warmer, older, handsomer, and wilder. Not the wilderness of a trapped and starving wolf. No, it was one of a trained falcon. Domesticated and loyal until someone awoke its deepest instincts and then it became overwhelmed by its desire to fly, hunt, and kill.
There was a familiar darkness to this Elf. One that passed by unnoticed until it was already worming its way into his mind and soul. A darkness and eternal fire that led to the Oath of Feanor and to the rise of Morgoth and Sauron. But it was not of the Elf, this bloody and battered Elf who even now seemed on the verge of running away. It was around the Elf, a part of the Elf, but not an integral part, not a natural part given by the Valar. A part that had consumed Adar and his children whole except for the faint, struggling spark that kept them united. He knew this was the work of Sauron, but he could not call this Elf a servant of Sauron nor a servant of the Valar. More like Galadriel, a being caught between the two. An almost kindred spirit if Adar dared to call an Elf this beautiful kin.
The Elf was filthy and bloody, hardly something he expected from a citizen of Eregion, which he was judging from the holly designs on his robes. Tear streaks cut through the dirt on his round cheeks and his wrinkles, not common for Elves, betrayed a life of unrecoverable sorrow and pain. His curly golden hair did not shine like Galadriel’s nor was it combed in any manner expected from an Elf, even one in combat, but Adar liked this Elf’s stronger tones of gold and undertones of brown better. Adar met the startled Elf’s gaze and caught the light of the two trees in his hazel eyes. Galadriel was the only other Elf familiar to Adar who carried their light and Adar found this Elf’s eyes as enchanting as hers.
“Who is he and why did you bring him here?” Adar asked Glug in Black Speech.
Logic caught up with memory and he knew this couldn’t be Feanor, so who was he? All of Feanor’s sons were dead or missing. Although didn’t one have a son? It wasn’t easy nor desirable to purposely recall memories from the First Age. Yes, there was a son. So similar and yet so different from the father and the grandfather.
“This elf has something of Sauron’s,” Glug explained. “I felt a dark presence.”
At this, the Elf broke down sobbing, catching Adar off guard, a strange feeling of discomfort creeping up his spine. Even the other Uruks shifted uncomfortably and some half glanced away. How long had it been since any of them had shed a tear? Even Uruk babies stopped crying after their first year.
“Strange is the servant of Sauron who remembers how to cry,” Adar gently reproached the Elf.
It was as if he had slapped the Elf back to his senses. He stepped from Adar’s grasp and stubbornly wiped his tears away, spreading blood across his cheeks in the process and Adar noticed a missing thumb. The Elf stood tall, like Feanor himself stood when insulted and he snapped back, “I may have been a willing fool for the Great Deceiver once, but no more! Unlike you, I have escaped from his grasp.”
“Not very far, if we willingly served Sauron,” Adar replied and the Elf’s face twitched in confusion. “I assure you, you won’t find a single friend of Sauron’s in our company for we are his greatest foes.”
“Then why serve his purposes by attacking Eregion?”
The Uruks grumbled and shifted threateningly, but Adar gestured for restraint.
“We serve no one’s purpose, but our own,” Adar growled, noticing Glug’s shifting expression.
His son never believed in the assault on Eregion and Adar knew others agreed with him.
“We attack Eregion because they warmly welcomed Sauron into their city and set him up as a king. The people of Eregion are nothing more than his slaves who willingly protect him from my children.”
The Feanorian fire flashed in the Elf’s eyes and he puffed his chest as he stood eye to eye with Adar, pointing at the Uruk Lord.
“You are as great a deceiver as your former master. You murder the innocent and call them guilty to justify your actions. The people of Eregion did not welcome nor do they serve the Dark Lord. They were betrayed, betrayed by their lord who should have known better.”
The Elf’s anger grew, but his stature diminished.
“By their lord who knew better, but wanted what he wanted, even if it was something he never deserved,” the Elf continued, his own bitterness and hatred sharp enough to wound Sauron himself. “And so he accepted a poisoned gift and loved a being incapable of anything but malice and deceit and in doing so, condemned his people.”
The Elf defiantly and desperately met Adar’s gaze and said, “The fault is mine for I am Celebrimbor, the former lord of Eregion, fallen consort of the Great Deceiver, and the only servant who must pay for the Dark Lord’s crimes.”
Adar’s face softened and he was once more chained to a mountain cliff, abandoned and forgotten, the pouring rain chilling his very bone marrow, and he called into the wind and rain for death. Instead, a golden light that burnt his very skin appeared and took the face of a fiery haired Elf with cheekbones as sharp as Caradhras and flaming eyes that promised to consume one’s fea in the utmost pleasurable ways. Promises of children, of power, and of wine were exchanged and Adar drank them all, deeply, fervently, deliriously.
He instinctively rested a hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder, and softly said in Quenya, “He is terrible in his beauty, isn’t he?”
“The most terrible and the most beautiful,” Celebrimbor replied in Quenya, his harsh features softening as well.
“Lord Father,” Glug urgently interrupted and Adar remembered his place.
He stepped back and ordered a pair of Uruks to take Celebrimbor to the tent they prepared for Galadriel and ensure he couldn’t escape. The fallen Elf argued and resisted, but it was obvious he was exhausted from his escape and Adar’s children were bred for kidnapping and war.
This would be the second Feanor to escape Sauron’s grasp. The Dark Lord’s wrath would be swift and severe.
“Lord Father, should we not call back the assault?” Glug said.
“Sauron is still in the city.”
“Yes, but we do not have the Elven rings and if the strange Elf contains something Sauron wants–”
“Continues the assault as planned,” Adar snapped, Glug flinching at his tone. “I must question the Elf further.”
“But the Elf said Sauron wants–”
“Continue the assault, Glug,” Adar commanded and marched to his tent, despite feeling unprepared to face Sauron’s latest victim.
Adar entered his tent and ordered his guards to leave him alone with Celebrimbor. They hesitated, but knew not to question him in his current mood. The golden haired Elf was chained to the same chair Galadriel used only a day ago, the dinner table void of any food.
“Please, you must call off the assault,” Celebrimbor begged. “You cannot defeat the Great Deceiver through strength alone. Surely, you know this.”
“I know Sauron has many needs, the first of which is allies,” said Adar. “Was that why he came to you? To spread his influence?”
“What does it matter if you can’t defeat him?”
“Sauron is weakest when he’s isolated. We’ve neutralized whatever following he gained in Eregion,” said Adar and Celebrimbor’s face flinched with rage and sorrow. “But he’s like a rat. He always looks for a new place and people he can infest.”
Celebrimbor hesitated before admitting, “He briefly treated with the dwarves in Khazad-dum through me, but I doubt he will flee there.”
The Elf squeezed the pouch clenched in his right hand and Adar demanded, “Give it to me.”
Celebrimbor struggled against his bonds, almost tipping over his chair in the process. Adar caught him by the chin and said, “I’d rather avoid further damage to your handsome features.”
Celebrimbor stiffened at his touch, a mix of terror and surprise crossed his dirt and blood smeared face. The blood dashed across his cheek bones was reminiscent of war paint favored by some of his children. His skin was hot to the touch, as if the fires of Eregion’s furnace formed his core. Even with the dirt and the blood and the sweat and tears, he was beautiful. The light of Valinor still within him, like all Elves who crossed the sea.
Adar’s hand traveled up his cheek, caressing the weathered skin, a thumb tracing the wrinkles that branched from the corner of his eyeas. Celebrimbor inhaled sharply and pulled his head away and Adar dropped his hand at the same rate his face fell. Marion used to comfort him the same way after the worst of Morgoth’s punishments. Of course he would use the same trick for his latest toy.
Adar turned away sharply and took two steps towards the barren table, his hand finding his hilt and squeezing it to soothe his fluttering nerves. Not even Galadriel with her own special relationship with Sauron and her own embodiment of Valinor brought back so many memories and long lost emotions.
“Does it surprise you that a Uruk would mimic his former master’s acts of false affection?” He demanded, although he wasn’t sure the true target of his sudden rage and embarrassment.
“He spoke to me,” Celebrimbor softly began, wrestling with each word as if Adar was dragging each syllable out from him. “He spoke of Morgoth and their…their “game” is what he called it.”
Adar barked a laugh and glanced at Celebrimbor with dark amusement.
“I’m sure he spared no details, reveling in his ability to withstand the worst of Morgoth’s tortures and humiliations.”
“For a moment, I…I pitied him.”
Adar whirled around and Celebrimbor shot him a desperate and despairing half grimace.
“Pitied Sauron?”
“For a moment he was just another victim of Morgoth’s, no different from my own uncle, Maedhros. Often I would look into my uncle’s eyes and see nothing but hollowness. He had the same look, only for a flicker of a second, and then it was gone, replaced by the same ravenous hunger that drove Morgoth’s darkness. All the pity in the world cannot call him back.”
“Would you?” Adar asked softly in Quenya.
“Wouldn’t you?” Celebrimbor replied.
Adar had not known fear like this since he held Morgoth’s crown in his hand, about to kill Sauron with it. He recognized Sauron’s hold on Galadriel and used it to his advantage, but that had been different from this. Galadriel was still fighting the depth of Sauron’s hold over her. Still stubbornly believing she had a choice when around him, but Celebrimbor…Sauron shattered him from the inside out. Whatever Sauron needed Galadriel for, he needed her still whole but cracking, but Celebrimbor had to be broken and mended and broken and mended over and over and over again. As if Sauron wanted no one to benefit from his abilities after he was done with the Elf. Maybe Sauron even meant to keep him, a pet to honor the start of his new reign as dark lord of Middle-Earth.
“What did he offer you?” Adar asked, still speaking in Quenya.
Another painful half grimace and Celebrimbor said, “The opportunity to create a legacy that would overshadow my grandfather’s.”
“You do not need him for that.”
Celebrimbor’s face twitched and it took several seconds before he seemingly regained control over his voice, “What did he offer you?”
“Children,” said Adar with a half smile of his own.
Celebrimbor glanced towards the entrance of the tent.
“Then for the sake of your children, you must let me go. He will come for me and will slay any who stand in his way.”
Yes, the pouch. The very thing that brought Sauron’s dark presence into his tent. Something solid to focus on instead of whatever had passed between him and Celebrimbor during the last few minutes.
“What is in the pouch?”
Celebrimbor hung his head in shame, once more wrestling for words, but Adar didn’t have time or patience or ability to wait. Better to act out on his sudden confusion and anxiety, even though he often scolded his children for such behavior.
He wrestled the pouch from Celebrimbor’s clenched fist and Sauron’s flaming, burning, gorgeous form surrounded him, his soft, coaxing voice promising power renewed, the entirety of Middle-Earth for his beloved children, and Mairon’s love regained. Flames licked at his scarred and beaten skin once more and Adar closed his eyes to hold back his tears. How he missed this incredible, painful glory and love.
Pain. Something heavy landed on his chest. Was he on the ground? Adar blinked and stiffened as he realized his own lips were mere inches away from Celebrimbor’s, who seemed as startled as he was. The Elf must have tried to take the pouch back. His hand with the missing thumb had slipped out of his chains and Adar mentally scolded him for not noticing that. However, it must have been too painful for Celebrimbor to use or rest on for it laid sprawled out above Adar’s head. The Elf’s other hand was still chained to the chair, which was lying across Celebrimbor’s legs. Yes, it must have tripped him and now he pinned Adar down with nothing more than the weight of his own body, the Elf’s chest pressed against his own armored chest.
The Elf’s weight was strangely soothing. The same kind of soothing he felt when Galadriel held him while pointing a knife to his throat. How long had it been since he felt another’s touch? Surely before Morgoth’s fall. How long had he hungered for something that could never be found until this very moment revealed it was nothing more than knowing someone else truly existed in a physical form he could touch and feel. That the world was more than a non-existent grey, full of sacrifice and loss and even his children were nothing but specters in a dying world.
How expressive Celebrimbor was. Something he had not expected from Feanor’s heirs. His round and handsome face revealed the clashing thoughts that raced through his mind: confusion, uncertainty, embarrassment, fear, planning a new escape attempt. How Adar wanted to run his thumb across Celebrimor’s chapped and split lips before pulling him into a kiss to quiet his mind.
“Adar!” “Lord Father!”
Celebrimbor yelped as Glug grabbed his curls and ripped the Elf off of Adar. Uzog scrunched their nose nervously as they offered their own hand to their father.
“Glug!” Adar snapped, rising by himself in an attempt to overcome his own shame and embarrassment. “Do not harm him.”
Glug, his knife already drawing a trickle of blood from Celebrimbor’s throat,opened his mouth to argue, “But Adar–”
“Fetch me chains, Glug,” Adar commanded.
A half sneer half pout crossed Glug’s young face, the knife defiantly drawing one last drop of blood before he rose and stomped out of the tent. Uzog ran their hand across their twitching nose, another nervous tic that meant they had thoughts they would not dare share, and followed Glug. Adar grabbed Celebrimbor by the front of his robes and arranged him back into his chair as if he weighed no more than a hollow, wooden puppet. Blood pooled along the back of Celebrimbor’s robe and matted the curls in the back of his head. How was he still resisting, let alone standing and talking?
Adar pinned his hands on Celebrimbor’s shoulders to ensure he would stay still, the Elf hissing and wincing in the process.
“Stop fighting,” Adar commanded, embarrassing himself by using his exasperated father's voice instead of the Lord of the Uruk’s voice. “You are injured far more than you wish to admit. You cannot undo your crimes by leaping into Death’s arms.”
If it had been that easy, Adar would have done it long ago.
Blood rolled down the side of Celebrimbor’s face and Adar gently swept back his curls to identify the deep gash that ran across the Elf’s forehead. Celebrimbor stiffened as expected, but only half pulled away, as if catching himself in the middle of the act and forcing himself to remain still. A part of Adar wanted to run his matted, but still soft, still perfumed and pampered curls through his fingers. How happy his children would be when they could care for their own bodies with the same love and attention as that of the Elves.
Glug and Uzog returned with heavy black chains and Adar pulled away from the Elf. Celebrimbor winced every time a length of chain wrapped around his chest and pinned him to the chair, but he had left Adar with no other option.
“Not so tight, Glug,” Adar said in Black Speech and his son spitefully tightened the chains wrap around the Elf, causing Celebrimbor to moan and wheeze. “He is our guest, Glug.”
Uzog wiped their nose once more and Adar internally sighed. Children.
As Glug circled him one final time, Celebrimbor gestured to grab him and he said, “That’s Elrond’s brooch.”
Glug sheepishly turned to look at Adar and, yes, the Elf was right. Glug was wearing the very pin Elrond gave to Galadriel to make her escape. When Adar asked him why in Black Speech, Glug looked down and muttered, “It’s shiny.”
“Was it taken or was it given?” asked Celebrimbor, desperately wiggling to escape his bonds despite the obvious agony it caused him. “Show me his body, if taken.”
“Leave us!” Adar snapped at his children before they could confirm one way or another.
Glug tied off the chain and left with a huff as Uzog shot Adar one last concern glanced before following their brother. Strange that life had been easier when they were simply looking for a homeland. Now that Sauron had dragged they back into the conflicts and contradicts of Middle-Earth everything was on the verge of falling apart.
“How did he get that brooch?” Celebrimbor pressed.
“It was a gift.”
“From Elrond?” asked Celebrimbor, tears forming in his eyes.
Adar nodded and Celebrimbor swallowed.
“I saw,” he sputtered, his voice hitching as he struggled to control what could not be controlled in his condition. “Elves wearing Lindon’s armor. I thought they were rescuing the city, but why would they?”
Again, that painful half grimace crossed his chapped lips and bitter resignation darkened his face, as if some brutal understanding had finally been accepted.
“They, too, think my people willingly betrayed them. That I dedicated myself to the Great Deceiver and his desire to dominate all life on Middle-Earth. How can they think otherwise? After I ignored Lady Galadriel’s warning, after I lied to the High King, after–”
He choked back another sob and hung his head. Adar slowly bent before the broken Elf and gently raised his chin.
“What did Sauron ask of you?”
Celebrimbor inhaled a few times to calm his nerves and regain control over his voice.
“Rings,” he half cried, half laughed. “Rings like the Elven three. Rings for Dwarves…Rings for Men…”
Celebrimbor trailed off and his gaze traveled over Adar’s shoulder. He glanced behind him and saw the pouch lying underneath the barren table.
“For Men?” Adar asked, unable to hide the incredulousness from his voice. “Men would never be able to withstand their power.”
“No,” Celebrimbor said pitifully. “That is why they must never return to Sauron. That is why you must release me and let me escape while I still can.”
“You will not make it far, not with your wounds and even if you did, you won’t be able to avoid Sauron forever.”
Celebrimbor’s jaw tensed in Adar’s grasp and then a spark burst in his eyes.
“You take the nine to Elrond.”
“What?”
“You take the nine to Elrond who will ensure they reach our High King. He will know how to use them to destroy Sauron’s plans. Release me and I will return to Eregion to buy you and Elrond time.”
“To return to Eregion would be mean endless torture and death.”
“It is my city and I failed her in life. Maybe I can redeem myself in her eyes in death.”
Adar withdrew from the Elf, half tempted to believe this was the talk of blood loss and pain and, yet, he also sensed opportunity in Celebrimbor’s words. He crossed the tent and using his prosthetic hand, he retrieved the pouch, Sauron’s influence flaring across his metal fingers. He hesitated for a moment before turning to Celebrimbor and unbuttoned the top three clasps of his robes. Celebrimbor sputtered objection after objection, twisting and turning the best he could, until Adar slipped the pouch into the secret inner pocket all Feanorians sewed into their outfits. That paranoid family made it a habit of having multiple hidden pockets and compartments in all of their clothes and furniture and traveling tools. Thieves and murderers knew better than to trust other thieves and murderers.
Celebrimbor shot him a look that was a mixture of outrage, confusion, and something Adar refused to name for his own sake.
“I will send a healer to you,” said Adar. “Do not attempt to resist or escape while under her care, otherwise she’ll make you wish you were back in Sauron’s hands.”
“You can’t keep me here!” Celebrimbor called to his retreating back.
Adar left the tent and saw Glug, arms folded across his chest, and Uzog, wiping his nose vigorously, waiting for him.
“Uzog,” Adar cut in before either child could speak. “Send for Shazzash. Tell her she is to care for the Elf as one of our own.”
“One of our own, all father?” Uzog could not help himself but ask.
Adar sighed as he heard his own phrasing echoed back. He needed peace and quiet and a chance to think.
“I need him alive, Uzog, alive and in the same or better condition than when he was brought in, understand?”
“No, Adar, but I will tell her,” said Uzog, sharing a glance with Glug before scurrying off.
Adar didn’t need Glug to speak to feel his anger and confusion.
“I ask you to trust me a little longer, Glug,” Adar said, holding up a hand to silence Glug’s diatribe. “I need time to think and plan.”
“Adar, let me help.”
“Help me by keeping up the assault and ensuring I’m not disturbed,” Adar said as gently as he could, but it didn’t soften the blow at all.
Glug’s face was heavy with sorrow and pity and Adar knew his fearless, faultless persona was cracking.
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eupheme ¡ 2 hours ago
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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
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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 🫂
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sakashq ¡ 2 days ago
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the beach / kai havertz x reader.
🌀 summary: you’re having a bad night but your boyfriend just knows how to make everything better.
🌀 yap!: double post! reader isnt implied as anything so imagine her as you wish! based on the song by giveon my favee. dedicated to my lover @ar4ujos because she is the ceo of kaisenal<3. also to the girliess @szalovebot , @halfwayhearted , &&. @planetpedri. i love you 💙
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“Come on… pick up,” you sighed as the phone rang. You were calling your boyfriend, needing a support system after an altercation with your annoying coworker. Kai was always the person you went to no matter what. In your defense, he made it clear that he would always support you and listen whenever you needed to talk. He was a good guy, and your year long relationship proved so.
“Hello?” His voice sounded from the other line.
“Hey, do you have time?” You asked him, making sure he wasn’t busy first.
“Of course I have time for you, baby. What’s up?” His response got a smile out of you, already making what just happened seem like a distant memory.
You explained to him about how your coworker wasn’t doing the right job, inevitably ruining what you had already done. He had the nerve to argue with you about it, even though he was wrong. “I’m just kind if stressed out right now because I only have thirty minutes to fix it.”
“Hm,” Kai replied. He said that whenever he was thinking, so you knew he was coming up with a response. “Okay, hear me out. Make him do it and complain to your boss about him. This isn’t the first time he’s fucked things up. Just don’t let it ruin your day.”
You replied with a hint of playfulness in your tone, “I fear it already has.”
“Okay, I’ll make it better. What are you doing after work?”
“Going home. Why?”
Kai responded, “Just curious. I’ve gotta go, I have training. But I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Okay, bye, I love you.”
“I love you.”
You got home at around 5:30, showering immediately and getting ready to relax. As 6 p.m. hit, you got a text from your boyfriend.
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As promised, Kai arrived at 7:28 on the dot. You didn’t know how he did it, but it was funny nonetheless. He came to your doorstep to greet you, you opening the door to a bouquet of roses.
“You look beautiful, baby,” Kai smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist and locking you in a warm embrace, still being careful not to crush the flowers. You melted into his touch, throwing your arms around him.
“Thank you, handsome,” you smiled back, holding him out with your arms and taking his outfit in. “This gave me absolutely no hint as to where we’re going, but I love it.”
“You might wanna change your shoes,” he completely disregarded what you said, grabbing your hand and bringing you inside. You thought your heels complimented your pink ruffled ‘jellyfish’ dress, but maybe not then.
“Still no hint?” You asked one more time, hoping that he’d give up a tiny detail.
“Unfortunately no. You should wear your sandals, though. That’s your hint,” he shrugged, finding a vase to put the bouquet in.
After a thirty minute drive, you finally arrived to your destination—the beach. Of course it was night time, but you had always told him that no matter the time of day, the beach would always make you happy. He clearly remembered this conversation, bringing it up as he pulled into a parking spot.
“Flowers, the beach, what’s next?” You inquired with a smile, being unable to hide your excitement for the night.
“Just wait and see.”
He walked you to a specific spot hand in hand, leading you to a picnic blanket set with food, wine, and a candle on it. It was surrounded by rose petals and accompanied with a small speaker softly playing romantic music. “I had this guy bring the food out here like ten minutes ago so I’m hoping it’s not cold.”
“Kai…” you trailed off, feeling overwhelmed with adoration. “This is so sweet, I love you.” You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly.
He smiled and hugged you back, his arms making a way to your waist. “I love you. Okay, let’s sit.” He sat on the blanket, bringing you down with him.
The candle continued to burn and the music still sounded in the background under your voices and satisfied comments on the meal.
“Did I tell you you look beautiful?” Kai looked over at you with a bright smile. He was clearly proud of what he had done and even prouder that it hadn’t failed to brighten your day.
“Yes, you did,” you chuckled. “How did you plan all of this in two hours? I thought you had training.”
“A little white lie never hurt anybody,” Kai replied with a sly smirk. You smiled in response, not at all surprised by his sneaky antics.
You looked over at the water, sighing with endearment. You stared off into the ocean, the smell and feeling of it all trapping you. Kai pulled you out, scooting closer to you and wrapping his arm around you.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” He said softly, his words barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” you responded, your voice reaching his volume.
He looked at you, not catching your eye until he said, “It’s got nothing on you, though.”
“Is that so?”
“If I had to choose between you or the ocean, I’d pick you,” he gave you a kiss on the too of your head. He added, “Never really liked sand anyway.”
You giggled, then lay your head on his shoulder. “Thank you for tonight, Kai. Really, I don’t even know how you did it.”
“I told you earlier I was going to make your day better.”
“That you did.”
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tacagen ¡ 4 months ago
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one of the things that fascinate me about thawne: yes, he CAN be normal with kids! surprisingly normal!
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((not at all times, though. his mental illness still spills through and as usual he, in trying to manipulate or hurt others, spits out at them the exact stuff that would hurt him (or have in his childhood/barry's rejection interpretation) the most in the first place lmao))
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but at the same time. his like second instinct when doing his bullshit is FUCK THEM (as) KIDS
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(and, well. whatever this classifies as)
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#whats wrong with him. seriously. he loves picking fights with literal children So Much#AND NONE OF THEM WITH WALLY ON THE MATTER OF BEING THE BIGGEST FLASH FAN. HOW DID THAT NEVER HAPPEN#about the middle page. honestly i DIDNT remember he is a Jerk in that way too until i checked his interactions with bart for this post#this man officially should not be allowed near children as a mentor.#just straight up drops ALL his insecurities on a poor kid in trying to make him feel ashamed. NO breaking the abuse cycle for this bad boy#the only thing he doesnt say is the direct 'you are a disappointment' altho the message is still the same 💀💀💀💀💀💀#AND I BET HES HELLA PROUD OF THAT. I MEAN CONSIDERING THIS FACT IG HE DOES TRY TO BE BETTER THAN HIS PARENTS. SOMEWHAT.#and omg he formulates his point like in problem based learning (leading the child to making the correct conclusion themselves)#im dying. professor to the fucking core.#and the way he feels the need to bring up flash facts in his appeal?? EO YOURE SO HOPELESS. THIS IS 100% HOW BART SAW HIM THROUGH#and god knows what he told thad promising to get him out of the speed force if he fought barry there and whether he was going to fulfill it#and do you even IMAGINE how FUCKED barry's mental condition would be growing up if thawne fulfilled his button threat#and i really REALLY wonder about the tornado twins and their relationship with 'uncle eobard' but that will be a separate post#he doesnt know any other way tho. and he might be actually mad at bart for not supporting his every action as The Flash#like. he tries to play family but the second they question he just goes WHATEVER. I DONT NEED IT. FLASH OF MY VISION RUNS ALONE#his problem is that he just wants attention. he doesnt see family/heroing for what 'its really about' or downsides that may come with them#everything is so idealized in his head. and the moment he faces reality with its complications the concept immediately gets antagonized.#and then he reconsiders and changes the conditions but fails each time never realizing the problem is his mindset and not everything else#black white at its finest yall#and man. RELATABLE.#also WHY is he standing LIKE A STATUE when appearing in front of bart????😭😭😭😭#poor museum rat has no idea what heroes in real life stand like#eobard thawne#professor zoom#reverse flash#the reverse flash#bart allen#the flash#dc
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luck-of-the-drawings ¡ 7 months ago
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[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]
saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#jrwi riptide#gillion tidestrider#GONNA START FORMATTING MY COMICS BETTER. W THE PROPER 'PREV' 'NEXT' LINKS#REALLY DIDNT EXPECT TO CONTINUE THIS SERIES BUT AAAUUUHH MY BRRAAAIN MY BRAIN IS SO IDEASSS. I HAVE 3 OTHER PAGES SKETCHED OUT#NO PROMISES ILL FINISH EM ANY TIME SOON OR EVER. MY WHIMS ARE THEIR OWN BEAST AND I ONLY DRAW ON MY WHIMS#THAT BEING SAID IF U COMMISSIONED ME ILL GEEETT TO YOUUU IM SORRYYYY. ART IS AN EMOTIONAL RELEASE FOR ME N BABY I HAVE EMOTIONS.#ESPECIALLY ABOUT GILLION TIDESTRIDER CHAMPION OF THE UNDERSEA HERO OF THE DEEP.for the desc here i put smth that i typed up in the tags of#another thing i made. i gotta make a proper Baby Gillion tag or smth. eventually.. eventually...I LOVE DRAWIN THIS LIL BABY GUY..#i also LOVE depicting the teachers as just being so fuckin mean. ofc theres variation in that. just like in all things.like the teacher her#idk if itll be mentioned but the octo lady is named Ms Octburn.an octopus pun based off the name of an actual councilor i had#when i was in elementary school i got bullied alot but teachers never did anything. i hated adults and didnt trust them.#but this councilor o mine was so genuinely sweet. i remember spending alot of time w her. she doesnt work there anymore.#but that one school adult that actually earns ur trust and is there for you when they can be.its SO important for a child i think#i hope she knows how much she helped me.youll see in the next page that ms octburn isnt perfect either.but she tries. they all try.somehow.#ALL these comics are gonna be inspired by somesorta experience o mine in the school system. school is so fucked up u ever thing abt that#AND GILLIOOOOONNN IN THE MOST FUCKED UP LITTLE SCHOOL OF ALL. MAINTAINED BY A CULT. CENTERED AROUND HIM. OUR CHOSEN ONE#I IMAGINE ALOT BANKS ON HIS SUCCESS. THIS IS THE WORLD. THE WHOLE WORLD. THE PROPHECY IS GOING TO COME TRUE N UR TELLIN ME#THAT ITS THIS LITTLE IDIOT THATS GONNA BE SAVING US? WHAT IF HE FAILS. IF HE CANT GET THIS RIGHT THEN HE WILL FAIL AND WE WILL DIE#WE NEED TO TRAIN HIM. WE NEED HIM TO LEARN. AND TO SUCCEED. OR ELSE WE'RE DEAD. WE'RE ALL FUCKING DEAD. I IMAGINE THAT MUST BE STRESSFUL#in other news i hope ppl actually giggle when they read these. they ARE intended to be comical. dark humor or whatever. like its also sad#this is intended to be a sad comic series. but a funny one too. does that make sense? god i hope so.saw some1 say they had flashbacks-#-reading this. like YES!! THE INTENDED EFFECT!! YOU GET ME!! i love seeing ppl get upset on this lil baby boys behalf. i LOVE seeing ppl-#-wail n weep n cry in the comments. i LOOOVE seeing ppl RELATE to baby gillion. and i love letting u all know that this wont be a happycomi#gillion gets his happiness arc in the actual show. this series is one of unfortunate events. teehehehe. do u guys remember that show#i keep listening to the lil songs from A Series of Unfortunate Events for inspiration. GOOD STUFF!!#anyway uuhh uhh thats all i got in my brain. for now. feed me ur comments give me ur input i NNEEEEEDD THHEEEMMMM
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holocene-sims ¡ 9 months ago
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next // previous
august 25, 2021 10:00 p.m. good luck arcade
✨🎵 wannabe! 🎵✨
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icewindandboringhorror ¡ 1 month ago
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I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently
#facebook always does that 'here's a post from this day 8 years ago' thing. and I see old comments interacting#with people and it's so like.. OOOOO~~ where are they now?? what's going on? how much have they changed as people?#how much are they the same? this is fascinating. i should contact them!!' but then it's like... take that to it's logical conclusion though#you would contact them and then IF they even responded it would take you 80 years to respond and then they would#think there was something wrong or that you were trying to be insulting or something. To contact anyone I need to include an 85 page#disclaimer of all of my social issues & mental illness things. 'If i take 3 weeks to reply I promise it has nothing to do with u' etc lol#THIS is why more people need to be into phone calls/voice calls/some form of audio real time communication/etc.#I think one of the main things that's hard about messaging through text for me is it's so unscheduled and open ended#(plus it takes forever if you're talking about anything in detail and gets very long very quickly)#because like you can send a message and then just get a reply whenever. and then you're expected to reply back whenever#so it's like you never know when the response will come or when a new obligation to reply can come up? so it's like this sudden thing with#no outline?? if that makes sense. whereas a phone call is very like 'hello let's schedule a call from 10am - 2pm on thursday'. And you know#EXACTLY when the interaction will start and EXACTLY when it will end and you can plan around it in your schedule easily.#I have the reverse thing of a lot of people (how people don't pick up phone calls/hate calls/only text)#I would literally talk on the phone with a stranger. I would have a discord voice chat with someone I barely know.#if someone I hardly even remember from elementary school asked to have a voice call with me out of nowhere I would do it.#but if a stranger MESSAGED me?? or someone I barely know sent me a TEXT or something?? I will never reply probably#It's just too vague and weird. and you can't read voice tone over text. and the interaction could last forever with no clear end#point and etc. etc. But a call is like. set. established. clear boundaries. you can read the flow of conversation better. rapport. etc. etc#I get that I guess people feel more anonymous or distanced over text?? but you can have fake phone numbers on the computer. or do like disc#rd calls. or zoom without a camera or etc. etc. Also the distance that's present in text is BAD distance because it just means that tone is#not conveyed properly and you will never truly get a sense of the person's conversational vibe or mannerisms or how well you really click.#ANYWAY ghgjh...... I'm so so so interested in concepts of like.. How did that one kid I used to talk to in elementary school#but then they moved away in 5th grade - how did they end up? what are they doing now?? etc. etc. Like despite the severe social anhedonia#and general lack of connection with others I'm just really fascinated in like.. idk. the human development of it all and like#the concept of how we're actually a million different people through the course of our lives ever evolving in different iterations and etc.#PLUS again. i love nostalgia. sometimes old peple you know might remember a shared memory or can tell you about something you forgot#or etc. like it's SUCH A COOL THING in CONCEPT but I am too socially inept generally speaking lol. which people I still talk to today are#familiar with my 'phone call once every few months' communication style. but strangers would just be like... wtf. And I don't blame them#Sure I literally cannot change the physical health + brain issues i have - but also I know enough to not put others through that lol
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rabbithaver ¡ 21 days ago
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every so often i will see a post from a leftist on this website that is so egregiously ableist that i remember that like. oh yeah the userbase of leftists on this website is violently anti-disabled people and will jump at any chance to demonize any of us for any reason. i just forget that fact because i'm extremely dedicated to curating my space
i'm paraphrasing here but i saw a post that said, "every time i see an American [disabled person] mention being scared about the election because they're afraid of losing their benefits i have to laugh. anybody who wants blood-soaked money from the US government deserves to starve" which. like. goodness that's a lot to unpack. i think we should burn the whole suitcase instead !
#i inserted [disabled person] because they used a fucking slur instead and i didn't want that in my post#like i feel like there should be room for disabled people like me whose lives literally entirely depend on accessing said >#> extremely limited benefits in conversations about whether voting in this election makes you complicit in genocide#which like! i do understand. i do. it's nauseating to think about what this shit ass country is doing. it's horrific. i do not blame anyone#> for not wanting to be a part of that. *and* i am also terrified for my own life because i remember the first time trump won it suddenly >#> became IMPOSSIBLE for ANYONE to get on benefits. EVER. and so many disabled ppl i know went to renew benefits theyd had for decades >#> just to be denied. one of whom was a below-the-neck paraplegic. he died because he lost those benefits!!! because trump won#i really do understand why people dont feel right voting for harris. or why they don't vote at all. i truly do. but holy shit i am so scare#and yes! i am aware that people in palestine and gaza are suffering so much worse. and i wish i could change that#but every single person in power in the US is pro-israel and eagerly drinking the anti-palestine kool-aid. no matter who wins >#> things will not change in that part of the world. and it is infuriating. when the revolution comes this will change. but it hasnt.#the revolution will not save me as a physically disabled person. it will not save any of us. we do not matter to leftists. i am sorry but >#> this is the one thing i have learned after being in leftist spaces for over 10 years. and posts like the one i mentioned prove it#so i am very sorry. i really am. for being physically disabled. but i cannot survive another 4 years relying on my parents for everything#if trump wins i will be killing myself. this is a promise. i cannot do that again#i know it makes me a bad person to be afraid that harris will lose. but people on the left already think i'm a bad person for being disable#i want the genocide to stop. i absolutely do. i also want to survive. i am terrified that the US leftists will sacrifice disabled people#like me so they can feel good about being put in a real life trolley situation#again. im sorry. im so fucking sorry. i wish i was a better person. i wish i was able to give more. i know that if i was just a good#person i would be able to have a job and give to every palestinian gofundme on my dash. i would be able to do more than my daily clicks >#> and reaching out and calling representatives that don't care. if i was a good person i would be able to convince my parents that z*onism>#is deeply fucking racist. and that israel is wildly racist and killing palestinians for fun. if i was a good person i would be able to make#>them leftists too. im sorry. im sorry. im sorry im not good enough. im sorry that im scared. im so scared and it's not right for me to be#when so much worse is going on because of this countrys bloodlust. im sorry that im benefiting from being born here i dont want to be#im sorry for not having any other options. if i was a good person i know i would have them. im sorry. god im sorry im so fucking sorry
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starlooove ¡ 9 months ago
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Also about the Duke holding himself to higher standards thing something about the black boy being unable to afford slacking off in a way is peers are allowed to/are comfortable with? At least to himself? Cmon….
#that’s a lot of hc territory but do u hear me#also btw I don’t think the others slack like that#but I also don’t think what Duke says is without merit#but also I acknowledge it’s like writers not giving a fuck about unamed background characters impacted by the bats#BUT THIS#REMEMBER I said idgaf about the assassins tim called and it’s not REAL if literally nobody felt the impact#like if tim ‘we don’t get to make that choice’ drake didn’t feel a thing about removing the choice for betterment from hundreds#is it real or did they write that in just to make him look cool#anyways all this to say IF DUKE FOUND OUT HED BE PISSED#listen ik it’s sounding judgmental without being there#that’s the point#it’s a flaw to an extent#a character trait that’s not all bright and bubbly unless it’s fun to say#anywayyys then ID care or believe tim did that#but yeah i got distracted but I promise I had examples#just him not letting shit slide like that bc they have a responsibility to the civilians#and sorry it gets continuing the cycle of abuse sometimes 💔#‘u better depress that patrol route’#etc.#HE GETS BETTER#GUYS JEFF!!! THIS IS WHY HES HERE#listen to ME#ok bye#AND THIS IS NAWT TO SAY ELAINE AND DOUG DID THIS#IK how y’all get.#I’m saying that elaine and Doug instilled a strong sense of personal responsibility and helping others in him#and once they’re gone he clings onto them fiercely!#and gets worse.#ily <3
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maxiwaxipads ¡ 6 months ago
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Romarriche - “Your company is one of a kind… I would never lie to you. I would never say a half-truth or be quiet.” “What is it in your mind, Merold?” “Hearing your voice, complaint or not—it is music to me either way.” Merold - “If there is one constant in this world… Let it be you.” “You’re the cruelest and the kindest thing that happened to me.” “…If only you continued to look at me like that.” Romarriche - “…Merold?” Merold - “But~ It’s only a minor case of bad-mood-itis.” “So Romarriche, spoil me with a spar, will you?” Romarriche - “Merold.” Romarriche - “Look at me.” Merold - “…” Romarriche - “Is something… Wrong?” Merold - “Instead of a spar…” “I might want to lie down on your lap after all.”
#fragaria memories#merold#romarriche#i wont lie i only had the first line and wanted to write something with it#i was reading this novel and i wanted to write something romantic </3#im gonna babble here on my own so you're always free to skip the tags...#if i remember correctly romarriche and merold were made knights around the same time and I work on that context#i like to think their relationship was rocky at first at romarriche's side who didn't want to befriend merold#compared to merold who thought he finally had a friend his age that was also a knight of fragaria#it was romarriche who looked at merold with a perceived perfection and was compared to him#“...I'll get better and strong. I'll impress everyone so I don't have to hear it--his name repeating over and over again.”#merold who says “if only you continued to look at me like that...” refers back to the past when romarriche didn't think of him favorably#but i like the double meaning to it “please look me as you did before and look at me as you do now”#“cruelest” and “kindest” i was a reading a novel that also used those words so I kinda grabbed from that </3#its really a cute novel though#me reading fragaria memories theories to see if it can at least make sense#i like this but i dont like this at the same time wwww#what does it say about its characters? as a writer i want to care about that because no dialogue should be said without reason#i think this dialogue is perfection but what am i writing this for? who does it refer it? what does it refer to?#but at the end of the day i simply want to indulge myself#something that could sound good and personal and something that could make people who read this smile and myself smile#Merold - “Will you make the promise to never change?”#Romarriche - “Change... But change in what way?”#Merold - “...”#Merold - “Because I'm a knight who fears a lot of things...”#Merold - “And I care about the Romarriche I have now.”#it was never supposed to be detailed but look at me now... </3
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