#do they suit my vision? no not really

[hearts401]

if nobody else got me i know picrew got me. i was bored!!!

first second

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Archery Nemesis.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[teafiend]

[artisticxlly]

Procrastinated on this for a hot minute but here you go, Sachirou and Kourai moodboards <3

[clutch-nixon]

Sydcarmy has been haunting me down to my soul for the past couple of days so here: ICE SKATING AU where they perform THIS routine

That chemistry!!!! It is Sydcarmy to a fuckin T

[appallinnballin]

synth based oc concept named Synthia 🎆 is this anything

(no longer Muzix related due to recent news 👍)

[opal-earrings]

Me: no I'm over my Avengers obsession actually, I've moved on to other things and am no longer interested in the characters

*stays up until 2am rewatching clips from all the pre-Endgame mcu movies*

Me: oh no

[demigod-of-the-agni]

So how does it feel to know that the Web Warriors are coming to the big screen??

I'm screaming and sobbing I'm actually going to pass away from sheer excitement because YES I'M GETTING THE MILES AND GWEN AND HOBIE AND PAVITR CONTENT I DESERVE!!!!!!! I'M GETTING THE WEB WARRIORS CONTENT I DESERVE!!!!!!!!!!!!

[micromime]

i forgot i drew this beast

[notmoreflippingelves]

OTP ask 😉 ! Krisnix: 10, 14, 30, 39, 42 ; Estelanor: 2, 5, 18, 30, 51 please?

So I ended up splitting this up into two different posts, because I ended up rambling a good bit. The Krisnix was already done. And I am putting the EoA OT3 beneath the read more.

(It is rather lengthy and I didn't want to scandalize the EoA fandom too much with my unhinged thoughts about a "problematic" OT3 ship that (probably) no one else has ever thought about before or since. So here goes...

Esteban/Elena/Victor

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

Of the three of them, Victor is the least likely to have "nightmares" in the traditional sense (i.e. one the evoke fear and/or anxiety), but it isn't too uncommon for him to have dreams that make him sad. Mainly dreaming about the happy days early in his marriage with Ash--when Carla was still small and they were a proper family. Or he'll dream about being cast out of Avalor with his family shortly after the invasion and being unable to return for over four decades. Or he'll dream of the other two during the Dark Times™ and wake up feeling melancholy that Elena was isolated in the amulet and Esteban under Shuriki's thumb for forty-one years. Victor can't help but feel a little guilty and sad that he wasn't there to keep the others safe or even just provide a little humor--and even guiltier when he remembers that he spent decades feeling jealous of Elena and resentful towards Esteban, so its unlikely that the selfish person that he was then would've done anything different if he'd had the chance.

Even though he is least likely to have nightmares himself, Victor is probably the best at calming either of the others down if they have nightmares. (He does after all have practice doing so with Carla). He will carefully stroke the hair off the sweaty brow(s) in question and quietly croon the same lullaby that he used to sing Carla to sleep with. He doesn't have Elena's vocal talents, but his singing voice is soft and gentle and the words of the song are reassuring. And it's usually only a matter of time before the others drift back off to sleep.

Unsurprisingly, Elena has nightmares A LOT. Most often, she dreams of her parents wrapped up in Shuriki's green smoke or the dark, cold silence of her amulet prison. But occasionally, other dreams creep in. Shuriki victorious and making Elena watch as every one of her family and friends are killed in front of her with her powerless to stop it. Orizaba blotting out the sun for good and all Avalor being trapped in the dark. Elena's emotion magic failing to revive Esteban after he teleported in front of Cahu's sand grain for her--even though she has forgiven him even if only in the dream.

She is also, however, pretty good at comforting the others when they have nightmares. Without fail, the first thing she will do is use the "glow" spell on the scepter to bring some light back into the room. (This is particularly effective when Esteban is the one who has had the bad dream, as he does not handle waking up in the dark and afraid very well). She speaks very calmly and very slowly--and asks first before offering consoling cuddles. (Again, Esteban does not always want to be touched depending on the dream he's had and what sort of mental place he's in after it). Sometimes, she will use her scepter again--specifically the "illusion" or "truesight" to bring a up a vision of something calming and comforting.

(It is worth nothing that I do headcanon Elena and Esteban have a bit of a strong psychic link due to their crystal well connection. So I think one or both might be able to "sense" the other having had a particularly bad dream. And on the nights where they are apart from each other, they will not let distance stop them from comforting each other. Elena can and will wake up one of the Guardians to fly her whenever Esteban is. Esteban will reach for his staff and teleport to Elena's side. And after they do this, they make a point to "check in" on Victor as well to see how he is doing/make sure he feels included).

Esteban, meanwhile, has the most frequent nightmares of the three. Shuriki and the Dark Times™  is naturally the most frequent source and subject of his dreams. Esteban is forced to recall the horrendous things that she did to Esteban's family, his country, and to Esteban himself. And more than that the things that she made him do that horrified and disgusted him and broke him in ways that he did not even know that he could be broken. It's almost a relief when he has a nightmare that does not concern Shuriki in some way and instead focuses on one of the other frightening times from his life--those times when he dreams of his parents ship going down, of Elena and Luisa disowning him, of Ash and Zopilote inevitably realizing that they could just kill him to drain Takaina's magic out of him and into themselves, of Cahu turning his abuelos to stone and Esteban not being able to teleport in front of Elena before the same fate befell her.

As he is usually the one (though not always the only one) who needs be comforted after a nightmare as opposed to doing the comforting, he has the least amount of practice at post-nightmare calming. Nevertheless, he has a few go-to strategies. He will usually teleport to the kitchen and back and come back with a jug of water, a few glasses, and some wash cloths on a tray. He will pour a some water into a cup and hand it over to the person(s) who had the nightmare(s). He'll also dampen the wash cloth with the cool water and then trace smooth, sinuous patterns with it across forehead(s) and the back of their neck(s). He'll also encourage the other(s) to count to ten and back with him, while also leading them into slow, deep relaxing breaths until they calm down.

5. Describe their cozy night in.

(I'm basing this primarily on the scenario of my w.i.p. where Esteban has moved out of the palace into a house of his own and most of the OT3 times happen at his new home--to avoid scandalizing the rest of the Flores family or putting Carla in a weird spot).

Victor cooks dinner for the other two, but Esteban retains custody and control of the pepper shaker so that Victor doesn't go overboard with the seasonings yet again. Elena is only allowed to help with gathering ingredients, chopping vegetables and setting the table, etc. because otherwise she is a kitchen disaster (also Esteban and Victor still feel a bit weird about ordering their queen around even if they know she's always happy to help.) After dinner, they sit around and have a quiet evening together. Victor has been promising for awhile to teach Elena how to play (i.e. cheat at) poker--much to Esteban's discomfort--and how to throw knives --much to Esteban's even greater discomfort, so they will often go into the other room and be chaotic, while Esteban works on paper work by the fire. (I tend to headcanon that post-canon redeemed Esteban either stays on as Naomi's assistant chancellor, takes over the bookkeeping and inventory for Luisa's chocolate shop, or does both--so either way there is always a lot of paperwork for him to do. ) When they're each done for the night with their little side projects, Esteban, Victor, and Elena regroup. Usually, there will be guitar playing (Esteban and Elena canonically play, and Victor probably knows how to as well) and singing and/or dancing. Other times, one of them (usually Esteban) will read aloud to the others from the latest popular novel.

When they start to get tired (but not too tired...if you catch my drift), they make their way into the massive bed in the bedroom and... [redacted].

18. How likely are they to have fur babies? How many and what kind?

I am assuming that "fur babies" refers to pets and not like an omegaverse situation, lol. This is actually an interesting thought as like...I'm not even 100% sure that cats and dogs exist in Avalor. I'm pretty sure they do given that there are some in Sofia the First and the little dog sculptures that come to life in the Valentina episode. But like...apparently, jaguars are extinct in the Sofia-verse, according to sunbird oracle and I don't think we see regular cats or dogs again at any other point, unless I am forgetting something. So like...it's possible that they don't????

But I'm just going to assume that cats and dogs do exist even if we don't see them.

Something about Esteban just screams "has allergies" to me, but I'm not sure I can put my finger on what exactly. Other than just me projecting onto him even more than I already do. But even if he does have allergies, it's very possible that the crystal well cured him of this, so that he can enjoy the furry darlings in peace.

I would say that Victor has dog energy, Esteban has cat energy (if he's only just now gotten over his allergies), and Elena has both. Assuming the royal household doesn't already have cats and dogs, they will probably soon acquire some for maximum cuddles.

I would like to think that Victor and Carla will get a dog at some point. It was a probably a tough and resilient stray from the wrong side of the tracks--not unlike the Delgados themselves. Victor probably wasn't too sure about it at first, but honestly, he can never say no to Carla and it's not exactly an unpleasant thing to agree to. There will inevitably be puppies at some point, because the thought never occurred to Victor to get the dog neutered once they agreed to take it in (And if the thought did occur to him, he probably would've resisted anyway because "why should we deprive the dog of one of life's greatest joys.") Victor and Carla will probably keep one of the puppies, and Elena who fell in love with the puppers at first sight will probably keep at least one more for herself (and the rest of the royal family)--and they'll make sure that the others go to good families.

Another thought that I had is that perhaps Elena uncovered an illegal magical animal trafficking ring in Avalor and put a stop to it. And maybe one of the animals that they discovered was a jaquin--specifically one that has been raised in captivity and/or had its wings or claws damaged in some way. They probably originally intended to return it to Vallestrella to live with the other jaquins, but it was eventually determined that due to its special circumstances, the poor thing might not survive out there on its own (even if under the protection of the other jaquins), so it actually makes more sense for it to live in the royal palace. Elena takes excellent care of her new "pet that isn't exactly a pet" and makes sure that it can socialize with Skylar and the other Guardians--as well as with the royal family and friends.

30. Your OTP gets to pick out each other’s outfits; what is each wearing?

Victor and Elena are both very into Esteban's little adventure outfit (God, they're so me-) --with the three whole buttons undone on his shirt, no jacket or cravat, the scarf belt wrapped around his waist and those sinfully tight trousers. So, the two of them (ganging up on Esteban as a group as they often do) are often able to persuade him into their outfit of choice. And unless there is a particular reason for Esteban to dress more formally, he can usually be persuaded. It's nice that he's able to dress more casually now than before, and he knows how good this looks on him.

(On a related note, Victor absolutely *hates* Esteban's yellow jacket that he wears for formal court functions. And so he does have a long-standing fantasy of asking Esteban to wear it to bed one of these nights so that Victor and Elena can literally rip it off him and tear the hated thing to shreds. But Victor hasn't acted on this impulse. Yet.)

Victor is also very into Elena's little adventure outfit with the tunic and ye olde skinny jeans. This is slightly for thirsty reasons. (He doesn't really get to admire her very nice legs when they're hidden beneath her skirts, but he can when she wears trousers.) But he is also aware that Elena is more comfortable in this kind of outfit than in her more usual "queenly" attire. Also a more casual look suits her very impulsive, headstrong and easily-distracted personality. Far easier for her to climb a tree on a whim this way. And Victor loves seeing Elena at her most "Elena," and she's very comfortable in her skin in this outfit . (Victor has not yet had the privilege of seeing Elena in her skintight fencing gear yet, or he would have a new favorite. And this would be entirely for the thirsty reasons. No one could ever say Victor Delgado is a saint. Not even close.)

Esteban, meanwhile, likes seeing Elena dressed like the queen that she is. The finest of gowns, the most extravagant of jewels. All should see her and be instantly struck by her beauty, her radiance, her goodness, her majesty in any and every sense of the word. Every Avaloran citizen's heart should swell with awe and pride as they clasp eyes yet again on the greatest queen in all the Ever Realm. Of Elena's canon outfits, I would say that Esteban's favorite is probably the red ballgown that she wears for official court functions throughout the show (and the one that her face character wears in the Disney parks). Red is after all, Elena's signature color--just as it is Esteban's own--and it is a very flattering one on her indeed. He would probably try to get Elena to accessorize the dress a bit more than she usually does. (A necklace that matches her crown, a jeweled broach at the center of her belt, rings on every finger, etc) though I can't say that he would be super successful.

Victor's only has two canon outfits and neither of them are particularly great. (The Dracula-core malvago cape is certainly memorable but not particularly flattering or the kind of thing that Esteban or Elena would care to see him again). So I am going to let Esteban and Elena find something new and better for him. Victor won't mind. He's always liked the finer things (too much for his own good), and he's delighted to be the "sugar. baby" for two royals who have very refined and expensive taste (Esteban) and love to spoil their loved ones (Elena).

Essentially, I think they would look for a more flattering and more upscale version of his "regular" canon outfit. Shirt with waistcoat, trousers and cravat. Elena and Esteban will make sure that Victor has his share of jackets too, but unless there's a particular reason why Victor needs to wear one (weather or a formal occasion), I think they'd prefer he go sans jacket with just the shirt and waistcoat. Victor is rather broad-shouldered and from the little we can see through his jacket, he seems to have some nice biceps on him too, so it would be nice to have something that will show off his arms a little better.

Based on my initial impression, green ( to match his eyes) and black would probably be the most flattering colors for Victor. And given that we see him wear these colors in his "regular" outfit, we can presume that Victor likes them reasonably well. So I think Esteban and Elena would probably focus on a lot on these shades when adding new pieces to their novio's wardrobe.

I think that they would particularly look for a patterned waistcoat, like the kind we often see in the Georgian and Victorian time periods (or even like Julio Guzman's Magister of Trade vest on the show itself). Nothing too over-the-top mind, but given that Victor is a rather flamboyant person in general, I think he deserves something a little flashier and more ornate now that he can. Preferably ones in green, black, or both is kind of the vibe I think they should strive for. A few examples below:

I also think Victor is confident enough to pull off a black blouse with his waistcoat. He's a retired thief and an ex-malvago, so he definitely has more-than-a-bit of a "bad boy" edge to him and that would be reflected in his wardrobe. I also think Elena and Esteban would probably find that very attractive (even if Esteban would never admit it). So they make sure that he has a black shirt or two in addition to the basic whites. And neither of them complains too much if Victor desides to forgo the cravat entirely and leave the top few buttons his black blouse undone beneath his waistcoat.

51. What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

Well, Elena canonically has her emotion magic, so literally all she would need to do is *feel* a profound sense of love for either of the others and her dress would turn pink and they would all know what was meant. That being said, she is very open and affectionate in general, so she is constantly telling the others verbally or through little gestures how much she cares about them. I feel like physical touch is her primary love language considering how physically affectionate we see her with her family and friends throughout the show. So, she is constantly reaching for the others' hands, kissing their cheeks, placing a hand on their shoulders, booping noses, etc. Victor naturally responds to this right away as he also a very physically affectionate person. It takes a bit more getting used from Esteban (even platonically, it was a lot), because he's naturally more reserved and because he's profoundly touch-starved (to the point of being overwhelmed when he first started getting more physical contact from people he likes). But now he thrives on it.

Victor shows his affection for the others in a lot of a different ways, most of them somewhat casual. He uses pet names for the others a lot. (Esteban has gone from "El Segundo" (derogatory) to "mi/nuestro El Segundo" (affectionate) to Victor. Meanwhile, Victor calls Elena "mi reina" ("my queen") and "jaquinita" ("little (female) jaquin")--which is just so cute I could scream.

Additionally, cooking with or for the people he cares about (see also: Carla) has always been a big thing with Victor. So he would constantly be doing things like trying to learn how to make various foreign dishes (ex: ramen or sushi from Satu, souvlaki from Corinthia) that the other mentioned trying/enjoying on foreign diplomatic visits. Or making (over-peppered but otherwise very tasty) soup whenever the others are feeling sick.

He also spends a good bit of time trying to make the others laugh--especially Esteban because his laughter is so comparatively rare (and therefore so much more precious). Cue Victor telling the worst fucking jokes you've ever heard to try to get the others to chuckle. (Elena thinks Victor is genuinely hilarious because her sense of humor is just as bad). He also is known to play particularly imaginative pranks (including ones on himself) to try and get the others' attention. Esteban is frequently just rolling his eyes at Victor, but there is a very amused twinkle in them when he does so.

Esteban's love language is a combination of acts of service, little gifts, words of affirmation, and physical touch that is perhaps best described as noticing and remembering things. This is partly due to the fact that "noticing and remembering" everything was quite literally his job as chancellor for over four decades. But another major factor is that Esteban spent most of his childhood wanting and waiting to be noticed and remembered himself, so he's especially sensitive to wanting to make sure that his partners feel seen and valued.

He never needs to be reminded about birthdays, anniversaries, holidays coming up. He is always on top of things and has been making careful plans for weeks (if not months). He will, however, very carefully and gently remind the others about the upcoming important date if he fears that they have forgotten. (They often need the reminder. Elena in particular).

And not even just the "big" things. He'll remember a book that Victor casually mentioned and then go search for it so that he can read it too and discuss it with him. He'll remember that Elena can sometimes get anxious whenever she has to make a big speech in front of crowds, so he adds a little note to the top of her scroll that says something like "You've got this, prima. It is a wonderful speech, and I know you will deliver it well. But even if by some bizarre chance it does not go well, I am still extremely proud of you and grow prouder every day." And of course, this is just the little pep talk Elena needs.

He notices Victor moving his head more carefully and rubbing his neck. Cue Esteban drawing him a warm bath and offering to massage Victor's tired back and shoulders until he feels better. He's not *consciously* tracking Elena's "courses," (that would be a bit too creepy and invasive for them both), but he is nevertheless mindful of the subtle changes in Elena's mood and health as any given month goes on. So he is nevertheless ready with a box of Abuela's chocolate, ye olde warming pad, and ye olde ibuprofen before Elena even asks for it.

Basically, Esteban is just always paying attention and always looking for a million quiet little ways that he can make his dos queridos ( and all of the rest of his family and friends to be fair) feel cherished and noticed in every way.

[hollywoodsargeant]

i LOVE cocky top logan ‼️‼️ but what r we doing when oscar’s race suit makes him look all broad and logan’s makes his ass look like that

[eupheme]

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?” 

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. 

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.  

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all. 

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter. 

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.  

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another. 

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.” 

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing. 

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid. 

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer. 

“18.” 

Another beat passes, and then a sigh. 

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps. 

Bullseye, motherfucker. 

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do. 

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing. 

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home. 

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all. 

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close. 

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide. 

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open. 

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ. 

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing. 

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours. 

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head. 

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him. 

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses. 

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.” 

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away. 

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin. 

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts. 

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing. 

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger. 

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back. 

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways. 

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.  

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free. 

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade. 

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry. 

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex. 

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood. 

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers. 

“But doesn’t that hurt?” 

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing. 

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply. 

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face. 

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows. 

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly. 

“Let me ask you one more thing.” 

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?” 

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know? 

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken. 

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush. 

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it. 

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down. 

It’s here that he comes back to himself. 

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath. 

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?” 

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch. 

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down. 

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him. 

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.” 

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again. 

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache. 

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone. 

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate. 

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him. 

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down. 

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop. 

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you. 

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest. 

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim. 

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him.  It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge. 

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking. 

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him. 

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock. 

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him. 

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up. 

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much. 

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin. 

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat. 

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out. 

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in. 

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear. 

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap. 

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him. 

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.  

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught. 

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise. 

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.” 

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)

[daydreamerdrew]

Tales of Suspense (1959) #77

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ꜱ ᴘ ɪ ᴅ ᴇ ʀ ɢ ɪ ʀ ʟ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Batfam x Fem Reader

Headcanon: How is your relationship with batfam in general?

Notes: Reader is a pervert. Reader have the same abilities as spiderman. Again another silly fic that should not be taken seriously. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

At 22, you were a far cry from the scrappy little thief Bruce and Dick had caught all those years ago. Sure, you were still crass, still brutally honest, and still had a penchant for letting your intrusive thoughts win, but now? Now you were hot.

Like, objectively hot. Your tight black spider suit left very little to the imagination, clinging to every curve and muscle as you swung through the city. And you loved every second of it. The attention? Oh, the attention was your lifeblood. You basked in it like a lizard in the sun.

Dick was still wearing those tight pants, wasn’t he? You couldn’t help but stare. I mean, seriously, the guy had a killer ass. You were supposed to be on a mission, but all you could think about was how the suit hugged his figure in ways that made you forget everything except your growing thoughts. You even compared your ass to his when he wasn’t looking—just to make sure you were still in the running for the Best Butt in Gotham.

“Hey, Grayson,” you called out, voice dripping with amusement. He turned his head slightly, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Nice ass.” You grinned, winking.

He blinked. “What?” He stopped walking and spun around, completely thrown off by your bluntness.

“Oh, nothing, just admiring the view,” you shrugged, taking a step forward and pretending to actually pay attention to the mission. His cheeks turned red, but you didn’t care. You were busy eyeing his backside like it was a prize you were about to claim.

You convinced Dick to teach you yoga, but it wasn’t for flexibility—it was so you could watch him stretch.

“Wow, Dick,” you said, laying on the mat and pretending to follow his moves. “You’re really… bendy.”

He flushed. “It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not,” you teased, snapping a quick photo of him in a compromising pose. “This one’s going on the Batfam group chat.”

“Y/N, don’t you dare!”

You were bleeding out. Your side was burning, your vision blurry, and yet you were having the time of your life. Why? Because Jason Todd—walking sex god and part-time vigilante—was carrying you in his arms like you were a damsel in distress.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, sprinting through an alley as explosions sounded in the distance. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine.”

You stared up at him, dazed but grinning. “You’re so pretty.”

“Y/N, stay awake,” Jason barked.

“I’m awake my angel,” you slurred. Your eyes drifted downward to his broad chest, the tight shirt doing little to hide the muscle underneath. You reached out, resting a hand on his pec. “You got...man boobs.”

Jason groaned. “You're hallucinating, stay awake please.”

“They’re perfect,” you whispered, leaning closer. And then—because you were you—you bit him.

Jason skidded to a stop, staring at you in disbelief. “Did you just—”

“I couldn’t help it,” you said, grinning despite the blood trickling down your chin. “They’re so biteable.”

You discovered Jason was ticklish purely by accident, and you never let him live it down. Anytime he annoyed you, you’d jab him in the ribs or poke his sides until he squirmed.

“Stop it, Y/N!” he growled, swatting at your hands.

“You wish,” you said, chasing him around the room.

The rest of the Batfam watched in stunned silence as Jason “Red Hood” Todd ran from you like a child.

You declared the Batcave chair yours one day and refused to let anyone else sit in it.

“It’s my throne,” you said, lounging dramatically as the others stood around, glaring.

“Get up,” Jason said, crossing his arms.

“Make me,” you replied, sticking your tongue out.

He grabbed you, but instead of throwing you out, you ended up on his lap, smirking. “Guess this works too.”

Anytime you were in the middle of a Dick and Jason argument, you somehow always ended up physically between them. And, oh, you weren’t complaining.

“Move, Dickhead,” Jason growled, pushing into your right shoulder, his broad chest pressing into the side of your face.

“Not a chance, Hood,” Dick snapped, leaning in on your other side, his own muscular frame trapping you against Jason.

You? You just stood there, smiling like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Ooh, I love this. It’s like being sandwiched between two very attractive brick walls.”

“What?!” they shouted in unison.

Jason shot Dick a death glare. “See what you did? You’re giving her ideas.”

“Me? You’re the one pressing into her like some kind of Neanderthal!”

You just smirked, leaning back into the tension. “Don’t mind me, boys. Please, continue. This is very entertaining.”

Dick was your favorite pillow, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime you were hanging out in the Batcave, you’d just casually rest your head on his shoulder or lean against his chest.

“Comfortable?” he asked, chuckling softly.

“Very,” you replied, closing your eyes.

He smiled, wrapping an arm around you. “Good.”

You peeked up at him, grinning. “You know, you make a great pillow. Very firm, but also soft in the right places.”

Dick laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” you said, smirking.

Dick’s ass was basically your personal stress ball at this point. It didn’t matter if you were on a mission, in the Batcave, or just walking through Gotham—if the opportunity presented itself, you’d take it.

SMACK!

“Jesus, Y/N!” Dick would jump, spinning around, his cheeks flushed.

“What?” you’d say innocently, shrugging. “It’s just so perfect. You work hard for that, right? I’m just appreciating the effort.”

He’d sigh, rubbing his neck, but you knew he secretly loved it.

Jason’s chest was another favorite of yours, especially when he was shirtless (which, let’s face it, happened a lot). You’d walk up to him, your fingers twitching, and—pinch!

“Damn it, Y/N!” Jason would glare at you, rubbing the spot where you’d gotten him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” you’d say with a cheeky grin. “Just checking if these are real.”

He’d groan, shaking his head, but you’d catch the tiny smirk he tried to hide.

You loved teasing, and nothing was off-limits. During a mission, your suit "mysteriously" ripped—right in front of Jason and Dick.

“Oh no,” you said innocently, looking over your shoulder at the tear just below your back. “Guess I’ll have to fix this later.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Y/N, stop.”

Dick looked away, flustered. “Maybe cover it up or something?”

“Why? You guys can’t handle a little skin?” You smirked, adjusting your suit to make it worse.

Jason grumbled, “I’m about to shoot that suit off you if you don’t stop playing.”

You had zero shame. Once, during a stakeout with Dick, you leaned over and kissed him right in the middle of his report to Bruce.

“Nightwing, report—” Bruce’s voice came over the comms, but you cut Dick off with your lips, pulling him into a deep kiss.

“Y/N!” he protested, his face red as he tried to pull away. “Bruce can hear us!”

“So?” you replied, shrugging as you went in for another kiss.

The first time you met Superman, you were not prepared.

“Y/N, this is Clark Kent,” Bruce said, his tone clipped as ever. “He’s Superman.”

You blinked up at the man of steel, all 6’4” of farm-boy perfection, and immediately zeroed in on one thing: the bulge.

You weren’t subtle about it either. Your eyes widened slightly as you stared, your head tilting to the side like you were trying to calculate something.

Clark, oblivious, smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Bruce has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, still staring. “Damn, you’re packing. Your wife must be so lucky.”

The room went silent. Bruce closed his eyes, looking like he was about to have an aneurysm. Clark cleared his throat, cheeks turning bright red.

“What—what does that mean?” Superman asked, clearly flustered.

“Oh, nothing,” you said, shrugging. “Just making an observation. By the way, you ever need help with Lois, let me know. I’m excellent at teamwork.”

Bruce groaned audibly in the background.

“Anyway,” he stammered, shifting awkwardly, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about Damian and Jon.”

You didn’t hear a word he said.

Poor Tim. Sweet, awkward Tim. He didn’t deserve you, and yet you tormented him at every opportunity.

You were taller than him, which you used to your advantage constantly. One day, after a successful mission, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulling him into a tight hug. Your boobs pressed against the back of his head, and you could feel him stiffen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Good boy,”

“Y/N,” he croaked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Hmm?”

“Let go.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“LET GO!”

Tim was your little puppy, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime he looked stressed (which was, like, always), you’d grab him by the shoulders and pull him down onto your lap.

“Shhh,” you’d coo, stroking his hair while he sat there stiff as a board. “You’re working too hard, Timmy. Just relax.”

He’d blush furiously, stammering out a protest, but you’d silence him with a kiss to his forehead.

“Good boy,” you’d whisper, your voice soft but teasing. “You’re doing great.”

Poor Tim would be a mess, his face redder than Jason’s helmet, but you didn’t care. It was adorable.

Jason walked in once and nearly gagged. “This is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.”

When you first met Damian, you were charmed. Not by his skill, or his intellect, or his reputation as the Demon’s Son. No, you were charmed because he looked like an angry little bird.

He’d just finished beating the crap out of Tim in the training room when you walked in.

“Who is this?” Damian demanded, glaring at you.

You clasped your hands together, grinning. “Aww, you’re so cute!”

Damian bristled. “I am not cute! I am an assassin!”

You squealed, bouncing on your heels. “Look at him! He’s like a tiny murder pigeon!”

Tim, still lying on the mat, muttered, “Please kill me.”

“So adorable,” you said, holding your hands together in a “squee” motion, jumping up and down like a fangirl. “I didn’t know you were so mad! Look at you, little angry pookie!”

Damian, of course, was not impressed. “Shut up, woman.”

But you? You couldn’t stop giggling. “You’re, like, a pocket-sized villain. So cute.”

Since then, you’d taken to treating Damian like a literal baby. You’d sit him on your lap, spoon-feed him during meals, and ruffle his hair at every opportunity.

Damian was your baby, no matter how much he tried to argue otherwise. You gave him the most attention—whether it was ruffling his hair, pinching his cheeks, or straight-up kissing him on the forehead during missions.

“Y/N, cease this nonsense!” he’d shout, trying to push you away.

“Aw, but you’re so cute,” you’d tease, holding his face in your hands.

Damian would glare, but the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him. You knew he secretly loved it, especially when you called him your “adorable angry bird.”

Jon Kent adored you. But when he let it slip in front of Damian?

“Y/N is… well, she’s amazing,” Jon had said shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

Damian froze, his eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?”

“Uh, nothing!” Jon backpedaled, but Damian was already chasing him across the Batcave, sword in hand.

“YOU THINK YOU HAVE A CHANCE?!” Damian yelled as Jon flew for his life.

Bruce wasn’t immune to your antics either. You’d long since dropped the “old man” or “Bruce” in favor of something much more fun: “Daddy.”

“Good work tonight, Y/N,” Bruce said one evening, his tone professional.

You leaned against the Batcomputer, smirking. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Bruce froze, his eye twitching slightly.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You always been my suger daddy, it's only make sense if I call you daddy.”

He walked away without another word.

You made it your life mission to annoy Bruce whenever possible. During one of his infamous brooding sessions in the Batcave, you casually walked up to him, poked his nose, and said, “Boop.”

He froze, slowly turning to glare at you. “Don’t.”

“Boop,” you repeated, doing it again.

Dick and Tim were in hysterics in the background, and Jason muttered, “She’s got a death wish.”

Bruce, exhausted, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why am I not surprised?”

It started as a joke. You stole one of Bruce’s button-up shirts and wore it around the Manor. Now it was a regular occurrence, much to Bruce’s annoyance.

“That’s mine,” he’d say.

“Yup, and it’s comfy,” you’d reply, lounging on the couch.

Once, during a mission debrief, you leaned on the table and purred, “What’s the plan, Daddy?”

Jason choked on his drink, Dick coughed awkwardly, and Tim turned bright red.

Bruce didn’t even look up. “I will ground you.”

“Kinky,” you replied with a grin.

You had a thing for flirting with dangerous villains, and the Batfam hated it.

“I could totally take Deathstroke,” you said once after a fight.

“He tried to kill you!” Jason snapped.

“Yeah, but did you see the way he looked at me? Sparks, I tell you. Also who said I was talking about fighting?”

“She’s insane,” Damian muttered, but you just shrugged.

During a fight with the Joker, you’d stopped mid-battle to tilt your head and give him an appraising look.

“Y’know,” you said, webbing one of his henchmen to the wall. “You’d be kinda hot if you didn’t look like a corpse. Ever thought about skincare?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Dick had yelled, dodging a swing from Harley Quinn.

“SHUT UP!” you shot back. “I CAN FIX HIM!”

Despite all the chaos and teasing, there’s a hidden, vulnerable side to you that craves attention—not just the kind that’s lustful, but the caring kind.

After a long night of missions, you’ll often crash in the Batcave. The family can be in the middle of an intense discussion or debriefing, but you’ll barge in, throw yourself onto Tim, and use his lap as a pillow.

Jason will grumble and say something about you “acting like a child,” but then you'll casually climb onto his back, burrowing your face into his shoulder as you cling to him.

Of course, Bruce just looks away like he’s done with all of you, but deep down, he knows that if he even tried to stop it, the whole family would turn on him. You're the glue holding them all together.

Main Headcanon

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[honey-pages]

On Your Knees - Viktor x Reader

Description -

After confessing his attraction to you, Viktor invites you to visit him in his room.

1.5k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. Blow job.

You had been seeing Viktor now for a week or so, after he expressed his feelings in an unexpected confession. You had been working as his assistant previously and he detailed that he could not, in good conscience, act on his urges when he was in a position of power - as much as you would have wanted him to. Therefore, after your job role changed and you became more independent in your duties, Viktor was back in your line of vision.

It was a well-kept secret that you both were so suited to each other. The other assistants and staff at the lab had their suspicions of your intimacy, but Viktor, noticing the subtle glances, had clarified.

“No, no. Miss (Y/N) is my assistant. I would not take advantage, no matter how charming I may find her.”

You were surprised at his openness. The conversation had gotten back to you through a friend and what could have been understood as a gentle complimentary joke, to you, meant the world. When you finally built up the courage to ask Viktor privately about this, he confirmed. Yes, he had meant it. Although he had also mentioned that a public announcement was not really the way he had intended on doing it.

You had been close since and were still in your early stages of the budding relationship. You decided it was probably time to pay him a visit. He had invited you to his room at around dinnertime. But dinnertime is an ambiguous concept for Viktor as he eats when he can fit it in, and so knowing what time to arrive was a risky decision.

You made a guess that around now was the right time and so you set out for his room. It was oddly quiet around and the walk between your rooms was not too far, you only passed a few people and no one you were well acquainted with. You approached his door after a long corridor. He had told you previously when he had invited you over to just walk straight in and not bother knocking, but that felt a little strange not knowing if he was expecting you or not. Nervousness made its appearance, and you paced slightly while considering your options. There must be a reason that he would encourage you not to knock. This was Viktor. There was probably some unknown secret project that was sound sensitive or something along those lines. You decided to walk in without knocking.

Viktor's door opened silently into a hallway which, in turn, opens into his living and workspace. His work desk is in his living room you remembered, although the light suggests that he is currently on his sofa. You put down your bag and kick off your shoes – its polite practice. You quietly turn the corner to face his living room, hoping to not disturb him by chance he was sleeping or working. In front of you, central to the sofa, Viktor sat with his hand around his cock.

His head was fallen back against the backrest of the chair and his eyes were closed. His mouth hung open, his face jerking around with the furious motion of his arm. He was panting, lost in the pleasure he was giving to himself. You had not seen him like this before. Sure, you had shared a kiss or so and light touching, but to see him so primal and vulnerable, so explicit. Standing and watching as he pleasured himself ignited some deep lust you had not yet unleashed for him, something strong and needy and -seeing him like this? - desperate.

His raw moans seemed to bring out vague words, peppered with the sound his hand made when reaching the bottom of his shaft. A repeated light slapping sound.

“Oh, fuck- “He choked out, softly to himself, as though he was struggling for breath. “(Y/N) …”

You freeze up a little bit at your mention. It suddenly made the situation so real, so red, so lustful.

“Yes?” You reply hushed, in fear of startling him, marvelling at him as though he was some mysterious undisturbed presence.

He jolted in his seat a little at your reply.

“How long have you been watching?” He managed, his grip loosened and slowed, now taking twice as long from tip to base, but not ceasing. A blush swept his face.

His hair fell around his face as he raised his head forwards, fixing his eyes on you the second they opened. He held you there in intense intimacy. You had no idea what to reply. You did not want to give the impression you had stood there fixated for too uncomfortably long. But how long had you been stood there? You had no idea. You were lost in this train of thinking when the thought of him reemerged.

“I um- Just a minute I think?” Was all you could string together; you were flustered seeing him like this.

“Come here” He purred, patting his knee with his free hand.

You approached him carefully, stomach in knots.

“Please, Miss (Y/N), on your knees”.

You lower yourself before him, settling yourself between his thighs on your knees.

“I really did mean it when I said I found you charming.”

He smiles warmly, his hand still slowly stroking himself. His gaze is intense, focused and fixed. He looks into your eyes, maybe watching the reflection of the light in them that made them glint, or maybe watching the outline of his cock in their reflection. It was unbreakable. The bond between you was powerful, inevitable even.

“Now please, (Y/N), open your mouth for me.”

You moved your face forward, level with him. His intense focus eased to a warmer output of eager want, his eyebrows hiking up at their insides, his face ready to melt itself into the open-mouthed submission he was offering you. You cast him a smile in return, a guarantee that you will satisfy. Your mouth salivated, and you hold him gently in one hand, lowering your mouth to run your hot tongue from the base of him to the top.

He shudders instantly, gripping the base of the sofa more firmly with his legs to steady himself, his head falling back once more, breaking the eye contact. His hand is propped lightly against his thigh, and at this sensation he tenses and flexes his fingers. Trailing your way up and down him, you flick your tongue over the tip, before engulfing him into the heat of your wet mouth. At this, his eyes open, and he stares breathlessly at the ceiling. Both of his hands come to meet at the back of your head and fix themselves into your hair, holding firmly but gently.

“Oh, fuck.” He mutters out a few unintelligible words before he settles on some that are understandable, “Your mouth- you’re…please, slow down.”

His grip in your hair holds tighter as his hips begin to jerk themselves upwards, betraying his composure. His eyes flash down to ensure he’s not choking you in doing so, he knows his size is more than adequate.

“Do you mind if I?” He asks, beginning to slowly take control of your head, moving it at his will to use your mouth as he wishes.

“No, you don’t mind, do you? You look too content in the knowledge that you’ve almost tipped me over the edge already Miss (Y/N).” A small grin seeps into his smile, dirty and knowing.

You work hard on matching the rhythm he is setting you with the pace of your tongue. You wrap it around him and swirl it in time with his upward thrusts, pushing and pulling him further into your mouth, to fill and force his way into the barrier of your throat. Your spit is beginning to drip at the corners of your mouth, down your chin, and he notices, wiping it away with his fingers.

“So very beautiful. I have always thought so, but now its undoubtable. You are going to swallow all of me, aren’t you?”

You nod in satisfaction; you can’t wait to see him undone. At your consent, he speeds up once more, becoming more frantic and fast without sacrificing his gentle hold. His whimpers turn into moans and expletives and his throat is purring. You feel him get harder and stiffer under your hands and tongue as he comes to his end.

“I’m going to- “He pants, “Its- “

You push him deeper than before, holding him there as you feel his cock spasm, pulsating as it thrusts forward, filling you fully.

“Oh fuck, (Y/N)- “

You swallow him. He wheezes as he catches his breath back, red faced and sweating, he sits still for a moment. After resting for a few moments, stroking your hair with his hand, he pulls you up onto the sofa next to him. He draws you close, wrapping his arms around you and bringing your head to his bare chest.

“I got quite carried away there.” He manages, hands finding their way to your shoulders, moving to tilt up your chin to face him. “I didn’t go too fast, did I?”

You smile and shake your head as a reply, seeing him fully relaxed and finished has left him dishevelled and hot and his warmth is meting into yours as you lay on him.

“I think it’s time I return the favour.”

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.