#i have so many more but this is just what I thought of first
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Hey gorg!!!
I saw the post about wanting pregnant reader/ dad marauders prompts and I literally ran here.
Iâve got two ideas, so whichever gives you the most inspiration/ whatever you like best đ
1- pregnant!reader who just hits her limit for the day- overwhelmed and overstimulated with everything to the point she jsut wants to sit and cry- all because of something silly
Or!!
2- reader on their first day away from baby with the girls- leaving dad!marauders to it, coming back to a baby whoâs very excited to be free from the chaos of the boys.
Lots of love!!
-đ„
eeeeeeeek I went with #2!!! thank you my love <3
dad!marauders x mum!reader who saves their daughter from the boys' tyranny [522 words]
CW: kid fic, fem!reader, you have a daughter but I avoided assigning her a name (let me know how ya'll prefer that: do you want me to name the kid? or do you want me to leave it ambiguous? I feel like it would probably read easier/more naturally with an assigned name, but I understand if you like making that up yourself)
âOh thank gods youâre home.â Sirius pushed out all in one breath as he hastily stood from the couch with your daughter in hand.Â
You clicked the door shut behind you as you took your shoes off, furrowing your brows at a frazzled looking Sirius and an equally frazzled looking baby in his arms.Â
âYou have to help us.â He begged quickly. âTheyâre driving us mad.â
âWhat?â You laughed carefully, though you had to admit that your child had a nearly identical pout on her lips as her papa, and you were quite sure babies her age didnât have the ability to conspire.Â
Though, you were sure if any baby could conspire, it would be a baby Marauder.Â
âThey havenât stopped all day.â Sirius enunciated, whispering at you and looking over his shoulder as if some invisible threat was going to attack at any given moment. âJamie got up this morning on a warpath; first we went on a family walk to feed the ducks some corn. Fine, Iâll let it slide. We no sooner got home, and Moony set up the sandbox in the yard. Great. But then, James insisted we go to the park! Which - okay, that was fun, because I got to run around as Padfoot. But then after a mere 20 minute nap, Remus had us out at the stream catching and releasing frogs!â
You awed in sympathy as you brushed some fine hair away from your baby girlâs forehead who was using her two pudgy hands to rub at her eyes.
âYou tired, lovie?â You asked the child, but they both whined a yes in response.Â
âOkay.â You murmured as you accepted the sleepy childâs grabby hands, only for her to immediately rest her head on your shoulder and melt into your embrace.
âPads? Whereâd you guys run off to?â James called from the other room, and Siriusâ paled. âWeâve got the water table set up.â
âOh gods,â Sirius whimpered, âtheyâre coming.â
âSirius,â you started to chide, but he simply turned and started pushing you towards the hall that led to the bedrooms.
âGo, save yourselves. Iâll hold them off.â He whispered theatrically.
âSirius!â You squealed, laughing as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head - taking a deep breath as if he was trying to memorise your scent like he may never get the chance to do it again - and pat at your hip.Â
âMake sure our baby girl grows up knowing the sacrifices her brave, brave papa made for her.â He offered solemnly, walking backwards as he held your gaze. âGo! Nap! Rest! Waste the day away in ways many of us only dream!âÂ
You giggled at him as he disappeared around the corner, hearing Remus murmur âwhat the hell was all that about?â only to hear a grunt, a chuckle, and a theatric âI wonât let you tyrannise our sweet girls any longer!â
âWhat do you say, sweetheart? Time for a nap?â You murmured as you made your way towards your bedroom; a nap did sound appealing, now that you thought about it.Â
An answer never came, however; she was already fast asleep.
#ask elle#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#sirius black#remus lupin#james potter#poly!marauders#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders imagine#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#james potter x reader#james potter x you#the marauders#marauders x reader#poly marauders x reader#poly marauders x you#marauders#marauders as dads#mum!reader#ellecdc fics
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making the bed â s. reid x reader
in which your night crumbles around you, and spencer is happy to pick up the pieces.Â
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. (prior) alcohol consumption. reader is semi-drunk (but sobers up). post drinking depression. healthy alcohol information/discussion đ«Ą word count: 2.1k a/n: do not read too much into this for you will begin to question why i still enjoy going clubbing. (joke...) đ plsss tell me if u liked this or even if u didnt thank u i love uuuuuu
Alcohol is a depressant.Â
You remembered the God awful lecture your boyfriend had given you when you woke up one Sunday morning with this feeling of existential dread, and nothing to pin it to. A ramble about how alcohol can temporarily increase the body's production of dopamine and serotonin when entering, causing a worse crash of both chemicals when it leaves. Leaving you, evidently, depressed and anxious after a big night.Â
You knew that.Â
You also knew how quick you were to seclude within your mind when you were with people. Too many drinks and not enough social interaction tended to lead to your own isolation, sitting on the outer edge of the booth, absentmindedly playing with the charm on the end of your phone.Â
The room no longer spun the way it had an hour ago. You missed when it spun. When it spun, you weren't thinking about how little you had to contribute to the conversations your friends were having. You weren't tallying up how many drinks you had already drank, then falling flat when you realised you couldn't remember, and that was a thought more horrifying than knowing it was over ten. You were fun, when the room was a carousel.Â
Now, it's simply overwhelming. Loud chattering from both your table, and the surrounding ones. Clinking of glasses at the bar. A sports game on the television across the room. Balls on a pool table being dispersed for the first time in a game. Dancing feet. Music. People. So many fucking people.
Your phone buzzes against the table, and you pick it up before any of your friends could turn their heads to see where the vibrations were coming from. You figured they were too drunk to conclude it was you, anyways. Or to care.Â
Spencer had texted you fifteen minutes ago to check in on you, and though it wasn't long ago, you not responding immediately in a flurry of half strung together sentences and emojis was worrying for him. That was probably why his name was now lighting up your screen, a funny photo of him mid-bite of an ice cream as his contact photo, enlarged.Â
You hadn't responded for no reason other than the fact that you had no will to. Which should've been a big enough red flag to yourself that you should text him, and you should ask if he can pick you up. Thankfully, he loved to prove how well he could read you, and he was calling you anyways.Â
"Hi," you mumble into the phone, angling your body away from your friends, hand held up to your other ear to block out some of the noise the best you could.Â
"Hi," he parrots back to you. "You okay?"
An automatic yes manifests on your tongue, but you're quick enough to keep it to yourself before you can lie to him. Instead, you let out a quiet, "No."
He seems to have expected that answer, for he leaves no silence in between your admission and his response. "What can I do to help?" He also seems to be expecting your hesitance at asking him for anything that would require him to move, because he adds, "I can pick you up. Do you want me to pick you up?"
"Yes. Please?"
"I'm already leaving," he tells you, and you can hear his shoes against the wooden floor of his apartment to confirm that. "Did something happen? Are you safe?"
"No, nothing happened. I'm safe," you reassure him. "I started feeling sick so I stopped drinking an hour ago. Now I'm just sad."
"You remember what I told you about it being a depressant?"
"Vividly," you mutter, and while it isn't meant to be funny, you hear him huff a short laugh anyways. It makes you feel a little better.Â
"It's important to know," he defends. "I'm sorry I shared important information with you."
"Mm."
Your lack of a verbal response was expected, but he still hated the sound of it regardless. You heard him sigh. "I have to hang up now. I'll be there in forty minutes. Will you be okay?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I love you."
"Love you too."
No matter how much time had passed, your head lifted every time the door â that your group was so conveniently close to â opened, letting in a rush of cool air and sobering you up with every hit of it.Â
True to his word, Spencer was entering the bar after forty minutes, face scrunching up at the sudden onslaught of noises and visual stimuli. Same boat as you, only he had not a drop of alcohol in his body. At least you weren't crazy about it being overstimulating.Â
"This is why I don't go to bars," he says once he's approached your booth, and you had stood up next to you, his hand finding an automatic place on your waist.Â
"It's usually not this bad," you tell him, but he decides not to ask you anything else upon hearing just how exhausted your voice sounds. You're grateful for that.
The goodbye to your friends is quick, Spencer rattling off a lie about him needing you home for he had work early the next morning, and you only had one key to the apartment. Even the friends who knew that wasn't the case didn't comment on it, and you made a pointless mental note to thank them for it later. You knew you wouldn't.Â
The drive home was even faster. Silence, aside from the rush of the wind from your slightly cracked window as Spencer drove, that helped the sick feeling in your stomach from the alcohol you had consumed.Â
It didn't seem to help the hollowness of your chest, though.
You weren't sure if anything would, really. A chemical imbalance in your brain â even one as temporary as the deflation from being drunk â was hard to fix without medication. It would go away, yes. But then you would make the mistake of drinking once more, and you would find yourself back in this brain peeling predicament.Â
You showered alone. Despite Spencer's offer to join you, and your own personal desire for him to be there with you. It didn't help your fogged mind at all, and you were exiting the bathroom feeling like you had retreated further into your bones. Every movement felt clunky, your skin a heavy coat to your skeleton, restricting your movement down to short shuffles and barely lifted arm movements.Â
He was reading when you reentered your bedroom, and you've never seen him put a book and his glasses back on his bedside table faster. He looked visibly tired. Keeping himself awake a seemingly difficult struggle, that you could feel your body heading towards to as well.Â
"Hey," he says as you climb into the bed, and he's very patient as you figure out what position you want your bodies in. Head on his chest, but next to him, you had decided on, and his fingers entangled into your hair.
"Hi," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, counting brush strokes of the paint, as if it were possible to.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
You huff at the phrase, tilting your head upwards so your eyes could land on him. "Do you have a penny?"
He pauses, then angles his head closer towards yours. "Okay, kiss for your thoughts?"
"That'll just distract me."
"Is that what you want?"
You should say no. Arguably the last thing you should be doing when you're sad is let intimacy with your boyfriend distract you. But then again, you're not the best advocate for healthy coping mechanisms anyways.Â
"Maybe."
"Maybe?" he muses, and his lips brush against yours. Your heart flutters.Â
"I don't really know what I want," you settle on telling him, honestly. "I want my brain to shut up."
His body deflates beneath you, and you feel guilt chip away up your spine at the killing of the less depressing atmosphere.Â
"Sorry," you mumble.
"No. It's good. Be honest with me," he reassures you, quietly. His fingers tap at your scalp, "What's going on up here?"
"I'll cry if I try to verbalise it."
"Crying's good for you, you know," he hums.
"I'm pretty sure I still have eyeliner in my waterline. I'll just stain your sheets," you retort.Â
"Yeah, probably. That's fine."
You're silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts in your brain the best you could despite yourself, before you sit up, his hand dropping to the bed beside you.
"I just don't like being... here? Out? I don't know. I'm just really sick of being sad every time I drink. Is there something wrong with me? Did you get sad whenever you drank? Everyone else I know loves going out for drinks because they have fun and they're giggly drunks, or they're clingy drunks. And if I drink too much then I'm a fucking sad drunk, and I'm the only person I know that gets that way. I want to be normal."
He's silent your entire rant, and then some, waiting for your heaving chest to slow, having caught the few tears that slipped down your cheeks. You were grateful â you needed that time.
He reaches a hand out, and you let him tug you back down to the bed, slotting your body atop his own, just so he could see you properly.Â
"To answer your question, no, I didn't get sad when I drank," he says, brushing your hair out of your face, before his hands rest on either side of your face. "But I wasn't really happy, either. I just talked more."
"You already talk a lot."
His lips twitch. "I do. Double whatever you think my worst is, and that was me drunk. Focus on the part where I said I wasn't a happy drunk, please."
"But you weren't sad. So there is something wrong with me."
"No, there's not. Alcohol is a depressant," he punctuates his words with a kiss to your nose, which you gratefully accept despite your emotions. "Are you willing to give up alcohol as a whole?"Â
"My friends will think I'm boring, then."
He hesitates in his response, but ultimately settles on asking, "Do you think I'm boring because I don't drink?"
"No. Obviously not. And you have a real reason for not drinking, soâ"
"âand being sad isn't a real reason to not drink?"
Taken aback by his sudden sternness, you go quiet, breath hitching within your throat. He was right, ultimately. No reason is reason enough. You knew that.Â
Sensing your discomfort at his tone, he expels a breath of air and lowers his hands down to your hips. His voice drops to something a little less harsh, as he murmurs, "You are allowed to not want to drink alcohol if you don't like the way it makes you feel. If your friends think you're boring for that, then they're not worth it."
You silently nod your head, beginning to curse your emotional regulators. For while you had kept your tears at bay for the vast majority of this conversation, it seemed all it took was the gentle rubbing of circles onto your hip bones, and a fact checked piece of life advice from your boyfriend to make you cry.Â
"Sorry," you sniffle, dropping your head to the crook of his neck to hide your newly tear stricken face.Â
"Crying's good for you," he repeats his earlier words, and feels you nod your head. "You don't have to decide tonight. I'd encourage you not to, actually. You're technically still intoxicated."
"I'm sober," you protest, weakly.Â
"Okay, honey." He's only agreeing with you to wane any further argument. "I don't think your friends will think you're boring, though, if that's any help."
"I don't think they will either."
He nods his head, and you're relaxing against him a little more.Â
"Are you just trying to not be the only loser who doesn't drink?" you mumble, voice muffled by his skin.
"You've caught me."
He relishes in the laugh that leaves your lips, and he places the gentlest of kisses on the side of your head, which prompts you to lift it to look at him again.Â
"You're not a loser for not drinking," you say, and his lips pull into a smile.Â
He leans his head up, brushing his lips against yours, despite the mix of mint toothpaste and alcohol on your tongue. "I know. You wouldn't be either."
"I know."
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated âĄ
#liaâs fics âĄ#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer x reader#spencer x self insert#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader hurt/comfort#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid x reader angst#spencer reid comfort#spencer reid x reader comfort#spencer reid x you
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BET
‷ JAMES B. âBUCKYâ BARNES
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Pairing: James B. âBuckyâ Barnes x fem!reader
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Genre: romance, angst and fluff
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Request from: not requested but taken from MARVEL bingo
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Story type: one shot
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Word count: 10k (damn this surprises me too)
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Summary: When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.
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TW(s): mentions of virginity and virginity loss, small mentions of a smut scene
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AU: college au
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Request: not requested
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Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)
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Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)
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MARVEL Bingo (requests closed)
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Masterlist
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If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!
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English isnât my first language and this isnât proof read
The music is loud, pulsing through the walls of the frat house as Bucky sits slouched on a couch, one arm draped lazily over the back. The night is already wearing on him, but he knows heâs going to be here until Sam and Steve call it a night, whichâbased on the collection of red solo cups by their feetâmight be a while.
Theyâre all trading stories from the semester, voices buzzing with that blend of laughter and cheap beer. Sam is in the middle of recounting his latest dare when he nudges Buckyâs arm, catching his attention.
âBet you couldnât last a month with someone like her,â Sam says, nodding toward the corner of the room.
Bucky glances up, following Samâs gaze until he spots you. Youâre perched near the bookshelf, alone and fidgeting with your drink as you flip through a book someone left behind. Heâs seen you around campus before, usually with your nose buried in a novel or surrounded by a pile of textbooks. Thereâs something unassuming about you, something quiet and untouchable. His friends know heâs more the type to go for a party girlâsomeone loud, someone who doesnât ask too many questions.
âWhat, the bookworm?â Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. But his friends donât let up, and soon Steve and Sam are egging him on.
âYouâre always chasing the same type,â Steve chimes in. âWhat are you afraid of, that sheâd actually challenge you?â
Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes. He knows he should shut it down, but their teasing digs at him, scratching at that competitive edge thatâs always lurking just beneath his smirk.
âAll right,â Bucky finally says, shrugging. âIâll do it. One month.â
His friends exchange knowing grins, slapping him on the back. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky feels a strange knot settle low in his stomachâa feeling heâs not used to. He brushes it off. Itâs just a game, a challenge. Itâs not like heâs actually going to care.
The next day, youâre tucked into your usual corner in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. You barely notice him when he walks up, leaning against the edge of the table with a casual confidence that doesnât match the usual quiet of the space.
âMind if I join you?â His voice is smooth, low enough that you almost have to lean in to hear him clearly.
You glance up, surprised to see Bucky Barnes standing there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Youâve seen him around campusâheâs hard to miss with that leather jacket and effortlessly messy hair, the type of guy who always has someone laughing beside him.
âSure,â you murmur, unsure of what else to say as you move your books aside, offering him a seat. Youâre used to people mostly ignoring you here. Itâs your refuge, your sanctuary. So when he sits across from you, stretching out as if he belongs there, it feels jarringly out of place.
âYou look like youâre buried in work,â he observes, nodding at the mountain of papers in front of you. âWhatâs got you so busy?â
You hesitate, but something in his easygoing manner convinces you to answer. âJustâŠassignments. Trying to keep up with everything.â You give him a small smile, your guard still up but feeling oddly curious.
âWhatâs your major?â he asks, and the question catches you off guard. Most people donât bother to ask; they assume or donât care enough to wonder. He listens as you talk about your studies, nodding, asking small questions. Before you know it, youâre telling him more than you intended, falling into an easy rhythm that surprises you.
It becomes a pattern. Over the next few weeks, he finds reasons to run into youâat the coffee shop, in the library, even in the quad between classes. Each time, he stays a little longer, asks a little more, his eyes holding yours with that subtle intensity he wears so well. At first, youâre wary, cautious of his attention. But Bucky is good, easing his way in like he has all the time in the world, his jokes and questions slowly weaving a thread of trust between you two.
And Bucky? Heâs surprised at how much he finds himself drawn to you. Each time you laugh, he catches himself watching, feeling something strange and warm unfurl in his chest. Thereâs a gentleness in you, a quiet intelligence, that keeps him coming back even as he reminds himself this isnât supposed to mean anything.
But the longer he spends time with you, the more he feels the weight of what he agreed to, creeping up on him every time he catches your smile, every time you look at him like heâs someone worth knowing.
He tells himself itâs just part of the bet. But deep down, he knows heâs starting to cross a line he never meant to touch.
Itâs been a few weeks since Bucky started spending time with you, and against every reminder he gives himself, heâs found himself looking forward to it more than he wants to admit. He tells himself itâs harmlessâheâs just getting to know you, just finding ways to pass the time. But he knows heâs lying, especially when he starts finding excuses to see you outside of the library or when he catches himself glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from you.
One night, back at the frat house, heâs lounging with Sam and Steve again, half-listening to their conversation when Sam nudges him.
âSo, Barnes. Howâs it going with the bookworm?â Sam asks with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off, but Sam isnât so easily deterred. âDonât tell me youâre catching feelings.â
Bucky scoffs, forcing a laugh to keep the truth buried. âItâs going fine. Like I said, a monthâs no problem.â
Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, a wicked grin spreading across his face. âLetâs make this interesting then. If you really want to win this thing, youâve got to take it further.â
Buckyâs jaw clenches. âFurther?â He has a bad feeling about where this is going.
Steve raises his eyebrows. âCome on, Buck. Youâve been hanging out with her, sure, but weâre talking about actually making her fall for you. Ask her out, and, you knowââ He raises an eyebrow meaningfully.
âSleep with her,â Sam adds bluntly, laughing. âSeal the deal, and thereâs two hundred bucks in it for you.â
Bucky hesitates, that uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach again. He tells himself itâs just a stupid bet. Heâs done things like this beforeâgotten close to people just to prove he could, had plenty of meaningless hookups that never meant a thing. Heâs Bucky Barnes, the guy who doesnât do commitment or complications. But for some reason, picturing it with you makes him feelâŠoff.
âFine,â he says after a beat, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the uncertainty heâs trying to ignore. âTwo hundred bucks. Done.â
The next day, he texts you, his fingers hovering over the keys a little too long before he finally sends, Hey, you free Friday? Let me take you out somewhere nice.
When you see his message, your heart skips a beat. Itâs been a while since anyone has asked you on an actual date, and even longer since youâve felt genuinely excited about someone. Buckyâs been different from the startâwarm, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to. Youâve caught yourself looking forward to his company, replaying the moments he laughs at one of your jokes or leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne.
After a second, you type back, Yeah, Iâd love to! You add a smiley face, feeling almost giddy as you press send.
The days leading up to Friday drag by, each one marked with bursts of nerves and anticipation. You spend a little more time getting ready than usual, finally deciding on a simple but pretty dress that makes you feel confident. When Bucky picks you up, his usual leather jacket replaced with a dark button-up, you feel a thrill of excitement. He looks genuinely happy to see you, his eyes scanning over you appreciatively as he gives you a lopsided grin.
âYou look amazing,â he says, his gaze warm. Thereâs something softer in his eyes, something that makes you blush.
âThanks,â you mumble, smiling as you walk beside him. He leads you to a small Italian place tucked away from campus, the kind of cozy, dimly lit restaurant you wouldnât have expected him to know about. The conversation flows easily between you two, laughter spilling out as you talk about classes, hometowns, and childhood memories.
The night feels magical, almost surreal, and you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, thereâs something real here. Every time his hand brushes against yours, a spark shoots up your spine. And when he reaches across the table, fingers lightly grazing your wrist as he laughs at something you said, your heart flutters in a way thatâs both thrilling and terrifying.
After dinner, he suggests taking a walk, and soon youâre strolling through the quiet streets, the chill of the night air making you shiver just slightly. Without a word, Bucky slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It feels so natural, like you belong there.
âYou know, I donât think Iâve ever been on a date this nice,â you admit, smiling up at him, your voice soft.
He chuckles, though it sounds slightly strained. âReally? I find that hard to believe.â
You shrug, trying to brush it off. âI guess Iâve just neverâŠmet anyone like you before.â
Thereâs a flash of something in his eyesâguilt, maybe, or regret. But itâs gone as quickly as it came, replaced with that charming grin. He steps closer, his arm slipping from your shoulders, and you hold your breath as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.
âYouâre pretty amazing, you know that?â he murmurs, his voice low.
You feel like the world has stopped, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment youâve been dreaming of, the moment where everything finally falls into place.
But for Bucky, something sharp and painful twists inside him. He can feel the weight of what heâs doing pressing down on him, can see the way your eyes look at him with such unguarded trust, and itâs enough to make his stomach turn. Heâs never felt guilty over a stupid bet before, but right now, the idea of hurting you feels unbearable.
âHey,â he says softly, his hand still on your cheek. âYou trust me, right?â
Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, too caught up in the moment to notice the tension in his gaze. âYeah,â you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips.
He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he takes a steadying breath. âGood,â he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Because if heâs going to go through with this, he tells himself he has to believe that none of it mattersâthat he wonât let himself care. But even as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm against yours, he knows heâs lying to himself.
The days after that first date drift into a series of moments that feel surreal, almost like theyâre happening to someone else. You find yourself checking your phone at odd times, waiting for his texts, smiling down at your screen whenever his name lights up. Bucky is a part of your routine now, and it feels strange, thrilling even, like thereâs this magnetic force that draws you to him despite every bit of caution you try to hold onto.
Every time youâre with him, the outside world fades. He makes you laugh with stories about his friends, leaning in close, his voice warm and low as if heâs sharing some secret just for you. You catch yourself stealing glances when heâs not lookingâat the way his jaw clenches when heâs lost in thought or how his eyes soften when he looks at you, a mix of curiosity and something you canât quite name.
Itâs after one of your study sessions at the library that Bucky invites you over to his dorm room for the first time. He tells you heâs got some old movies youâve probably never seen, and, honestly, heâs rightâyouâd never pictured Bucky as the type to own black-and-white classics, but thatâs exactly what he has, a surprisingly large collection lined up on a low shelf near his TV. He insists you pick one, and soon youâre sitting side by side on his couch, your legs tucked up beneath you, feeling almost shy in the soft glow of the screen.
The movie starts, but his arm stretches along the back of the couch, barely brushing your shoulders. The faintest touch sends electricity through you, but you stay quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Then, halfway through the movie, he shifts, glancing at you.
âYou can get closer, you know,â he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something mischievous yet gentle.
Your heart flutters as you scoot closer, until youâre tucked into his side, his arm draped around you in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. He smells faintly like cedar and something distinctly him, a scent thatâs becoming familiar. Before you know it, your head is resting on his shoulder, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you feel like you could stay there forever.
Time slips by in a collection of small, perfect moments. There are more datesâlittle coffee shops tucked away from campus, a bookstore where he buys you a copy of a novel you mentioned in passing, a late-night diner where you both end up after laughing so hard that you canât breathe. You never expected him to be so attentive, so eager to listen to your stories and learn every detail about your life. He even surprises you with your favorite snack on study nights, tossing it to you with a grin before leaning in close to steal a bite for himself.
One evening, after a long day of classes and a surprise text from Bucky inviting you over, you find yourself curled up on his couch once again. This time, heâs stretched out beside you, one arm tucked under his head while the other rests around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your arm absently, and you canât help but notice how natural this feels. Itâs terrifying, too, the way he seems to melt into your life so effortlessly, as if heâs always been there.
You glance up at him, catching him mid-laugh as he recounts an embarrassing story about Sam, who apparently tried to show off on a skateboard and ended up with a sprained ankle.
âYouâre terrible,â you tease, nudging him with your shoulder, though youâre laughing too.
âOh, come on. It was hilarious,â he insists, grinning down at you. He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second, and your laughter fades as something shifts between you.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.
He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. âI justâŠcanât believe youâre real sometimes.â
The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, youâre too stunned to reply. But then he leans down, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. The kiss deepens slowly, each touch feeling like a promise, and you lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, forgetting every doubt, every insecurity that ever kept you guarded.
As the weeks pass, you find yourself falling harder than you ever expected. Bucky seems to find every crack in your armor, every scar and hidden fear, and instead of pulling away, he draws closer, listening to your stories and letting you into his own in ways that leave you breathless. Heâs there to listen on your tough days, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of reassurance. Heâs there on your good days, too, laughing with you, pressing kisses to your forehead as if he canât believe his luck.
One night, youâre back on his couch, cuddled up under a thick blanket as a storm rages outside, the rain tapping against the windows. Youâre nestled against him, his arm holding you close, and heâs quiet, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder absentmindedly.
âBucky?â you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.
âHmm?â he murmurs, his gaze dropping to yours, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light.
âThank you,â you say, your voice barely a whisper. âFor everything.â
He frowns slightly, shifting so he can look at you fully. âYou donât have to thank me for that,â he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. âBeing with youâŠitâs the easiest thing in the world.â
You smile, warmth spreading through your chest, and he kisses you again, slow and soft, like heâs savoring every second. Itâs moments like this that make you feel like maybe, just maybe, youâre finally safe with someone, that this is something real.
But for Bucky, each moment with you is a double-edged sword. Heâs never felt this way beforeâthis calm, thisâŠconnected. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes or lean against him, trusting and unguarded, he feels that awful twist of guilt, the memory of that stupid bet lurking in the back of his mind.
Heâs supposed to ask for more. Thatâs what Sam and Steve were expecting, werenât they? They wanted him to win the bet, to seal the deal and prove he could pull this off. But every time he thinks about going further, about pushing this relationship into a place where he canât turn back, he feels that nagging ache, that quiet, gnawing feeling that heâs crossing a line he canât uncross.
He knows he needs to tell you. He needs to come clean, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. You look at him with those bright, trusting eyes, and he canât bring himself to shatter the way you see him. So he holds his silence, hoping that somehow, he can bury the truth forever, that maybe youâll never have to know.
One evening, as youâre lying together on his couch, you let out a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest as his hand traces lazy patterns along your back.
âBucky?â you whisper, your voice soft.
He glances down at you, his fingers pausing as he meets your gaze. âYeah?â
You hesitate, then take a steadying breath. âIâŠI think Iâm falling for you.â
The words hang in the air, vulnerable and open, and for a second, his face goes still, his eyes widening just slightly. Then, his expression softens, and he tightens his arms around you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.
âYou have no idea how much that means to me,â he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. But as he kisses you, the warmth of his touch hiding the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, a single thought haunts him.
She deserves the truth.
That night, Bucky barely sleeps, lying awake with the knowledge that heâs in far too deep to ever come out of this unscathed. Every soft breath you take beside him reminds him of how much heâs risking by staying silent. He knows he has to tell you, but heâs terrifiedâterrified that this fragile, beautiful thing youâve built together will shatter, that youâll look at him with betrayal instead of trust.
In the morning, he makes a decision. Heâll find a way to tell you, he promises himself, but he wants one more day, one more memory before he risks everything. Just one last perfect day where he can pretend that none of it was ever a lie.
So he takes you out, leading you down to the pier just as the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and gold. You laugh, leaning into him, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
âItâs beautiful,â you murmur, watching the waves lap against the shore.
âYeah,â he replies, his voice soft. âIt is.â
But as he stands there, holding you close, he knows that the beauty of this moment is fleeting, that the truth waiting in his chest is too big to ignore. And tonight, when he finally gathers the courage to tell you, he knows thereâs a chance heâll lose you forever. But for now, he lets himself savor this last quiet moment, memorizing the feeling of you in his arms, the warmth of your laughter as it fills the air.
For now, he holds onto the hope that maybe, somehow, youâll understand.
The sunset fades, leaving the world painted in muted purples and blues, but neither of you seem ready to break away from each other. Bucky holds you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest as if itâs his own. He knows he should say somethingâthat he needs to say somethingâbut the words seem so impossible now, tangled up in his chest. The truth would ruin this moment, shatter whatever heâs built with you. And so, he tells himself it can wait just a little longer.
As the evening slips into night, Bucky leads you back to his dorm room, his hand intertwined with yours. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrap around yours as if he never wants to let go. The air feels charged, every touch electric, each shared glance simmering with something that feels fragile and exhilarating. Neither of you says much, as though speaking would break the quiet spell between you.
Once youâre inside, Bucky hesitates. He turns to you, his expression vulnerable, softer than youâve ever seen it. "You donât have to stay if you donât want to,â he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.
âI want to,â you say, the words escaping before you can even think. Thereâs no hesitation in your voice, only a gentle certainty that makes his chest tighten. The way you look at him, so open and trusting, makes his heart ache with a mix of guilt and longing.
Buckyâs eyes search yours, lingering for a moment that stretches into forever. He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to your jaw, cradling your face as if youâre something fragile and precious. Slowly, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss thatâs softer than any before. Itâs unhurried, tender, as if heâs savoring every second.
The kiss deepens, and you can feel yourself melting into him, your heart pounding so hard you think it might burst. His hands move to your waist, steady and grounding, and he pulls you closer until thereâs no space left between you. You can feel the strength of him, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and it makes your head spin.
Before long, you find yourselves tangled together on his bed, the world outside fading into nothingness. Each kiss is deeper than the last, each touch laced with a longing neither of you can deny. Thereâs a gentleness to Buckyâs movements, a quiet patience as he explores the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your waist, as if heâs memorizing every inch of you. Heâs slow and careful, constantly looking at you as if to make sure this is what you want.
âAre you okay?â he whispers, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion.
You nod, feeling breathless but certain. âIâve never been more sure of anything.â
His eyes darken, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, and then heâs kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over your skin with a reverence that leaves you feeling cherished. You lose track of time, surrendering to the way he makes you feelâsafe, wanted, like youâre the only thing in the world that matters.
When you finally fall back against the bed, your bodies wrapped around each other, youâre exhausted yet filled with a warmth that feels all-encompassing. The reality of what just happened settles in, but instead of feeling nervous, you feel at peace, secure in the quiet intimacy that has grown between you.
Bucky shifts beside you, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful daze, and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, soothing and grounding.
Youâre both quiet for a long time, the silence comfortable as you bask in each otherâs presence. Eventually, though, you feel a need to tell him something youâve been holding back, something you hadnât planned on revealing but that feels right to share in this moment.
âBucky,â you begin softly, lifting your head to look at him. He gazes down at you, his eyes warm and attentive, as if youâre the only thing he sees. âIâŠI want you to know that this was my first time.â
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, youâre afraid heâll pull away, that heâll think you were too inexperienced or that you should have told him sooner. But he doesnât flinch or hesitate. His hand moves up to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.
âYour first?â he echoes, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something that sounds almost like reverence.
You nod, feeling your cheeks heat as you look down, suddenly self-conscious. âYeahâŠI wanted it to be with someone who made me feel safe. Someone I trusted.â
Buckyâs chest rises and falls slowly as he takes this in, his expression softening. He seems almost humbled, like heâs just been given something rare and delicate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours.
âYou have no idea how much that means to me,â he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Thereâs a vulnerability in his gaze, as if heâs holding back a hundred things he wants to say but canât find the words for.
You smile, the last traces of your nervousness melting away. âThank you, BuckyâŠfor making it so special.â
He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like heâs afraid to let you go. âIâd do anything to make you feel special,â he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.
You nestle into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe and cherished in a way you never have before. And as you lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly, deeply in love.
But as you fall asleep in his arms, Bucky lies awake, his heart heavy with the weight of everything heâs kept from you. He knows he should be content, that he should just let himself savor this night and the closeness youâve shared. But the memory of that stupid, careless bet gnaws at him, a dark cloud looming over everything.
He runs a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling torn between the desire to protect you from the truth and the fear that heâs already crossed a line he canât uncross. The realization that you trusted him enough to give him something so deeply personal makes the weight of his lie even heavier, almost unbearable. He swallows hard, tightening his hold on you as he resolves to tell you the truthâsoon, somehow, even if it means risking everything.
But tonight, he lets himself stay silent. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body against his, and allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that this can last.
The morning sunlight filters softly through the blinds, casting warm, golden patterns across the bed. You stir beside him, your movements gentle as you wake up, and Bucky watches you with a quiet awe, his heart racing as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face. For a moment, it feels like heâs exactly where heâs meant to be.
You blink up at him, your face lighting up with a sleepy smile that makes his chest tighten.
âGood morning,â you murmur, your voice soft and a little shy, as if the night is still too fresh, too beautiful to fully believe.
He grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âMorning,â he replies, his voice low and warm. His fingers trail down to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you squeeze back, a shared moment of silent understanding passing between you.
The morning stretches on in a gentle haze of quiet touches and soft words. Bucky makes you coffee, insisting you stay curled up under his blanket while he brings it over to you, and you laugh, watching him with a mix of affection and disbelief. This side of himâthe playful, thoughtful sideâis something you never expected to see, and it makes you fall for him even harder.
Youâre both lounging on his bed, your legs tangled together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. He tells you stories about his childhood, tales about him and Steve getting into trouble, and you share your own memories, laughing as he reacts with wide eyes and exaggerated shock.
It feels so real, so natural, that you almost forget about everything outside this room, about the possibility that this could be something fleeting. You feel like youâve found a place thatâs safe, a person who makes you feel more like yourself than you ever have before.
But in the quiet moments, when you catch him staring at you with that far-off look, you wonder if thereâs something heâs not telling you, a hesitation lurking behind his gaze. You donât press, not wanting to shatter the peace between you. But part of you wonders if youâre seeing a glimpse of something deeper, something youâre not yet ready to confront.
As you leave his dorm room later that morning, he kisses you softly, lingering as if heâs trying to memorize the taste of your lips, the feel of your hand in his. Thereâs an unspoken promise in his touch, a silent assurance that this isnât the end.
Later that afternoon, you make your way back to the frat house, humming softly as you climb the steps to Bucky's door. You left your notebook there, a little blue book youâre pretty sure youâll need for your upcoming assignment. You barely slept last night, too caught up in the warmth of his touch, the memory of his whispered words that lingered long after you left his dorm this morning. Youâre nervous, too; you feel so much for him that it scares you.
As you approach his room, laughter drifts out into the hallway, low voices filtering through the partially open door. You recognize Buckyâs laugh, the familiar sound stirring warmth in your chest, but the laughter feels different, carefree and loud. And then you hear a familiar voiceâSamâsâcutting through, low and joking.
"Guess she fell for it pretty hard, huh?" Samâs voice sounds amused, lighthearted, as if heâs talking about something trivial.
You freeze, your hand hovering inches from the door. Something about his tone makes you hesitate, a strange, unsettling feeling creeping into your chest.
"Come on, Bucky," Sam presses, âdonât act all innocent now. I saw you this morning, looking like you just won the lottery.â You can hear the grin in his voice, a laugh bubbling beneath it. âSo? How was it?â
Bucky laughs, the sound uncomfortable, but he doesnât argue. âYeah, yeah,â he says, his voice casual, light. âIt was⊠good.â
You feel a stab in your chest, a faint panic that tells you to leave, to walk away before you hear any more. But your feet donât move, and you find yourself listening, every word driving another splinter into your heart.
Steveâs voice joins in, chuckling. âWell, you earned it, man. She had no clue, huh?â
âNo clue,â Bucky murmurs, his voice softer now, almost unreadable. You can picture him there, maybe rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when heâs nervous. But the words are there, undeniable.
Sam laughs again, louder this time. âAnd hey, betâs a bet,â he says, and then thereâs a pause before you hear the unmistakable rustling of bills being exchanged. âTwo hundred dollars, as promised. Canât say you didnât earn it, thoughâyou even managed to get her into bed. Didnât think you had it in you, but here we are!â
Your vision blurs, the words echoing in your mind, distorting into something raw and jagged. Every affectionate touch, every gentle kiss, every whispered promise from the past few weeks twists into something ugly, something unrecognizable. You feel sick, the image of Buckyâs earnest smile, his soft words about wanting to make you feel special, tainted beyond repair. Everything you felt for him, the trust youâd handed him so freely, crumbles beneath the weight of their laughter.
Slowly, you turn and leave, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you make your way out of the frat house. You donât let yourself cry, not yet, not when you still feel the echo of his betrayal throbbing in your chest, too raw, too painful to acknowledge fully.
Hours later, youâre back in your dorm room, your heart aching as you sit in silence, the truth settling over you in waves. Part of you wants to believe it was a misunderstanding, that maybe thereâs an explanation youâre missing. But the memory of their laughter, the casual way Sam handed him that money, makes the truth impossible to ignore.
A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, and your heart skips a beat as you hear Buckyâs voice calling your name softly from the hallway. Itâs just him now, his voice hesitant, almost as if he senses that somethingâs wrong. You take a steadying breath, steeling yourself before you answer the door.
When you open it, Buckyâs eyes light up, and he steps forward, a soft smile on his face as he reaches for your hand. âHey, you,â he murmurs, his voice warm. But when he sees the look on your face, he pauses, his smile fading. âWhatâs wrong?â
For a moment, you canât bring yourself to speak. You can only look at him, trying to reconcile the gentle, caring person you thought you knew with the man who took a bet to seduce you. You pull your hand away from his, ignoring the confusion in his gaze as he watches you.
âWere you even going to tell me?â Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, a dull ache threading through every word. âOr were you just going to take the money and pretend it never happened?â
Bucky blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion. âTell you what? IâI donât understand.â
A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you look away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if itâll keep you from falling apart. âDonât play dumb, Bucky. I heard you. I was at the frat house earlier, and I heard everything.â
He freezes, his face going pale, and you see the truth in his eyes, clear as day. He opens his mouth, stumbling over his words. âY/N, IâI didnât⊠I didnât mean for you to find out like this.â
The admission twists the knife deeper, and you feel yourself trembling as you look back at him, tears stinging your eyes. âSo, itâs true, then? All of it? This whole⊠this whole thing was just for some stupid bet?â
He reaches for you, his expression desperate, his hands hovering just inches from your arms. âY/N, please. Just let me explain. It wasnât like that, I swear. It started that way, but then⊠then it became real. I fell for you, okay? Everything we did, everything we sharedâit was real.â
You shake your head, pulling away from him, the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface. âReal? You think that makes this okay? Do you have any idea what youâve done?â Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. âI trusted you, Bucky. I thought⊠I thought you cared about me.â
His face crumples, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to wipe away the tear on your cheek. âI do care about you. More than anything, Y/N. Thatâs why I wanted to tell you, I justââ
âWanted to tell me?â you interrupt, your voice shaking. âWhen, Bucky? After you cashed in your winnings? After I found out on my own?â
The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, and Buckyâs shoulders sag as he looks away, guilt etched deeply into his face.
âDo you even realize how humiliating this is?â you continue, your voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. âI trusted you with something⊠something Iâd never given anyone. And the whole time, it was just part of a game to you.â
His eyes snap back to yours, filled with anguish, his voice barely a whisper. âIt was never just a game, not after the first night. I swear, Y/N, I was going to tell you everything. I just⊠I didnât want to lose you.â
âYou didnât want to lose me?â you repeat, laughing bitterly. âYou lost me the moment you made that bet. You had no right to⊠to play with me like that, to make me believe that any of it was real.â
He looks at you, his blue eyes full of desperation, his voice breaking. âY/N, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need you to believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to happen.â
âJust stop,â you whisper, the weight of it all crashing over you. âYou donât get to do this. You donât get to make me feel sorry for you when youâre the one who lied.â
Buckyâs face falls, and he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping in defeat. âI know. I know I donât deserve your forgiveness. But please, just⊠give me a chance to make it right.â
Your heart aches, torn between the memories of every gentle touch, every whispered word, and the undeniable truth of his betrayal. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to believe that somewhere in all of this, there was something real. But the pain is too deep, the wound too fresh, and you donât know if you can ever look at him the same way again.
âI canât do this,â you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. âI canât just forget what you did. You hurt me, Bucky. And right now, I donât even know who you are anymore.â
He flinches, as if your words physically hurt him, and he nods slowly, a look of resignation in his eyes. âI understand. Iâll⊠Iâll leave, if thatâs what you want.â
You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he turns and walks toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glances back at you, his voice soft, broken.
âFor what itâs worth, Y/N⊠I love you. I know I donât deserve to say that, but itâs the truth.â
You donât reply, staring at him with tear-filled eyes as he finally steps out of your dorm, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, and you sink to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down as you realize that the person you thought you loved never truly existed.
The days blur together in a haze of heartbreak and emptiness. You go through the motions, attending classes, completing assignments, and showing up to study groups, but it all feels mechanical, like youâre on autopilot. Itâs as if something inside you has shut down, leaving only an echo of who you were before you met him, before he became the center of your world.
It doesnât take long for your friends to notice the change. They ask if youâre okay, if something happened, if maybe you just need a break. But you give them the same answer each timeâa nod, a small smile, and an assurance that youâre just tired. Itâs easier than explaining the mess of emotions tangled inside you, the hurt that seems too big to fit into words.
Late at night, lying alone in your dorm room, you can still feel the warmth of his arms around you, the softness of his voice in the quiet hours when heâd whisper promises you thought would last forever. The memory feels cruel now, tainted by the knowledge that it was all built on a lie. And yet, despite everything, you miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe, special, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.
Bucky isnât doing any better. In fact, heâs a mess. Days have passed, but the guilt, the emptinessâit lingers, gnawing at him, refusing to let him move on. He can barely sleep, haunted by the look in your eyes, the betrayal, the hurt he put there. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, hears the way your voice cracked when you told him you didnât know who he was anymore. And the worst part is, he doesnât blame you. He knows he did this, that he ruined everything, and now he has to live with the consequences.
Sam and Steve notice almost immediately. Bucky, the confident, charming guy theyâd known for years, looks hollow, as if heâs carrying a weight he canât shake. He barely speaks, keeps to himself, and they rarely see him at the frat house anymore. Instead, he spends most of his time shut up in his dorm, a shadow of the person he used to be.
One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Sam and Steve exchange a glance, silently agreeing that they need to intervene. They knock on his door, and when he doesnât answer, Sam pushes it open, finding him lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
âHey, man,â Sam says, stepping inside. Steve follows, closing the door behind them as they both approach Buckyâs bed.
Bucky doesnât react right away, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. But eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and defeated.
âWhatâs up, guys?â he mumbles, though his voice lacks any real curiosity.
âWe should be asking you that,â Steve says, his tone softer than usual. âYou havenât been yourself lately. Ever since things ended with Y/N, itâs like⊠youâre a completely different person.â
At the sound of your name, Buckyâs face falls, and he lets out a long, shaky breath. âYeah,â he says quietly, almost to himself. âThatâs because I am.â
Sam frowns, studying Buckyâs expression, the guilt etched into every line of his face. âLook, man, we didnât mean for things to get this serious. But if you cared about her, really cared⊠why didnât you just tell her the truth from the start?â
Bucky shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. âI donât know,â he whispers, his voice breaking. âI was scared, I guess. I knew Iâd screwed up, and every time I tried to tell her, I just⊠couldnât. I thought I could fix things, somehow, make it up to her without her ever finding out.â He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. âStupid, right?â
Steve sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. âNot stupid, just⊠a mistake. A big one, yeah, but youâre not the first guy to mess up. Youâre just⊠Bucky, this isnât like you. Iâve never seen you like this over anyone before.â
Bucky looks away, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âThatâs because Iâve never felt this way before. Not like this. I love her, Steve. And I threw it all away over some stupid bet that meant nothing. I hurt her in ways I canât even fix.â
Sam places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. âSo what are you gonna do about it? You canât just sit here, wallowing. If she meant that much to you, then maybe you owe it to herâand to yourselfâto try and make it right.â
Bucky laughs, but itâs empty, hollow. âAnd how am I supposed to do that, Sam? She told me herself she doesnât know who I am. She doesnât trust me. I donât deserve another chance.â
Steve exchanges a look with Sam, and then he says, âMaybe. But you canât just give up without trying. If you really love her, Bucky, you have to prove it. Show her that youâre not just the guy who hurt her, that youâre willing to fight for her. And if she doesnât take you back⊠at least youâll know you tried.â
Bucky sighs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor. âI donât know if sheâll ever forgive me. I donât even know if I deserve it.â
Sam crosses his arms, his expression softening. âLook, man, I get that youâre hurting. But donât you think sheâs hurting, too? Sheâs probably out there feeling just as broken, wondering if anything between you was ever real.â
Bucky swallows hard, his chest tightening at the thought. He knows youâre hurting, knows you trusted him with something precious, something he didnât deserve. And knowing that heâs the reason for your pain⊠itâs a feeling he wouldnât wish on anyone.
Over the next few days, Bucky wrestles with himself, caught between the fear of making things worse and the desire to show you that heâs truly sorry, that he wants to be the man you thought he was. He writes and rewrites texts he never sends, shows up outside your dorm but never works up the courage to knock. Heâs terrified, but he canât ignore the way his heart aches for you, the empty, gnawing feeling that only seems to grow with each passing day.
Finally, he decides to try one last time. He doesnât know if youâll listen, doesnât know if youâll even give him a chance. But he has to tryâto give you the truth, no matter how painful it might be.
And so, as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over campus, Bucky finds himself standing outside your dorm, his heart pounding as he gathers the courage to knock. He knows this is his last chance, that this is the moment that will decide everything. And he only hopes, as he takes a deep breath and raises his hand to the door, that youâll give him the chance to show you that heâs not the man who hurt youâthat heâs ready to fight for you, no matter what it takes.
The knock on your door is soft, almost hesitant, but itâs enough to pull you from your thoughts. Youâve been lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to move forward, to somehow patch yourself up after everything that happened. When you open the door, you see him standing there, his eyes filled with an uncertainty thatâs almost heartbreaking. Heâs gripping a small notebook in his handsâyour notebook, the one you left in his roomâand his gaze is fixed on you with a desperation youâve never seen before.
âHi,â he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You donât reply right away, the sight of him dredging up the familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wants to slam the door and hide, to keep yourself safe from any more hurt. But you donât. Instead, you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to remain steady.
âHi,â you reply, your voice guarded.
He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the notebook before offering it to you. âI, uh⊠you left this. Thought you might need it.â
You take it from him, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands. âThanks.â
A heavy silence hangs between you, one that neither of you seems willing to break. Bucky swallows, his face creased with an anxious, uncertain look that makes him seem vulnerable in a way youâve never seen before.
âCan we⊠can we talk?â he asks, his voice almost pleading. âPlease. I know I donât deserve it, but I just need to say a few things. If you donât want to listen, Iâll understand, and Iâll leave you alone. I just⊠I need you to know the truth.â
You hesitate, but finally, you nod, stepping back to let him into your room. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him, and takes a seat in the small chair by your desk while you remain standing, arms crossed protectively over your chest.
For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze heavy with regret. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
âI know you have every right to hate me,â he starts, his voice barely steady. âI know I messed up in ways I canât even fix. And I know⊠I know what I did was horrible. I justââ He swallows, his throat tight. âI just need you to know that it wasnât all a lie. When we started this⊠when we first got close, I didnât expect any of this to happen. I didnât think Iâd feel the way I did.â
You look down, his words stirring a fresh wave of pain in your chest. âBut it was a bet, Bucky,â you murmur, your voice trembling. âYou⊠you did all of that just to win some money. To you, it was just a game.â
He flinches, guilt flashing in his eyes, and he nods. âI know. I wonât make excuses for itâI was stupid, and I hurt you. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the bet. It stopped being a game. And I started⊠I started caring about you, more than Iâve ever cared about anyone.â
You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. âThen why didnât you just tell me the truth?â
He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, his expression tortured. âBecause I was scared. I was terrified that youâd look at me the way youâre looking at me now, that Iâd lose you. I know that doesnât make it better, but itâs the truth. I tried to find the right time, tried to find the right words, but I kept putting it off, thinking maybe⊠maybe I could make it up to you before you ever found out.â He looks down, his voice breaking. âBut that was stupid. I shouldâve just been honest with you from the start.â
You take a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of everything heâs saying. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to forgive him, but the wound he left is still fresh, still raw. âI trusted you, Bucky,â you whisper, your voice barely audible. âI thought⊠I thought what we had was real.â
He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity that takes you off guard. âIt was real. For me, it was real. And I know that doesnât change anything, but I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you, and Iâll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you if youâll let me.â
You study him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to find some indication of sincerity, something to show that heâs truly sorry. And when you see the remorse in his eyes, the sadness that mirrors your own, you feel something in your chest soften, just slightly.
âBucky,â you begin softly, forcing yourself to stay strong, âI canât just go back to how things were. I canât pretend this didnât happen. You hurt me more than anyone ever has, and itâs going to take time for me to get past that.â
He nods, his expression resigned, but he doesnât look away. âI understand. And I donât expect you to forgive me right away. I just⊠I just want the chance to prove to you that Iâm more than the guy who hurt you. Even if we canât go back, I want to be there for you, even if itâs just as a friend.â
You let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the ache in your heart. Part of you still longs for what you had, for the closeness you shared, but you know that you canât rush back into it. If Bucky truly wants a second chance, heâll have to earn it, piece by piece, day by day.
âMaybeâŠâ You hesitate, feeling vulnerable but determined. âMaybe we can start as friends. Just⊠friends. No promises, no expectations. If youâre willing to do that, to rebuild things from the ground up⊠then maybe, someday, Iâll be able to trust you again.â
Relief floods his face, and he nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. âIâll take that. Anything youâre willing to give, Iâll take it. Iâll prove to you that I can be better. Iâll prove that Iâm worth your trust.â
You give him a tentative smile, and for the first time in days, you feel a flicker of hope. Itâs small and fragile, but itâs enough to remind you that maybe healing is possible.
Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant but careful presence in your life. He shows up when you need help with an assignment, offers a listening ear when you need to vent about a long day, and joins you for coffee on campus, keeping the conversation light and easy. He respects your boundaries, never pushing for more, never expecting anything beyond friendship. Youâre surprised at how attentive he is, how willing he is to wait, to prove that heâs serious about making things right.
Slowly, the walls around your heart begin to crack. You start to feel comfortable with him again, to let your guard down, if only a little. You catch him glancing at you sometimes, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if heâs seeing something precious he thought heâd lost forever. Itâs in these moments that you remember why you fell for him in the first place, why his smile used to make your heart race, why his touch felt like home.
One day, as youâre both sitting on a bench by the campus pond, he turns to you, a hesitant smile on his face. âI know weâre just friends right now, and Iâm okay with that. But I want you to know that Iâm grateful for every moment I get to spend with you, even if itâs just like this.â
You feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of peace you havenât felt in a long time. âThank you, Bucky,â you say softly. âFor not giving up. For being patient with me.â
He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting his hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. âIâll wait as long as it takes. Iâll prove to you that Iâm here for you, no matter what.â
And as you look into his eyes, you feel a flicker of something you thought was lostâa tentative, fragile hope that maybe things could be different this time. That he could truly be the person heâs trying to be, the person you wanted him to be all along. And though you know thereâs a long road ahead, youâre finally willing to take that first step with him, trusting that maybe, this time, he wonât let you down.
The night is alive with music and laughter as you step into the crowded frat house. Itâs your first time back here since everything happened, and you canât deny the nervous flutter in your stomach as you take in the familiar scene. But tonight feels differentâBucky is by your side, watching you with a gentle smile as he guides you through the chaos of people, his hand warm and steady on your arm.
Over the past few weeks, things between you and Bucky have been slowly mending. Heâs proven himself time and time again, showing up when it mattered, respecting your boundaries, and never pressuring you for more than you were willing to give. Heâs become someone you can lean on, someone whoâs earned back your trust bit by bit. And, to your own surprise, you feel something new blossoming between youâsomething deeper, stronger, and more genuine than before.
When you reach the main room, you spot Sam and Steve near the keg, both of them giving you a thumbs-up as soon as they see you with Bucky. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but Bucky just grins, shrugging as if to say, Theyâre harmless.
âGlad you came tonight,â he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the noise. âI was worried you might skip.â
You shrug, glancing up at him. âWell, I figured it was about time I faced the frat house again.â
He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that sends a spark of something familiar through you. Itâs the same feeling you used to get when you first met, when you were just getting to know him, before anything got complicated. Only now, it feels even betterâbecause youâre finally on solid ground with him, without secrets or lies standing between you.
As the night goes on, you find yourself enjoying the party, laughing with friends, and even dancing a bit. Bucky stays close, his presence a comforting, steady anchor amidst the noise and chaos. Heâs attentive, offering you drinks and glancing over every so often to make sure youâre comfortable. And every time you catch his gaze, you feel your heart race just a little faster.
At one point, as youâre talking with a friend, you feel Buckyâs hand gently touch your arm, and he leans in close, his voice soft and intimate against your ear. âWant to get some air?â
You nod, letting him lead you through the throngs of people until you step out onto the back porch. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the warmth inside, and you breathe deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the evening. Bucky leans against the railing, watching you with a soft, almost nervous smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.
âIâve been wanting to tell you something,â he begins, his voice low and steady, as if heâs thought about this moment a thousand times. âI know weâve been rebuilding things, and I know you wanted to take it slow. But, Y/N⊠being with you these past few weeks, even just as friends, has been everything to me. And I canât stop thinking about you. About us.â
Your heart stirs at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of longing thatâs been building quietly since the day he asked for a second chance.
âBucky,â you say softly, stepping a little closer. âI⊠I feel the same. Itâs been hard, letting go of the past. But I thinkâno, I knowâIâve forgiven you. Youâve shown me who you really are, and⊠I like that person.â
His eyes brighten at your words, and he reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek as his thumb strokes gently across your skin. He leans closer, his gaze searching your face as if to make sure youâre truly ready for this.
âCan I kiss you?â he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet night air.
You feel your heart skip a beat, and you give him a small, almost shy nod, your pulse racing as he leans in, closing the distance between you. The moment his lips meet yours, itâs like the world melts away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth against yours. Itâs gentle at first, tentative, as if heâs afraid of breaking the spell. But as you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you a little closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet, aching intensity.
When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, sharing a smile thatâs equal parts relief and joy.
âY/N,â he murmurs, his voice full of warmth, âI promise, Iâm not going to mess this up again. I want this with youâfor real, no games.â
You smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. âGood, because youâre stuck with me now.â
He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a happiness you havenât felt in a long time. Youâre finally ready to move forward with him, to start fresh, knowing that this time, itâs real.
maybe I should've made it more angsty? I love angst, request angst people! lol
#amethyst arachnid#comics#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel x reader#movies#gaming#x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes imagine#winter soldier#the winter soldier#bucky barnes#bucky barns x reader#bucky barns fanfiction#bucky barns imagine#bucky barns x y/n#james buchanan barnes#james bucky buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan#angst#light angst#angst with a happy ending#one shot
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The examples in the notes are all very valid. But as someone who speaks two languages that are closely related, the scenario above is actually not that unrealistic. In fact, it can even happen a lot.
My mother tongue is Cebuano (aka Bisaya), but Iâm living in the capital where everybody speaks Filipino/Tagalog, the national language of the Philippines. (To any Filos reading this: I know thereâs a difference between Filipino and Tagalog, but to avoid confusion, Iâm gonna refer to the language as Tagalog from now on)
Cebuano and Tagalog are distinct from each other, but since they are both Philippine languages they have an overlap in their vocabularies. Sometimes, the two have the exact same words for certain things. Other times the word is just spelled or pronounced slightly differently.
So when I suddenly use a Cebuano word while speaking in Tagalog, its because I have thought that that word also exists in Tagalog.
Example:
While at a fruit stall: âMagkano âtong lemoncito?â (How much is this lemoncito?)
Lemoncito is the Cebuano word for this citrus fruit:
The word has Spanish origins (the country was colonized by Spain for over 300 years), and it literally means âlittle lemon.â
I thought the Tagalogs also have lemoncito in their vocabulary because itâs not like the word is inherently Cebuano. It was only when the fruit seller looked at me in confusion and asked me to clarify what I said that I realized that they, in fact, do not have that word. Their word for lemoncito is only calamansi.
Example 2:
While sharing an anecdote about our rooms in the house: âSa pikas na kwartoâ (âIn the other roomâ)
sa, na, and kwarto are words that exist in both Cebuano and Tagalog.
However, pikas (âotherâ) is a Cebuano-only word. The Tagalog word for it is kabila.
This time, I knew pikas does not exist in Tagalog. But I was speaking too fast and the words were just flowing out. I didnât even realize I had codeswitched until people asked me to stop and explain.
Now, the most extreme example:
In a Discord DM: Explaining something long and complicated in Cebuano to a friend who only knows Tagalog đ„Č
Yes, it has happened before. It just felt so natural while I was doing it that it was only when I finished typing everything and looked back at what I wrote that I fucking remembered that my friend doesnât understand Cebuano ïżœïżœïżœ
I had to delete everything before she could read it because holy fuck that was embarrassing
Codeswitching one or two words? Still acceptable. Writing a long-ass rant in entirely Cebuano despite knowing I wonât be understood? I had no idea what came over me...
Some more words which I suddenly codeswitch to unintentionally: (Cebuano words are violet, while Tagalog words are orange)
To eat: kaon instead of kain
To write: suwat instead of sulat
Dipper: kabo instead of tabo
the color black: itom instead of itim
The words above only vary in spelling a little, so itâs easy to forget that theyâre actually from two different languages, and hence, the codeswitching.
Now, this one is not really codeswitching, but itâs still relatedâŠ
Conjugating Verbs
[Context: Cebuano and Tagalog both conjugate verbs by aspect (fabric of time), which is in contrast to English that conjugates by tense (location in time).
But Iâm not gonna go too deeply in that, so for now Iâll just use the term âtenseâ to avoid confusion.]
In Cebuano, the present tense form of a verb is made by adding the prefix ânag-â to the root word. However, this way of conjugation coincides with the Tagalog rule of conjugation for past tense.
And so, we get this mess:
Cebuano: âI am writingâ -> ânagsuwat koâ
Tagalog: âI wroteâ -> ânagsulat akoâ
The present form of a Tagalog verb requires that you also repeat the first syllable.
Tagalog (present): âI am writingâ -> ânagsusulat akoâ
Many times, I mean to say something in the present tense (âI am writing/nagsusulat akoâ) but I end up talking in past tense (âI wrote/nagsulat akoâ) without even realizing it. Itâs like I would subconsciously apply the Cebuano rules (nagsuwat -> nagsulat) instead of the Tagalog ones when conjugating verbs...
So yeah, switching to a different language is actually not that weird when the two languages are closely related to each other.
#thanks for coming to my ted talk#codeswitching#languages#sociolinguistics#miyamiwu.tl#miyamiwu.cmt#long post
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Late night confessions | Spencer reid x Fem!Reader
only fluff allowed in this house
In which Spencer can't believe how oblivious you were.
Warnings: Pretty sure none!
Content: Love confessions, reader is oblivious, really cutesy, petnames (stuff like darling...)
--
Itâs a Saturday night, and youâre getting ready to go out with your friends from the BAU. Somehow, you guys got lucky enough to have this day off and decided to go to a bar and have some fun. Hotch and Rossi both said theyâre âtoo oldâ for this and decided to not go, which honestly left you relieved, you really did not want both your bosses to see you in the outfit you had planned for the night. Besides them, everyone was going, and you were excited to see the team outside of work â particularly excited to see a certain genius.Â
You and Spencer are the kind of friends that everyone perceived as âsuspiciously closeâ and everyone that didnât know thought you guys were a couple. Actually, there was a bet amongst your friends as to how long it would take you two to actually get together.
At first, you and Spencer found it uncomfortable and got awkward every time they made a joke about you two being together, but after some time, you guys started to join in a bit. Now, the irony of it all is, between all the flirty jokes, the way Spencer became so comfortable with you being clingy to him besides his germophobia and the way he cared so much about youâŠÂ You fell in love with him.Â
Arriving at the bar, you spot your friends all sat at a booth and head over to them.
âHey guysâÂ
âHi sweetie, you look gorgeousâ Garcia says, giving you a kiss on the cheekÂ
âThanks darling, you look stunning tooâ You say, taking a seat between Spencer and Penelope.Â
You talk to your friends, occasionally making eye contact with Spencer, who has been blushing ever since you came into the bar. You had always found it cute how no matter how many dates he had, he still would get flustered around girls he found attractive.Â
You spent the night dancing and gossiping with Penelope and Emily. Later, the group was starting to leave when you felt a hand on the small of your back, when you turn around you see Spencer standing there smiling at you
âHi Spence, wanna dance with me?â You say, putting your hands around his neck and smiling back, voice coming out a bit dragged
âNot now darlingâ He said, softly laughing at the way you were, not that usually you were super uptight but at this moment you seemed so relaxed and carefree he loved seeing you like that âDid you drive here?â
âNop, but don't worry, I'll take a cab back homeâÂ
âThere's no way I'm letting you take a cab alone this late at night. C'mon, let's say goodbye to everyone and I'll take you homeâÂ
You roll your eyes at him, but the way he was being so protective over you made your heart flutter. You thought about contesting him, something about you being a âscary FBI agentâ but you knew he was right and decided to just go with it.Â
You say your goodbyes to the rest of the group and go on with him to the parking lot. On the way to the car, Spencer is holding you by your waist to prevent you from stumbling, you're fully aware that you don't need it, you didn't even drink any alcohol, still you let him do it because there's no way you would ever shy away from being this close to him. Â
Back at your house, Spencer goes with you in the elevator, stopping at your apartment's doorÂ
âAlright, here you are, safe and soundâ He says, smiling at youÂ
âThanks Spenceâ You reach out to give him a hug, and it lingers for more time than it normally does
All you wanted to do right now was kiss him.Â
âDo you want to come in? I'm not sleepy at all, and I would feel guilty with you driving alone this late at night, we can make some tea and talk maybeâ
âI don't know, you really should restâŠâ Just as he began reclining your offer, you gave him the look you knew he would never say no to âAlright, I'll come inâÂ
âWhat's going on in that pretty brain of yours Spenceâ You say, leaning on the counter topÂ
You smile at him as you walk into your apartment, getting rid of your shoes and stepping into the kitchen. Spencer sits in one of the stools near the counter top and watches as you start to make tea. He watches every move you make, as if memorizing it, and maybe it's all in your head, and maybe you're just seeing what you want to see, but he has this look in his eyes, different from before.
âNot muchâ He smiles, and it feels like the world stops for a moment.Â
 âNow that's a surprise, when have you ever not thought about everything all at onceâÂ
âYou tend to have that effect on meâ His gaze lingers on you, as if he was trying to tell you something. You can't help but feel a flutter in your stomach.Â
âWhat's that supposed to meanâ You think you might know, but there's no way he reciprocates your feelings⊠right?Â
âYou know exactly what i mean, there's no way you're that obliviousâ He smirks at you, and god you think you might pass out right then and there.Â
âIf I knew, I wouldn't be asking you, SpencerâÂ
He laughs and stands up, getting close to you "Alright, what i mean is when i'm close to you, that's all I can think about⊠You. I've been in love with you for⊠honestly, I don't even know how long anymoreâ He takes a step closer, placing a hand on your waist and his voice drops to a whisper âI've made it pretty obvious too, maybe you took the âdon't profile each otherâ too serious. How did you not notice?âÂ
You're shocked, you can't even process your thoughts right now. Your best friend, whom you've been in love with for years, just confessed to you. You did notice his change in behavior towards you, you just didn't believe he could ever be in love with youÂ
âI noticed you treated me different, but I thought it was justâŠâ You lose your words when he reaches out and cups your jaw, you look into his eyes, and you can see the love in them, and it makes you feel something inside.Â
âCan I kiss you?â He asks, and all you can do is take a deep breath and lean into his hand, feeling your heart flutter. You give him a small nod and close your eyes as he gently presses his lips against yours, and at that moment, you know that this is real.Â
 He gently pulls you into his arms and kisses you on the forehead as he whispers âI love youâÂ
âI love you moreâ You say, looking up, smiling at him.
âImpossibleâ He says, smiling back at you.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x bestfriend!reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid self insert#spencer reid one shot#criminal minds blurb#criminal minds fanfiction
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Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt
Warning: Blood and gore
There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.
Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.
The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.
Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.
The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.
The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.
The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.
Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.
The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.
There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.
It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.
Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.
To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.
As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.
"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."
The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.
Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.
"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.
"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.
Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.
This time the boy spoke differently.
"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.
The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.
Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.
Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-
"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.
He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.
He flinch as he pushed the thing away.
"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.
He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.
"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."
The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.
"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.
This was hell. This was his hell.
But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.
Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.
****
"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"
After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.
"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.
"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.
"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.
"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.
"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.
"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.
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So, Things Are Terrible and You Want to DO SOMETHING
The election is over and, ah...did not go well. While a lot of folks are doing a post mortem of the campaigns and trying to understand what happened with the vote and fighting over who shoulders the blame, we've gotta turn an eye toward the future and figure out, okay fam, where the fuck do we go from here.
I don't have all the answers on this, and I'm not an authority by any means, I'm just a horror author with a blog. But I've been thinking a lot about it and I wanted to share my thought process with others who might want to DO SOMETHING but feel they're spinning their wheels.
Buckle in. This will be a long one.
Step One: Understand the actual risks and stakes.
I think it is very easy to start panicking now about the worst possible case scenario -- jackbooted military busting into the door to disappear everyone who ever said something mean about Trump or bought a banned book or something -- and let fear turn into inaction.
I'm not saying things can't get that bad, and I'm not saying that it won't be absolutely terrifying right out the gate for some particularly at-risk groups -- but the distance between "now" and "V for Vendetta" is long and filled with a lot of intermediary steps. There will be so many opportunities to prevent the worst case scenario.
I say this because, if your mental image of "Bad Things Happening" is The Purge, it will be easy to wake up on inauguration day, look outside to see that the world is not on fire, think, hey, maybe things will be okay after all, and then completely disengage. Alternatively, you might feel so frozen with terror at the possibility of persecution that you do nothing. This is why people are saying: don't obey in advance.
It is essential for those of us with more privilege to use it to take care of those who are more vulnerable.
So. Who is most vulnerable? What does that vulnerability actually mean? What are the most likely risks of Trump's presidency? Here's a Guardian article that I think does a good job of summarizing some of the main issues. Go read that, then come back here.
Step Two: Take steps to protect yourself
You've gotta put your oxygen mask on first, right? So before you start getting involved in other causes, figure out what risks YOU are at, immediately, and do as much as you can to secure yourself. Some potential action steps depending on your circumstance may include:
Renewing your passport (helpful for leaving the country, but also for gender/name change purposes)
Getting vaccines / boosters
Securing birth control
Ensuring your necessary papers (birth certificates etc.) are where you have access to them.
Drawing up legal paperwork for spouses/partners (always a good idea, a helpful safety measure in case you lose marriage rights)
Bolstering your data privacy and online security. Here's a step-by-step guide I found that could help with that.
The specific steps you need to take here depend on what risks you, personally, face. You'll want to do some more research into this for your particular scenario.
No matter who you are, though, it's probably a good idea to start saving money and being a little more conservative with your spending and/or pay down debts to free up some cash. You don't know what kind of emergency may befall you, and having spare money for an emergency is never a bad idea.
There is a possibility that the cost of many things you rely on might go up, if Trump goes through with his tariffs plan. You will want to plan for that.
Food costs may also rise due to tariffs (we import a lot of food from Mexico and Latin America for example) as well as a loss of immigrant labor. There is also a possibility that food safety standards could fall due to overturning regulations. Now would be a good time to look into local food resources like farm share/CSA, community farms, etc., and to stock up on a few key staples like rice and beans.
Okay. Now that YOU are reasonably safe...what can you do to protect your community?
Step Three: Get Involved
Here is your mission: You need to stay engaged enough to know what's going on, without burning yourself out or exhausting yourself, and to take actual decisive actions instead of wasting your energy arguing on the internet.
Got that? Okay. Good. Here are some action steps:
Support independent journalism. Subscribe to local papers, donate to and watch public broadcast programming. I signed up for news from ProPublica, for example, as well as the news-roundup service What The Fuck Just Happened Today. The goal is to stay informed without falling down an endless rabbit hole of upsetting information.
Share news and resources with others in your circle. This can be a good use of social media. It's what I am doing right now!
If it is safe for you to do so, challenge and educate your friends/family members/neighbors/coworkers. Only if it is safe for you to do so. Do not put yourself at risk doing this. And do not waste your time arguing with people who are unlikely to change. But if you have well-meaning people in your life who you think could be won over, look for opportunities to do this - the right way. I've had some success with this, I will probably write a guide about it in the future. In the meantime, here's a good article that can help.
Join local grassroots activism groups. You'll have to do some work to decide what groups to join and which causes you want to support, because you cannot do everything. But there are tons of organizations taking direct action in all kinds of causes. Search "grassroots [cause] activists in [where you live]" to start finding things. Once you get involved in one group, you might meet people who can introduce you to other groups and causes. Yes, this means you will have to go outside and meet people. I'm sorry.
Join direct action groups. Same concept as above. You'll have to search in your area but once you know people it'll be easier to find more opportunities. Some of these groups may overlap. You might find direct action opportunities by engaging politically and vice versa. GO OUTSIDE AND TALK TO PEOPLE WHO ARE DOING THINGS TO HELP.
Get involved in local politics. Here are some quick tips. A lot of things are affected at the city level - stuff like book bans and bathroom bills are often battled first at local libraries and schools, and you can be part of those conversations! Sheriffs are elected and can have a big influence on local policing. Local elections affect how tax dollars are spent, how homeless populations are treated, and lots more. Don't snooze on local elections. Get involved and stay involved.
Look up your representatives. Get in the habit of calling, emailing, and writing letters. Figure out what legislature is being passed and then call your reps and harangue them about it - both to support bills you approve of and shoot down ones you don't. Sign petitions. Join email campaigns. Here's one you can go sign right now from the ACLU. See? Not that scary.
I think a lot of people figure that getting involved in politics doesn't matter or that it's all small potatoes but...man. The president is not god, no matter what he thinks. The sitting administration is not the sole power in the universe. There is an entire machine of government we can lean upon and act upon.
Finally, some general safety notes:
Some forms of direct action are not legal. Take steps to be safe if you choose to partake. Follow the lead of more seasoned activists for what forms of communication to use and so forth.
If you're not willing or able to put yourself at legal risk to act, you can help others by donating to bail funds and legal defense funds.
We've already seen this in some areas, and it will only get uglier - some bad actors are feeling emboldened by the change in regime and will misbehave. It's a good idea to learn some self-defense skills, in whatever way is comfortable to you, and brush up on some tenets of victimology that can help you stay safe. I'll write more about that in the future.
All right. That's all for now. It's by no means comprehensive...but should hopefully help you get started taking the next step. Stay safe out there.
#uspol#politics#direct action#grassroots activism#get involved#election 2024#us politics#us elections
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Forgive me if I'm mistaking you for another person, but I remember you speaking at multiple points on the unsustainability of free social media services (I think especially in response to the cohost collapse?), and I'm curious on what your thoughts on bluesky are so far. I'm not an expert on the subject, but from what I've read previously it seemed like they were on track to be financially sustainable, but I don't know if the recent floods of users has thrown those projections off. Sorry if I'm mixing you up with someone else on my timeline, in that case just ignore me.
bluesky will almost certainly follow the same trajectory of monetisation => bloat => enshittification => decline as every other major platform built on venture capital and user hoarding. it's a terrible model that only works in the short term as a mirage for attracting funding and making founders look good for a year or two before they sell.
you can see the same effect in the decline of all the subscription box services that came into vogue just before covid: they feel great to use for as long as the initial injection of venture funding lasts, because the purpose of that funding at that stage is to attract users and impress the next round of funders with how pleasant/intuitive/efficient/ethical/good value the service is. that's the stage where they're handing out freebies and bowling over influencers, and every ingredient in the box is fresh and high quality and locally sourced. wow what a good deal, what a great system!!! why hasn't anyone done this before? the answer is because it's unsustainable by design. they rack up good reviews, sign on a billion new users, attract new funding from a bunch of much more credulous investors, and then gut all of the expensive parts. portions get smaller, ingredients get worse, packaging gets flimsier, prices go up, freebies turn into "5% off your first 9 boxes when you invite 3 friends", and customer service vanishes.
with social media (and platforms like discord) the logic is the same, it's just a little less glaringly obvious to the end user because they're not coming home to leaking packages of rancid chicken on the doorstep. bluesky has an advantage over tiny operations like cohost because it was founded by a billionaire making a point for the sake of his own image. it got a really significant chunk of startup funding, and the owner had existing connections and rep in the space to attract more. That's why it has survived the goldrush period, why it still feels good to use, and why users who have been burned so many times before are finally accepting it as a stable, reliable option. It's still in its venture capital honeymoon phase where the only thing worth spending money on is making the service attractive to users.
What I expect we will see next, with another mass influx of users from twitter and new funding from a rogue's gallery of tech venture sickos led by Blockchain Capital is a strong ramp up into monetising that userbase. They've already been pretty forthright about how they plan to do this, and I think it's a solid roadmap of how Bluesky will bloat and decay over the next few years:
this is a huge lol. don't worry, we're not going to hyperfinancialize the social experience through NFTs. the thing even crypto freaks started feigning amnesia about a year ago. real "our health conscious sodas are 100% arsenic free" messaging here. They know perfectly well that rubes users are suspicious of their typical 5 dimensional tech finance chess games and are patting our hands about last week's bogeymen so nobody worries too hard about whatever 'decentralised developer ecosystem' just happens to be helmed by a bunch of crypto guys. this definitely means something good and based and not a google-like single sign on user data harvesting operation.
This is the same shit that's currently rotting the floorboards of discord. Bluntly, there is no way to run a platform on this scale without gating functionality behind paid services. Discord has been squeezing free-tier file uploads and call quality etc. down steadily and cranking up subscription costs over the last year or two, throwing in chaff like animated avatar frames to try and justify the user cost. They're also doing the same misdirection thing again here, pointing to Thing We All Hate to deflect from thing we might not like very much when they do it. Booo elon booo we all hate elon!!! wait how do we feel about subscription models again,
watch out for this to kill porn on bsky like it has killed porn on every other social platform đ boooo we hate elon boooo stupid idiot and his 'everything app' booooo wait why do you need my tax information, what's that about mastercard,
Look, we are all aware social media is a money pit. Let's not forget dorsey was looking to sell twitter in the first place, long before elon's very public plunge into total online derangement. Subscription services are not going to plug the hole, so we are gradually going to see more and more spaghetti thrown at the wall while early funders shuffle cards and do their pyramid scheme bit bringing in stupider and stupider investments. this is the window in which bluesky will be temporarily worth using for us, for the idiot public, the poorly rendered crowd jpegs in the background of their venture capital MOBA. it's in their interests to slow and pad the decline as much as possible, because that is how they get maximally paid.
Given the scale of the money involved, and dorsey's weird ego investment, I think bluesky will probably manage a controlled drift for a good few years before it gets really bloated and painful. and by then we will all be so used to the *checks notes* decentralised developer ecosystem that we'll just be posting through it, watching another generation of columnists call another collapsing platform 'their beloved hellsite' and passing around that meme about not getting out of our chairs no sir until idk we all get on a fediverse neurolink alternative to stick it to the elongated muskrat and our brains pop peacefully in our sleep. which I guess is the closest thing to viability any social media platform can achieve.
anyway diogenes the cynic is also on bluesky
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Suppressed Desires
Synopsis: Jeonghan is your first everythingâyour first kiss, your first date, your first boyfriendâand now, you want him to be your first in every way. But every time you try to take things further, he seems to pull away. Doubts creep in, making you wonder if he doesnât find you attractive. But heâs quick to show you thatâs not the case.
Pairing: Jeonghan x afab!reader
Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship
Rating: mature
Word count: 3.6k
Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, protected sex (we cheered!), corruption kink, body worship, oral (fem receiving), loss of virginity, mentions of insecurities, aftercare, lemme know if I missed anything!
Note: This was requested! I hope you enjoy this anon.
Thank you always to my loves @tomodachiii and @tusswrites for beta reading and helping me with the plot!
Click here to join my taglist!
Reblogs are appreciated âĄ
.áMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.á
The sound of the TV is muffled, forgotten in the background. The feeling of Jeonghan's lips against yours is the only thing you can focus on at the moment. They feel so soft, so warm, and so perfect. You get lost in the way they moulded against yours. You're draped across his lap, his hands keeping you steady. You thread your fingers through his short brown hair, giving it a gentle tug that draws a groan from his lips.
You want more. You crave more. You want to feel him all over you, inside you. You hear his breath hitch as you slowly start to grind your hips against his. He suddenly pulls away, his hands stopping you from moving. You look down at him, confused.
âWe should get back to the movie; we wouldnât want to miss the climax,â he says softly, a gentle smile on his lips.
You furrow your brows, pouting. Jeonghan always does thisâevery time things start to get more intimate, he somehow stops it. Something suddenly comes up, he brushes off the moment, or he simply leaves the room. You have no idea why he does this, but you donât have the heart to ask. Suppressing a sigh, you nod and slide off his lap, reluctantly settling back to watch a movie you donât really care about.
Opening your front door, you practically jump into Jeonghan's arms; it's been almost two weeks since you last saw him due to his busy schedule. He chuckles as he wraps his arms around you, snuggling his nose into your hair and inhaling your scent.
"I missed you so much bubs," he sighs.
"Missed you more," you mumble into his chest.
He gives you a gentle squeeze before cupping your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His lips find yours, and you melt into the kiss. Youâve missed him so much, his presence, his scent, his warmth, and the feeling of his lips on yours.
You wanted to feel more of him, you needed more of him. You press up against him and tilt your head to deepen the kiss. He groans, and his hands roam down to your ass, squeezing them and eliciting a moan from you.
"H-Hannie," you whimper.
He suddenly pauses, pulling his lips away from yours. You look up at him, confused, wondering if you did something wrong.
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask, brow furrowed.
âSorry, bubs. Iâm just tired. How about we take a nap together?â he murmurs, gently caressing your face.
Biting your lip, you reluctantly nod. He kisses the top of your head and leads you to the bedroom.
Lying in his arms, you pout as thoughts race through your mind. Did you do something wrong? Did you make him uncomfortable? You shift carefully, not wanting to wake Jeonghan, whoâs softly snoring beside you.
Jeonghan is your very first boyfriend. Youâd never really pictured yourself in a relationship, content with being single and even imagining youâd stay that way. But then Jeonghan came into your life, and everything changed.
He just feels so⊠perfect. Like youâre meant to be. He treats you with such tenderness, caring for you like a delicate flower. Heâs your first in so many waysâfirst boyfriend, first date, first kiss. You want him to be your first time, too. But every time you try to take things further, he suddenly pulls away.
Does he not feel that way about you? Does he not see you as sexy and desirable? Maybe heâs only with you out of pity. Maybe he doesnât truly love you and feels obligated to stay. As these thoughts swirl, a few tears slip down your cheeks.
Friday nightâone of your favourite nights, marking the end of the workweek and the start of the weekend. Even better, Jeonghanâs schedule ended early, so he decided to spend the evening with you.
Youâre cooking dinner for both of you while Jeonghan clings to you from behind, occasionally planting kisses on your neck, making you giggle.
âJeonghan, I wonât be able to finish dinner if you keep distracting me like this,â you laugh as he starts to sway with you.
âBut youâre so cute and cuddly,â he whines.
âYou can cuddle me all you want after I finish dinner.â
You canât see him, but you can definitely feel him pout as he stops swaying and loosens his grip. You chuckle, shaking your head, heart swelling at his playful antics.
Dinner was filled with the usual, compliments, catching up, laughter, and, of course, a bit of teasing. After cleaning up, you both decide to settle in for a movie night. Cuddled up on the couch, you put on one of your favourite movies, Iron Man (definitely not because you have a crush on Tony Stark). The lights are off, and the only thing illuminating the room is the soft glow from the TV.
The TVâs light highlights Jeonghanâs features, making him look even more handsome, and you canât help but admire him. Jeonghan notices you watching him and turns with a smile.
âAm I really that handsome that I managed to distract you from the Tony Stark?â he chuckles.
âShut up,â you roll your eyes, snuggling into the crook of his neck, which makes him laugh softly.
âYouâre so cute,â he murmurs, rubbing your back gently.
You playfully bite his neck, making him let out a small yelp as he pulls back, wide-eyed. You burst into laughter at his shocked expression.
âOh, you littleââ he growls, grabbing you and starting to tickle you, making you squeal and try to push him away.
But he doesnât relent, pinning you down on the couch and using his body to hold you in place. His hands tickle your sides, and you laugh uncontrollably, struggling to catch your breath.
"I yield! I yield!" You yell out, writhing under him.
He lets out a laugh, grabs your hands, and pins them to the couch above your head. The both of you catch your breath as you stare at each other. He looks ethereal, his hair is messy but it frames his face perfectly, his cheeks are flushed from laughing, and his eyes have a sparkle to them which you can get lost in.
A beat passes and Jeonghan blinks.
"S-Sorry," he mumbles and gets off you, you can't help but frown.
You sit up and bite your bottom lip.
âJeonghanâŠdo youâŠnot find me attractive?â You whisper, tears pricking your eyes.
âWhat?â His head snaps toward you, his expression bewildered.
âEvery time I try to initiate something more, you justâŠpush me away,â you sniffle, frowning. âDo you not find me attractive? Are you only with me out of obligation? You donât have to stay if you donât want to. IâŠIâd understand if you did.â
You feel the air grow still as Jeonghan blinks at you, his expression bewildered. After a few beats, his gaze shiftsâhis eyes darken, and a slow smirk spreads across his face.
"I donât find you attractive?" he mutters with a low chuckle, shaking his head.
His eyes lock onto yours with an intense, dark look that sends a shiver up your spine.
"I donât find you attractive?" he repeats, louder this time, his tone laced with offence.
With a growl, he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, his lips devouring yours. You let out a small squeak, not expecting this behaviour from your usually sweet and caring boyfriend.
Noticing your hesitance, he pulls back. His thumb gently caresses your cheek, as he looks at you with longing and lust.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me Y/N?" he whispers against your lips. "Do you have any idea how much you drive me insane? Hm?"
He leans back and takes your hand, guiding it to rest over his bulge; you gasp, he's rock solid.
"Jeonghan�" You whisper, your heart lurching in your chest.
âDo you want me to show you? Show you just how much Iâve been holding back?â He asks, breath ragged.
You lick your lips as you look at his bulge straining against his pants. Your eyes slowly travel over his breathless figure before meeting his gaze, and you nod.
His lips immediately latch onto yours, his movements rough and aggressive. You submit to him, letting him take complete control. His hand rests at the back of your head, gently guiding you. He tilts his head and prods his tongue against your lips. You open your mouth, giving him full access.
He starts sucking on your tongue, making you moan against him. The kiss is messy and intense, his tongue clashing against yours hungrily. You can't help but whimper, relishing the feeling taking over your body.
Needing air, you both pull apart, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You look at Jeonghanâhis pupils are blown wide with lust, lips swollen and shiny from kissing, cheeks flushed as he pants. You can imagine youâre in a similar state.
"You taste like sweet innocence," he murmurs, caressing your cheek. "And I've imagined countless times tainting your innocence with my sin."
Your breath hitches at his words.
"Please taint me with your sin Jeonghan," you mewl.
"Whatever you wish, my sweet," he growls with a smirk.
With a final peck on your lips, he leads you to the bedroom. Your heart races in your chest, a mix of nerves and excitement about whatâs to come.
Once youâre sitting on the bed, a wave of anxiety hits you. Youâve imagined this moment countless times, but now that itâs actually happening, you suddenly feel nervous. What if once you're undressed, he doesnât find you attractive? What if you mess up? What if heâs not satisfied?
Noticing your distracted thoughts, Jeonghan cups your cheek and looks at you with concern.
âHey, whatâs wrong?â He asks gently, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. You don't have to force yourself bubs."
"No, no! I want this!" You protest, shaking your head.
"It's justâŠwhat if once I'm naked, you don't find me attractive anymore?" You whisper, unable to meet his gaze as tears well up in your eyes.
His expression hardens at your words. Gently, he guides you onto your back as he crawls on top of you.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've seen in my entire life," he murmurs, placing kisses along your jaw.
He starts to slowly undress you, placing kisses on every exposed inch. He whispers sweet nothings into your skin, making you shiver under him. Any thoughts of insecurity fade away as Jeonghan continues to worship your body.
After you're fully undressed, he stares at you, mesmerised by your beauty. He bites his lip, his eyes tracing your figure as if heâs trying to memorise every inch of you.
"Not even the beauty of the goddess of love can compare to you," he exhales in a daze, and your cheeks flush at his words.
"I can't believe you thought I wasn't attracted to you," he scoffs with a playful grin.
He leans down and captures your lips into a deep kiss, one you return with equal fervour. Your hands weave into his hair, drawing him closer to you.
"I need to taste you, will you let me taste you, bubs?" He breathlessly mumbles against your lips.
You blush at his words, your heart skipping a beat, but you nod shyly.
He slowly starts trailing kisses down to your dripping core and your body shivers due to the cold and anticipation.
"So beautiful," he whispers before licking a long stripe up your cunt.
You gasp and whimper at the new sensation, legs reflexively closing.
"Ah, ah, keep them open for me bubs," he teases as he pulls apart your legs.
Heat rushes to your cheeks as your glistening core is fully displayed for him. He dives in, tongue prodding against your entrance. You moan and whimper at the sensation, hands flying to thread in his hair.
"Fuck, you taste better than I ever imagined," he groans against you, sending vibrations of pleasure through you.
You shut your eyes as the euphoric feeling of his tongue inside you takes over you. You've never felt such sensations before, and now that you have, you never want it to stop. You unintentionally buck your hips against him, he grunts and holds your hips down, preventing you from moving.
Your eyebrows furrow in pleasure as his tongue continues to push against the deepest part of you, lapping up all your juices. You couldn't help but moan his name out loud, which only egged him on further. He was eating you out like a starved man.
He shifts to suck on your clit, and you scream in pleasure. The euphoria becomes overwhelming, sending a tingly sensation through your whole body. A knot forms in your lower abdomen, and your breath catches, unsure of the sensation.
"H-Hannie! I think I-I'm," your voice is shaky and you're barely able to get the words out.
"Cum for me bubs, cum all over my tongue," He murmurs before returning to suck on the sensitive spot.
At his words, the knot snaps, and you feel an overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over you. Your vision goes white, and it feels like your head is underwater. Jeonghan continues to lap up your juices, working you through your orgasm. He stops once he hears you whine.
He sits up and your breath catches at the sight of him. His hair is messy, his chin is coated in your arousal, his eyes are blown out with lust, and a smirk is plastered on his face.
"How did that feel bubs?" He asks, his hands running up and down your hips.
"Feel so good Hannie," you whisper, still panting from your high.
"Wanna taste yourself? Wanna see how sweet you taste?" He grins.
You bite your lip and nod, he leans down and kisses you messily letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your face scrunches up in disgust at the taste, and you hear Jeonghan chuckle into the kiss.
"What's wrong bub? Don't like the taste?" He teases.
"I donât understand how you like it," you say, scrunching your nose in distaste.
"You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted, I can't get enough of you," he purrs, making you blush.
Jeonghan leans back and groans at the sight of youâyou look so perfect beneath him. Your hair is splayed out over the pillow, eyes dazed, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing, and your chest rising and falling with each breath. He wants to capture this moment in his memory forever.
Grinding your hips against him, you whine and pout, drawing a chuckle out of Jeonghan.
"Want me to fuck you, bubs? Fill you up with my cock?" He purrs with a smirk.
Your face warms at his words, and you cover it with your hands, nodding shyly. Jeonghan chuckles at your cuteness.
"I want to hear you say it, or else I'm not giving it to you," he says in a cheeky tone.
You let out a whine and huff, and Jeonghan laughs at your frustration.
"You're not getting my cock until you ask for it, bubs," he gives you that familiar grin, the one he always has when heâs teasing you. His thumb starts drawing circles on your hips and you squirm in place.
"I-I want your cock, Hannie," you mumble through your hands, your voice barely over a whisper.
"Hm? What was that, bubs? I couldn't hear you," he teases, his hands slowly trailing lower.
You thrash in place, letting out a whine, and he chuckles at your antics. His hand shifts to your inner thighs, drawing circles near your sensitive bud.
"Hannie, please! I need your cock so bad!" You yell out in frustration.
"Fuck, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for that," he groans.
He shifts off the bed and takes a condom out of his wallet before discarding his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. You look at him in confusion as he pulls out the foil packet.
"Why do you have a condom in your wallet?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"You never know when an opportunity like this might come alongâI always have to be prepared, bubs," he winks.
He slowly removed his boxers, and you choke back a gasp at the sight of his cock. He was so thick and long; you had an idea of how big he might be when you touched him earlier, but seeing it in person leaves your mouth feeling dry. How was that supposed to fit inside you?
"Don't worry bubs, I'll go slow. You can tell me to stop anytime and I will," he reassures you, sensing your worry.
You lick your lips and nod; he gives you a gentle smile, then wraps the condom over his cock. He shifts to move over you, lining his cock with your entrance. You gaze into his eyes, momentarily lost in their depths. He looks at you as if youâre the only thing in the entire universe. The tips of your noses touch, and his hand gently caresses your cheek.
"I'm going to taint you and claim you as mine," he growls as he slowly enters you.
Your breath hitches, and your body tenses as he slowly enters you, he slots his lips against yours as a way to distract you from the uncomfortable feeling.
"Relax for me bubs," he groans against your lips before connecting them again.
You try your best to relax your body, eyebrows furrowing and slightly wincing at the intrusion. You're grateful that Jeonghan is distracting you from the burn. He lets out a moan once he's fully inside you.
"Let me know when I can move," he strains next to your ear.
You can see he's struggling to restrain himself by the way his body tenses and his muscles twitch. You take a few deep breaths and then nod; he slowly begins to thrust his hips, letting out soft groans.
"F-Fuck, you're perfect," he moans, eyebrows furrowing as he struggles to control himself; you feel so good wrapped around him.
The uncomfortable feeling soon morphs into pleasure, you grab onto his shoulders and moan out his name. Soon, euphoria floods through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as the intense sensation sweeps over you.
"Look at me bubs, look at me as I'm ruining you," he grunts as his hips rhythmically continue to thrust into you.
You force your eyes open and look at him, and Jeonghan almost cums right then and there. You look like an angel, with that fucked out expressionâan angel he plans to keep for himself for the rest of his life. This is a million times better than what he has imagined those countless times he would jerk off to you.
"S-Shit, I can't hold back anymore," he rasps, and he starts drilling into you, his pace inhuman.
You yell out his name and dig your fingernails into his shoulders, eliciting a hiss from him.
"Need to make you cum bubs, can you do that? Can you cum for me again?" he hums.
Whimpering, you nod, already feeling a knot forming. His hand sneaks down your body and rubs your clit with expert precision, you moan feeling your body quake with pleasure.
"Cum for me bubs, cream all over my cock," he growls, and at his words, the knot snaps, and you cum hard, waves of pleasure washing over you.
He cums soon after, filling up the condom with his seed. The two of you take a moment to catch your breath, each exhale coming out in ragged gasps. You take a moment to admire how angelic Jeonghan looksâhis face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead from perspiration, his eyes dazed, and the post-orgasm making him glow. You wish this moment could last forever.
He leans down and kisses you tenderly, lovingly, as if youâre a delicate flower that might breakâdespite his earlier actions being the complete opposite.
"I love you so much, more than you could ever know. The stars in the night sky are just a fraction of how deeply I feel for you. Youâre perfect, bubs. Donât you ever think otherwise," he whispers as he caresses your cheek, his eyes dripping with love.
"Or else I might have to punish you," he smirks, giving you a cheeky wink. You gasp, hitting his shoulder and whining for him not to joke about things like that.
"Who says I'm joking?" he grins before placing a peck on your lips on your pouty lips.
He slowly removes himself, and you wince and whine at the emptiness. He hushes you gently and reassures you that heâs just going to grab a washcloth to clean you up. After disposing of the condom and grabbing a washcloth, he quickly returns and very gently cleans you up, making sure to be extra gentle near your delicate parts.
After cleaning you up and discarding the washcloth, he lies back down beside you and pulls you into his arms. He starts peppering kisses across your face, causing you to giggle.
"I love you, my sweet baby dumpling," he sighs, snuggling his face into your cheek; you roll your eyes and chuckle at the nickname.
"And I love you, my pesky angel," you giggle.
The night unfolds as you drift into each otherâs arms, like two puzzle pieces perfectly aligned. To Jeonghan, you mean the world and more, and he never fails to show you just how deeply he feels.
Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite
@miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127
@sclovreina @theidontknowmehn
#kvanity#thediamondlifenetwork#k-labels#svthub#jeonghan smut#jeonghan x y/n#jeonghan x you#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan scenarios#jeonghan imagines#jeonghan fanfic#yoon jeonghan smut#yoon jeonghan x you#yoon jeonghan x reader#yoon jeonghan imagines#yoon jeonghan fanfic#svt smut#svt x y/n#svt x reader#svt x you#svt imagines#svt fanfic#seventeen smut#seventeen x y/n#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fanfic#svt yoon jeonghan
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In a moment like this, only one man can help Bruce Wayne through this difficult time: Michael Jon Carter, THE Booster Gold.
Bruce: I am a master of my craft. Dedicated myself to living two lives and sheparding many others. I have made gods themselves penitent. How the hell am I supposed to cope with this...this humiliation?
Mike: Settle down, my Bat-bestie! This is tabloid drivil. It'll blow over in a few days, tops. You have no idea how often I have to deal with the gossip mags calling me a huge slut.
Ted: (laughing from the other room) Lmao what no you don't.
Bruce: Get to the point, Booster.
Mike: OK so the number one tactic here is to remember that the public has the attention span of a macaque blitzed on Four Loko. Don't ask me how I know that. Just jingle some new keys and they'll forget all about the "Bruce Wayne is Batman is a huge slut" thing.
Bruce: First of all, I actually respect the public. Second, I know it can't be that easy.
Mike: Correctamundo! If you want to dislodge a smear campaign, you gotta taunt TMZ with something at least as juicy. It's like physics! I think. Skeets still refuses to explain science to me after the whole macaque incident.
Bruce: I'm not starting another rumor just to cover my own ass.
Mike: No need! I'll do it. Did you know Superman has a tattoo?
Bruce: He doesn't.
Mike: I'm shocked. Shocked! We share a locker room and you've never seen it? Right on the inner thigh, near his super-you-know-what. Looks like a cat.
Bruce: This is nonsense. Superman does not have a tattoo of Streaky on his thigh.
Mike: Who the heck is Streaky?
Bruce: Superman's cat.
Mike: We're allowed to have pets!? Skeets! Are you a pet?
Skeets: (from the other room) I always thought of myself more as a "friend."
Mike: Anyway, pretty weird of Superman to have a tattoo of his pet cat, Stinky, near his Kryptonian ding-dong.
Bruce: That's not...sigh. Look. I appreciate your intent, Booster. But you clearly don't know anything and cannot help me here. I'll figure out my own way out of this.
Mike: And yet, we're not talking about super-slut Bruce "The Batman" Wayne anymore, are we?
Bruce: ...
Mike: Or macaques.
Bruce: I...owe you an apology, Booster. In all my years as the greatest detective on the planet, I may have overlooked the possibility that such an inane solution to a problem would have real-world efficacy. Thank you, and I'm sorry.
Mike: No problem, Batso! I know you'd do the same for me.
Ted: (from the other room) Hey, babe, why's Cat Grant running an article about "Booster Gold's monkey drug parties?"
Mike: I'm gonna need the "do the same for me" part, pronto.
I'm sorry, we as a society do not talk about the fact that in order to maintain his playboy billionaire status Bruce Wayne had to sleep with a lot of people,, a lot, of people in order to maintain that.
And I'm not shaming him for that, get your hot girl summer brucie hell yea, but what I will say is can you imagine,,,
How hilarious it would be that when eventually Batman's identity gets revealed- it's not the reaction he was expecting.
ââOh my god. Oh my god, Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne the the bimbo Sexy billionaire boy. He is the stoic hard-ass Batman. There's no way-âthat's not the reaction. The reaction is
âholy fucking shit I've slept with Batmanâ
Three quarters of that city and beyond is sat in front of their TVs, their radios, their phones,, I don't care. They're sitting there, agape going âI have slept with the Dark Knight. I have seen Gotham's Bat naked on his knees-â
bruce wouldnât be able to look the justice league nor his kids in the eyes for weeks after the reveal, solely due to the gossip channels or smth
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friends to lovers w/ msby | headcanons
m.list
sakusa kiyoomi
- only became friends with you cause you were neighbors - he helped move your couch up to your apartment - you offered to buy him dinner in exchange for more help - after that you would just find each other everywhere - sakusaâs on the elevator when you are - heâs at the same coffee shop - even getting his groceries at the same time - so you start hanging out more - youâll go watch his games - heâll beta read your food-based articles - even joining you to try a new restaurant for your blog - the change happened for him first - when you spilled wine on his couch - you were so apologetic, doing anything you could to clean it - fell for you first AND harder - he kept it a secret for awhile - not even telling the rest of the team - (although atsumu found out pretty early on) - only told you when you confessed to him - âi like you.. and i appreciate your friendship, i just canât continue like thisâ [you] - âi like you too, and i have for a whileâ [sakusa]
atsumu miya
- met you at a volleyball game - thought you to be one his many fans - 'you want my signature or a photo? or both?' [atsumu] - 'i'm sorry who are you?' [you] - humbled him immediately - you were there investigating one of the teams for fraud and its connection with a coach - he wanted in on it as soon as he heard - wanting to tell others that he was part of a 'serious investigation' - when really you were just writing for the city's news station - however, you do come to find out that he's pretty good at it - he'd get you interviews you couldn't get before - even chatting to the coach to get him to lie through his teeth - 'pretty good investigator, aren't i?' [atsumu] - 'depends on what you define as good...' [you] - you have a very playful relationship together - meeting up at small coffee shops to discuss it - him getting a shout out at the bottom of your article - you quickly realize your own feelings a few weeks later - heâs laughing about something hinata said and the first person he looked to was you - and thereâs a light in his eyes that you realize has been there every time heâs looked into yourâs
hinata shoyo
- you met him on a layover out of brazil - you were in another part of the country when your layout took you to rio de janeiro - hinata bumped into you when walking to your gate - âiâm so sorry, i shouldâve looked-â [you] - âitâs okay! i shouldâve been paying more attention tooâ [hinata] - as an apology he walked you to your gate - only realizing when you got there that it was his gate too - you talk the enter time youâre waiting to board - he ends up in front of you on the airplane - the two of you chat as everyone gets situated on the plane - just as youâre getting off, hinata hands you a piece of paper with his phone number - âmaybe we can meet up laterâ [hinata] - âiâd love to!â [you] - as you make your way down the aisle, the paper falls from your hand - it disappears beneath a few rows - so you spend the next year wondering what wouldâve happened - magically, you run into him again at a coffee shop - âhinata?â [you] - he was ecstatic to see you again - offering to buy your coffee and chat - knowing you had just gotten out of an almost year long relationship, you tell him it can only be platonic - he accepts profusely - as you chat, you start wondering if anything could be there - and you spend a couple months strictly as friends - only breaking that rule when you invite him out to dinner
bokuto kotaro
- prefers being friends before dating - so when he meets you at his favorite coffee shop, he's inclined to learn about you slowly - you just started as a barista and you happily welcome his morning routine - he'll always come in with the intent to try something new - however, he always convinces himself to buy the same thing - 'well we have a new seasonal flavor-' [you] - 'no, no, i think the usual will work today' [bokuto] - until one day when he asked for a baked good and wanted to know if you could hang out during your break - and it slowly became routine for the two of you - youâd talk about everything under the sun - about your schooling, his volleyball, your personal lives - eventually he brings his friends to the shop to meet you - and what cements his budding crush on you is just how well you get along with them all - akaashi to atsumu, youâre able to communicate so well with them - watching you be so kind to them just got his heart beating - and heâs vocal about a lot but he was too nervous to say anything - especially when he didnât want to lose your friendship - so he only said something when akaashi told him to - telling him that he could âtotally seeâ the crush you have on him
gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon
@nekozaki
#msby x reader#msby headcanons#msby black jackal#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#hq#hq x reader#hq headcanons#haikyuu headcanons#hq hinata#hinata shoyo#hq atsumu#atsumu miya#hq sakusa#sakusa kiyoomi#hq bokuto#bokuto kotaro#hinata shoyo x reader#miya atsumu x reader#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#bokuto kotaro x reader#â headcanons
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Cardinal
Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).
Word count: 16.6k
Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.
Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!
Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.
If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.
THE LOOKOUT
With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. Itâs strangely soothing that maybe youâre not the first to stand here to do this.Â
Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight itâs 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 â it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadnât been as bright as it is.
Itâs like youâre 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 cliffâs 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 werenât 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 itâs been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. Youâre exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.
Today you want it to be your last time here.Â
Youâve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined â all but romanticised â how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that itâs apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. Youâll 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 itâs right, how itâs supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, andâ
âHey, stop!â
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.
âFuck off!â you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how itâs amplified by the wind.Â
After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you canât 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 bodyâs 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 youâre standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor.Â
You almost miss the much softer, âHey,â as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you donât hear him, or see him â you simply pretend he isnât there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset.Â
But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.
âDonât fucking touch me,â you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling â weak.
âEasy.â He holds his hands up in surrender. âWasnât planning on it.â
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 donât move, donât 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 heâs wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.
âYou knowââ he begins.
âIâm not really looking for a conversation.â
âMe neither,â he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, âso Iâll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the waterâs gonna be nice to you, youâve got that wrong. Youâll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isnât gonna do shit.â
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 youâve 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 shatterĂng your expectations with them sting, but you donât even know this guyâ
âAnd thereâs nothing fuckinâ peaceful about it, itâs just panic. Right before you go too farâŠâ He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, â...thereâs this burning right here thatâs hell.â
âAnd what makes you such an expert?â you finally spit out.
âDied like that a couple times,â 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. ââA couple timesâ?â
âI, uhâŠâ 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, âLetâs just say I canât die.â
Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. âThat must fucking suck.â
He barks out a laugh, âGot that right.â It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. âBut trust me, being down there isnât much better.â
Thereâs something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You canât really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe itâs because youâre freezing and itâs 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 itâs simply because heâs a stranger and itâs so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.
âThings just feel soâŠ,â you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on whatâs closest to how you feel, âendless.â
To your relief, he doesnât say anything. Doesnât tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit youâve 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 havenât encountered before.
Understanding.
It might be worse. If anything, itâs overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff.Â
The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. Itâs 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 hadnât 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.
âShit. Hey, you still with me?â The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. âJesus, youâre fucking freezing.â
âNo s-sh-hit,â you retort.
He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. âCâmon, let's get you warmed up.â
â â â â â
Logan.
Thatâs his name.Â
Itâs how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didnât 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 â 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 Loganâs 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 pamphletsâor 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 hadnât 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.Â
Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like sheâs asked Logan twice now. Youâre handing her the glass when Logan says, âSheâs had enough.â
Your head whips from her to him. âExcuse me?â
He doesnât say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Loganâs is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like heâ Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You donât need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,
âQuit pitying me, Logan.â
âIâm not,â he says before taking another sip. âYou still have to drive.â
You quirk an eyebrow at him. âAnd you donât?â
Logan shrugs. âItâs different for me.â
Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, âWell, let me guess, itâs another case of âI died like that a couple timesâ?âÂ
He hums.
âAnd how does that work?â
âRegenerative ability,â he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, âX-Gene.âÂ
The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things â heâs a mutant. Youâre not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isnât like you couldnât 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 itâs like to... Thatâs why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different lightâ
âNow whoâs pitying who, hmm?â Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.
âIâm not, Iâm just⊠processing. So this...â you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, â...doesnât even affect you?â
âIt does. For a few seconds.â 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. âBut if I chugged the bottle, Iâd pass out.â
âWell, so would I,â you say with a chuckle. âSo maybe weâre not that different after all.â
Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because⊠it isnât true; youâre very different. Youâre pretty sure you donât 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 youâve overstayed your welcomeâburdened him.
âI should head home,â you say, standing again.
Lightning fast, Loganâs hand shoots out to close around your wrist. âThat really where youâre going?â
âYes,â you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesnât let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, âLet me go.â
âJust promise me something,â he says, eyes as dark as theyâd been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. âDonât go back there again.â
âNot making promises I canât keep,â you say, giving him a wry smile. âTo strangers, but least of all to myself.â
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 Loganâs 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. Itâs not a good way to deal with things, but it works.
Thereâs a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that⊠something inside you is busy trying to squash it.Â
Itâs getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much youâve already had to drink, but youâre 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, youâre tired⊠The truth is that youâre too old for this, but itâs 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 whatâs being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.
After some time â could be an hour, could be 10 minutes â you make your way to the bathroom. Itâs quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy.Â
When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.
Itâs a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you canât help but think heâs 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, âNeed something to take the edge off?âÂ
Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand.Â
âFirst timeâs on the house.â
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.
âShe isnât interested, pal.âÂ
Itâs another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, thereâs 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 manâs shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you donât understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, andâ
âLogan?â you slur in disbelief.Â
Logan doesnât 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. Youâre 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. Itâs 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 Loganâs grip loosens â another and he lets you go.
âHow did you even findââ You cut yourself off, eyes widening, âOh, my god, are you following me?â
Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. âOh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?â
âYouâre here, arenât you? You and your fuckingâŠ,â you gesture wildly into the air at him, âsavior complex.â
âI work here,â he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, âItâs temporary. âSides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isnât selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!â His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.
âMaybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,â you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.
Logan sighs. âWhere are you going?â
âIâm leaving.â
âAnd then what, huh?â
âI donât fucking know, Logan,â you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. âFigure out a new way out of this.â
âYeah? Third timeâs the charm?â
âWhy do you even care, huh? You donât even know me,â you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. âBut I guess that makes two of us.â
Itâs not like you expected him to, but he doesnât answer.
âYou 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.â You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. âIt takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until Iâm something Iâm not and until Iâm so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fuckingââ you pause with a wet gasp for air.
âDestroy yourself,â Logan finishes for you.
Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. âExactly.â
He takes a step closer to you. âLet me take you home,â he says, voice gentle.Â
You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you donât. In your drunk state of mind, itâs easier to admit itâs nice that someone understands, that someoneâs there to stop you from going too farâŠÂ
Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, youâll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldnât be standing here with him. If youâre lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that youâll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishmentâ
âWhat about your job?â you ask with a sniff.
Loganâs 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. âTheyâll manage without me.â
â â â â â
When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. Theyâre not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillowâs too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize youâre on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from youâ
âMorninâ, sunshine.â
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.Â
âWish I could say itâs a pleasure, but it hasnât been very pleasurable. Youâve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,â he adds with a whisper. âBut donât worry, she left about an hour ago.â
âWho are you?â you slur, blinking against the light.
âLogan.â He sighs when you frown. âI know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,â he gestures at his face thatâs covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situationââ
âCut it out, Wade,â 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.
âIâll let you two talk.â 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.
âHow are you feeling?â 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. âLike shit.â
âYeah,â is all he says as he sits back down.
âWhatââ
âYou fell asleep in the car. Didnât know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.â
âOhâŠ,â you say, voice small.Â
You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Loganâs car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Loganâs fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.
âI have the weirdest memory of you having⊠a sword?â
You watch as Loganâs lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, âYou probably saw these.â He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!
âJesus fucking Christ,â you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didnât sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk.Â
Thereâs 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.
âItâs a story for another time,â 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 theyâre gone. âI gotta go check if I still have a job.â
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.
ââS not your fault,â Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. âYou donât have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.â
âYeah, okay,â you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door.Â
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 donât have a name for it yet, or maybe youâre afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasnât all there was. That there is something beyond this.Â
Perhaps foreign wasnât the right way to describe it, because it is something youâve felt before â itâs just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldnât fall for it again, but you canât help it. The feelingâs too sweet, and the idea that thereâs still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you.Â
So yeah, maybe youâre just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps â quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured nowâs your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.
Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isnât 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 donât know if this is much better.Â
Just when youâre about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other thatâs caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. âShit, sorry.â He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.
âHi,â you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.
He nods in greeting. âBrings you here?â
It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; itâs not that heâs ever been any different in his interactions with you.
âI came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you knowâŠ,â you trail off, gesturing at the door.
âBarfing up the place!â comes a shout from inside the apartment.Â
Loganâs eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang.Â
âThat,â you finish sheepishly. âIâm really sorry.â
He nods in acknowledgement.
âI also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.â
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.
âI want to quit drinking,â you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. âIt doesnât make me better, and when I donât do it I finally feel a little⊠normal. Maybe coffeeâs technically just as bad, but itâs the only thing thatâs currently acting like⊠like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like youâre the only person I know that might get that feeling ofââ
âI do,â Logan cuts in, voice softer than before â assuring. His arms drop from where theyâre crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. âLetâs go.â
â â â â â
You donât 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 â and you like the tall windows. The coffeeâs pretty decent.
âDid they fire you?â you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.
âBoss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,â Logan replies. âGot off with a warning.â
âIâm sorry.â
âSaid that already, and I accepted,â he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. âNo need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.â
You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.
âBut, um, Wade hasnât shut up about⊠the incident.â Thereâs a different tone to his voice, like heâs trying to lighten the mood. âHis words.â
âYou know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesnât shut up about a lot of things.â It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little.Â
âYouâre a quick study.â
Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. âI also stopped by because I wanted to, uh⊠because I realized I never really⊠I never⊠I never thanked you, for um⊠Andââ
With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. âYâdonâtââ
To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, âLogan, Iâm supposed to be deadââ
âSo am I,â he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, âIâve been where you are. Past it, even.â
You donât know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but itâs impossible to look away from him. Loganâs gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but itâs not from anger. Instead, itâs like heâs searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesnât bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,
âI had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you thatâs, franklyâŠ,â he makes a face as he pauses, âa horrible excuse for a coffee, helps⊠I can do that. I want to do that.â
The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. âWas it Wade?â
Logan lets out a chuckle, and itâs honest â fond. âYeah.â
âFigured,â you say. âHow did you meet him?â
Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. Itâs an innocent question, but maybe it isnât something heâd like to revisit right now. Loganâs mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeatâÂ
It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you metâŠ
Thereâs 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.Â
Thereâs hesitation in it, like he isnât telling you the whole story, though you donât comment on it. He doesnât owe you anything and youâre 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.
âItâs a very brave thing the two of you did,â you say when heâs finished.
âHmm, it was all Wade,â Logan muses. âHe did it all for the people he cares about.â
âIâm sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.â
At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. âDo me a favor, donât put me on a pedestal.â
You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried youâve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.
âI gotta go but um, Wadeâs friendsâ,â he stops himself, correcting, âour friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap theyâre going to be watching but⊠itâs nice. Itâll be nice to be around good people.â Logan doesnât wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.
âWait, no, I invited you,â you protest. âI shouldââ
âYou can pay next time.âÂ
When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.
â â â â â
You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.
THE PANTRY
ââbut itâs the best one!â Wade protests, DVD in hand.
âThey fly a car into space, Wade,â Laura sighs.
âLaunched off a jet,â he corrects. Like it helps.
You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyoneâs 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 hadnât been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, youâd thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that youâd be relieved you hadnât canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadnât been as bad as you feared.Â
Thereâs Peter, Wadeâs friend. Ellie, another one of Wadeâs friends. Yukio, Ellieâs girlfriend. Laura, Loganâs daughter. Mary Puppins, Wadeâs 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 Wadeâs blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wadeâs ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasnât 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, âgood for the group dynamic,â and it made you beam with pride.
âDonât they have like, rockets attached to the car?â Ellie questions, to which Yukioâs eyebrows knit together.
âExactly!â Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. âCitizen Kane wishes.â
Thereâs 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 wasnât in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.
Youâre pretty sure heâs the only one who knows what heâs 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 doesnât need to pause the movie before you go.
The apartmentâs small, so it isnât far to the kitchen, but itâs 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. Theyâre more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.
Right as youâre finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. Thereâs another sound, like a muffled groan. Itâs coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. Thereâs a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it youâre walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it openâ
Youâre not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasnât this. Loganâs 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 heâs 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. âItâs okay, youâre having a panic attack,â you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. âYou need to breathe. Iâll help you, just look at me.â
Loganâs head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.
âHey!â you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, âLook at me.âÂ
Loganâs 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 itâs you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where itâs buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.
âBreathe,â you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesnât 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 Loganâs 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. âThere you go, good job. Keep going.â
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.
âCame outta nowhere⊠suddenly I was back there⊠letting them down.â
âIt caught you off guard, it happensââ
âI let them get killed,â he says, voice raw. âThey were likeâ 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.â
Loganâs 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. Heâs 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 itâs more than that. Itâs shame, remorse, grief, survivorâs guilt, all wrapped into one.
Itâs the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.
âHowâ How can I ever atone for that?â he asks. âHow can I everââ
âLogan, you can't change your past,â you interrupt carefully. âYou made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them byâ byâŠstepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.â
âWhat if it wasnât enough?â
âWhat if it was?â you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, âYou 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.â
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 thereâs a loud explosion coming from the living room. Itâs followed by cheers and hollers, and youâre both suddenly reminded of where you are.Â
âCâmon,â you say, patting Loganâs knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. âBetter get back before we miss the good stuff.â
Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. âThink this was the good stuff.â
â â â â â
Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway.Â
It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wadeâs mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck youâre 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 Vanessaâs expression twist into recognition.Â
âNice to meet you,â she says, followed by an apologetic smile.Â
You respond in kind.Â
When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. âSee you around!â 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, youâre 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 thingâs are⊠okay.
With some help, you find a therapist. Itâs good, sheâs good, but itâs difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself itâs all part of the process youâre going through.
Last week, after a particularly difficult session, youâd 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 youâd discussed â 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.
Youâd answered without saying a word.
âGot any plans?â Logan had asked on the other side of the line.
âNo,â youâd replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.
âAlâs making her meatballs â she and Wade canât agree on if theyâre famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, weâll order in.â
Youâd hummed, managing to ask, âWhat time?â
It had stayed quiet on the other end, and thatâs how youâd known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed itâwanted 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.Â
âSounds to me like now might be good.â
âYeah,â you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. âYeah, Iâll be there soon.â Youâd 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.Â
âLogan?â
âStill here.â
âThank you for calling.â
ââcourse. Get here soon, Iâll stay on the phone.â
The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartmentâs kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories â Altheaâs 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 couldnât 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.Â
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.Â
âI thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,â heâd explained. âFigured I couldnât continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to⊠avoid my problems.â
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 werenât good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other peopleâs 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 wasnât just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe⊠this was his way of telling you he needed some support.Â
Thatâs how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. Itâs 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.Â
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 thereâs 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.Â
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, itâs actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.
âBefore we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,â says the woman leading the meeting â youâre ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. âDoes anyone want to share something about that?â
It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand.Â
âLogan! Come on up!â 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.
âNot good at this stuff, so Iâm going to keep it brief,â he starts.Â
It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesnât 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.
âMy life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, itâs not all bad. Coming here has been good. Iâm starting to feel more like I did beforeââÂ
He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after.Â
âI have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. âCause I donât want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my⊠past shit.â He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, âThey show me so much kindness and understanding, that⊠that even though itâs 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.âÂ
You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.
âSo, thatâs what Iâm currently working on.â Logan sighs. âThatâs it. Thank you.â
A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.
Your palms hurt after.
â â â â â
âIt was really nice, what you said in there,â you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You havenât 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 Loganâs when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didnât plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company â it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.
Logan scoffs in reply.Â
âIâm being serious,â you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. âIt was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. Iâm proud of you.â
You swear he blushes. âA guy like me, huh?â he asks, almost amused.
Itâs your turn to scoff. âYou know what I mean.âÂ
âA mutant?â He looks at you from the corner of his eye.
âNo,â you say, because itâs not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact heâs not entirely wrong make you track back. âWell, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.â
Logan doesnât shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. âThink you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.â
âMaybe next time.â
During the comfortable silence that follows, youâre reminded of something youâve been considering for weeks now. You hadnât 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.
âIâve been wondering something,â you begin. âThe night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?â
Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. âWhen I had just, um, gotten here, it wasnât 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 theyâre not that different.â
âYou went there on your side?â
He hums.
âBy yourself?â
He hums again.
âDid youâŠâ You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because youâre not sure if you have any right to ask and because youâve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.Â
âNo, no, no, I⊠I canât explain it, itâs just one of those places I was always drawn to,â 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. âThink it took me coming over here to find reason in it.â
Itâs a thought thatâs equal parts sad and lovely.Â
The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you canât place, but Logan doesnât look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You canât help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,
âIs mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?â
His eyes widen â amusement or surprise, you canât say. âIt can be.âÂ
âCan you do it?â
âNo,â he says. âAnd itâs for the best, fucking hurts when you canât control it.â Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. ââsides, I donât know if I would have a lot of⊠consideration for peopleâs boundaries.â
It makes you chuckle. âRight. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot â imagine reading Wadeâs mind.â
âHurts to even imagine,â 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, âThis your place?â
âWhaâ?â Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. âOh! Yes.â
âAll right,â he nods. âSee you next week?â
âDefinitely,â you reply.
âOh,â Logan says right before you turn around. âBring coffee? You owe me.â
You make a face at him. âYou donât have toâ Iâll get you something else, I know you donât like it.â
âI like it when I drink it with you.â
Itâs incredibly hard to hide your grin. âOkay, Iâll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.â
âSee you.âÂ
He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. Itâs 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. Itâs a warm feeling to know that youâll 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.
Youâre 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.
Itâs 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 heâs proud of you.
Itâs way better than champagne.
â â â â â
Youâre in serious, desperate need of a new placeâŠÂ
The August heat is relentless, and the entire buildingâs AC isnât working. Itâs with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friendsâ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isnât with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, thereâs no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.
âNo.â Itâs a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. âHere, too?â
âIf it wasnât this fucking hot Iâd be offended by that greeting.â He sighs. âCome in.â
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. Heâs 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.Â
âTried everything, thereâs no fixing that fucking thing.â
Wade makes a face, âListen, I know what youâre thinking: Wadeâs in his underwear, Loganâs emerging from the bedroom⊠But we didnât fuck, itâs not that kind of stââ
âWho are you talking to?â you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.
âNo oneâYou!â The door closes with a bang.
Confused, you walk further into the apartment. âWell, telling me you didnât is just going to make me think that you did.â 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. âDid I ever tell you about our time in The Void?â
âWade,â Logan warns.
Wadeâs eyes are sparkling with mischief and you canât deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Loganâs buttons. Itâs a good distraction from how youâre drenched in sweat. And youâre actually curious.
You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. âDid you..?â
âOh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.â He grins. âWeâre so alike.â
âShut up. Both of you.â Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. âItâs too fucking hot to be annoyed.â
It isnât lost on you he doesnât deny a thing.
â â â â â
Apartments look weird with nothing in them.
Itâs 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. Itâs a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.
âIncoming!â comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.
You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked âKitchenâ 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, thatâs also the kind of energy youâre bringing to this.
Itâs nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You donât get long, however, because more help has just arrived.
Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.
It draws everyoneâs 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.
âAll right, all right,â he says. âStop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!â
â â â â â
âSo it was like an experiment?â you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.
Tonightâs your first night hosting at your new place â 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.Â
Once he had arrived, it hadnât taken long for him to admit he wasnât 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 donât remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.
âThey needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,â he explains. âI was in a dark place. Figured I didnât have anything to lose if it didnât work.â
You nod in understanding. âDo you⊠remember much about it?â You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.Â
Loganâs knife stops hitting the cutting board. âYeah, I⊠I remember every second of it.â
You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what youâd want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Loganâs head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you couldâve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.Â
âBut Iâm trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.â As soon as heâs said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, âHere in this timeline, I mean.âÂ
You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. âThat sounds like a great idea.â
â â â â â
âI need your help with something,â you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you donât like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.
âJust say the word,â comes Loganâs reply from the other end.
âI need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.â Thereâs a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.
âAm gonna need you to say a little more than just that.â
You laugh, âWadeâs 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 fuââ
âYes, I know the one,â he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, âConsider it done.â
THE PARTY
âThere you are!â 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 apartmentâs crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.
âI got you something,â you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.
âWouldnât have let you in if you hadnât,â 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. âIs it a cock ring?â
You canât help but laugh at that. âUnfortunately, they were all sold out.â
âThey always are,â 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. âWell, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.â
âLogan helped me kidnap it,â you explain, pointing at the picture. âAnd the little red hearts on the frame, well, theyâre your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.â
When he looks at you after, itâs with genuine emotion⊠but Wade is Wade. âNever thought Iâd say this, but Iâm kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.â
A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. âThank you.â
âWe should take a new one,â he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. âYou both should be in it.â His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. âBut letâs be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldnât even fit in the frame, much less his bulââ
âStop talking about my dick, Wade,â Logan snaps.
âI was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitiveâŠâ Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.
âDid he like it?â Logan asks, voice low.
âYeah,â you smile.
âGood,â he replies. âWas a nice idea.â
You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. âWhat did you get him?â
The corner of Loganâs 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.
âItâs an inside joke,â Logan shrugs.
Wadeâs eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesnât elaborate, only adds, âItâs classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.âÂ
âAnd I have top level clearance, lieutenant,â you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates youâve gotten the reference. âWhat, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?â
âNo,â he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, âbut 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.â
â â â â â
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 sheâs 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.Â
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 heâs almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.
It hits you how you havenât thought about this in a while. Youâd decided long ago that the future wasnât something you had to worry about, but suddenly youâve arrived, like youâre 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 youâre getting back with the life you now have.
For a while now, youâve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isnât much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that thereâs room for something else.
Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know itâs been far from easy for them. You suppose thatâs what itâs like, especially as you get older. Itâs 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 momentsâ
âDo you dance?â
You startle, head turning towards the voice next to youâÂ
âLogan,â you breathe.Â
Itâs like youâre seeing him for the very first time. Heâs standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt heâs wearing isnât even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. Heâs grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but thereâs a hint of green between the hazel.
It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything thatâs been happening, that youâve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldnât 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. âI mean, not that Iâ You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, itâs a reference toââ Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, âAre you okay?â
You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that youâre afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. âYeah,â you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.Â
Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what itâs puzzled together at such a sickening pace that thereâs 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 beforeâ
âI gotta go,â you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.
Loganâs eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. âWaitââ
âBye, Logan.â
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, itâs laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. Itâs not like you donât know what Loganâs like; heâs kind, funny, supportiveâŠ
âŠbroad, handsome.
Shit.
Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Loganâs your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. Itâs 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 everythâÂ
Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, youâve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are yourâŠÂ
friends.Â
You didnât say goodbye to Wade.
The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didnât even say goodbye to him before you left. Youâre 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, thereâs a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where youâre seated.
âAre you in there?â a muffled voice calls out.
Itâs 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 heâs dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. Thereâs a deep furrow in his brow, and itâs different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.
âLogan, is everythingââ you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.Â
âJesus, here you are. Whyâd 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. Didnât see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you werenât in the water, thank fuckââ
âWait, you wentââ you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. âDid you think..?â
âYeah,â he sighs, shoulders slumping.
âShit.â Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. âNo, I wasnât⊠I donât want that anymore.â
âThen what the fuck was that all about?â
The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. âI was just⊠I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,â 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.
âYou⊠like Wade?â Logan asks, his frown deepening.
You canât help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. âNo. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. Heâs with Vanessa.â
The answer does nothing to change his expression. âAnd you want it to be different?â
His line of questioning confuses you. âIâ No. Logan, this isnât about Wade or Vanessa, but itâs about⊠what they have. Something thatâs real, but imperfect, and thatâs what actually makes it perfect, and I just⊠I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didnât give myself time to even think about⊠I havenât felt myself wanting for so long,â your gaze flicks up to his. âSeeing them just made me realize thereâs so much left that I still want.âÂ
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. Thereâs no doubt he finds his answer; youâre ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.Â
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. Itâs eager, and the angle is off, but itâs quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.Â
Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, âBeen⊠thinking about doing that.â
âReally?â you say, breathless and amused. âWhen did you, um, start wanting to do that?â
âFew weeks agoâFuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,â he admits. âBut I wanted to give you time, space. Wasnât sure if you feltââ
âI do. Didnât realize it before, but I fucking do,â 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.
Loganâs hand on your waist holds you off. âI just donât know how to⊠how to be this,â he confesses softly.
âThatâs okay,â you say, your nose brushing against his. âI donât either.â
He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, âWouldnât be the first time we figure it out together, huh?â
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. Loganâs 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.Â
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 youâre scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Loganâs 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.
Loganâs sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you canât 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.Â
âYouâre so good to me,â 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. âAlways so fucking good to me.â
It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, heâs the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Loganâs 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.Â
âThis okay?â Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.
âYeah, itâs justâ Oh, god.â Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. âBeen a while,â you manage to finish your sentence.
âIâll make it good for you,â he promises. âYou want that?â
All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. Itâs 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. Loganâs 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.Â
The feeling of Loganâs 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 isnât 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.
âOh, that feels really good,â 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.Â
Loganâs 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 youâre 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.Â
Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. âLet me give you something to come on,â 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.
âOh, fuck, fuck, fuckââ 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 Loganâs off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. Heâs 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, andâŠ
âLogan,â you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.Â
Itâs 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 Loganâs 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.Â
Heâs 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 doesnât leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.
âHowâs that?â Logan dares to ask.
âHmm, no speaking yet,â 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. Itâs 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.Â
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.
âFeels nice,â he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, âAre you gonna let me fuck you?â
âGod, yeah,â 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. âWant you inside of me.â
âJesusâThen get it out,â he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.Â
If you werenât 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.
âFâfuck,â 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.Â
It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. âHowâs that?â you echo with a teasing lilt.
He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, ââS good, sweetheart.â
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.
âCâmere,â 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.
Youâre 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.
âJust like that,â you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. âKeep going just like that.â
He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Loganâs hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that youâre 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.
âFuck, itâs a lot,â you say, and when he grins against your mouth you canât help but kiss him again â just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and itâs 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. Â
âCan stay like this a little longer if you want,â he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.
âHmm, no, you can move.â Youâve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didnât 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. âJust donât break my table.â
The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you canât 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 skinâ
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. Itâs 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 doesnât miss a beat as he continues fucking you.Â
âJesus, Logan,â 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, âItâs so deep like this, canâoh, my godâcan feel you everywhere.âÂ
Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. Thereâs a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesnât quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow heâs 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.Â
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, itâs 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.Â
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.Â
âTouch yourself,â he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where youâre 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. âThatâs it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.â
You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Loganâs finding with every thrust. âYeah, fuck, IâmâDonât stop, donât stop, pleaseââ
Heâs 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. Itâs 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 youâre gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.Â
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 Loganâs 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 youâre made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.Â
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 Loganâs hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell heâs already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly thatâs making you pant, and...
Itâll 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 wasnât that he didnât trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasnât a Christmas movie â mandatory for December. Wadeâs right, but after you explained that itâs 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) heâd agreed.Â
Now that youâre actually watching it, you suspect heâs genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, heâs been quiet for longer than youâve ever heard him be quiet.
In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffaloâs character Dan and Keira Knightleyâs 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.
â...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,â Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. âI gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just⊠becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.â
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.
âMore string than pearls?â Gretta inquires with a frown.
âYeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.â Thereâs a pause as he turns to look at her, âThis moment is a pearl, Gretta.â
She gives him a hint of a smile. âIt sort of is, isn't it?â
âAll this has been a pearl,â he admits, sharing a look with her.
A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Loganâs. 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.
â â â â â
(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 đ«
#dani writing#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x you#james logan howlett x reader#worst wolverine x reader#logan x reader#x men x reader#worst wolverine#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine smut
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Logan is often seen as the jealous one in his relationship. And yes, Logan would get jealous at first when Wade got too close to other people. However, I think his jealousy would eventually fade and be replaced with possessiveness. This distinction is important.
Jealousy is the feeling of insecurity, of feeling like you aren't enough and that you're losing someone because of it. Logan is used to being the second choice, to being seen as the "dangerous guy" people flirt with but never take home, to being seen as a monster. He doesn't understand why Wade wants him or why he ever asked Logan to come home with him.
Logan is insecure and thinks that Wade has so many better options than a tired old stray like him. But he wants Wade so desperately, wants a home so desperately, that he clings to what he can get while he can. He lashes out from a place of fear because he can't handle the idea of losing the only thing he has. He's uncertain and wary because he doesn't know how to act when Wade acts like he genuinely just... loves him.
(It's unheard of for Logan. "Love" was always conditional. There was always a catch, something he needed to do or someone he needed to be. He's floundering, now, out of his depth because Wade won't tell him what he wants. Won't tell him what Logan has to do to stay here.)
But Wade chooses him. Every time, without fail, he chooses him. Logan was used to fighting for people, to keep their attention and earn their affection. He thought he'd have to convince Wade that he could do more for him than Vanessa, make a case for himself as to why he's more reliable than Cable. But... Wade just gives him his full and undivided attention without even asking. He gives him affection and doesn't make Logan work for it. He never gives Logan room for doubt. His eyes never leave him.
And Logan... doesn't know how to deal with that, at first. But he slowly begins to acclimate, to learn how to accept and even expect the easy affection. Learns to lean into it and give it in return. And something deep and buried and broken inside of him begins to heal. A deep wound he'd ignored for so long finally begins to patch itself up.
And Logan lets himself relax, for the first time. Contents himself with the knowledge that Wade loves him and would always choose him over and over. Logan bares himself, open and vulnerable, to Wade in full and lets himself be treated with a gentleness he didn't know he could have. Lets himself melt into the warmth and relish in it.
Now, when he snarls at people who get too close, it isn't out of fear. When he wraps an arm around Wade when someone gets too chatty, it isn't out of insecurity. He knows that if he wasn't there, Wade would still put him above all else. Instead, he does it because he wants to. Because it's nice to show off his relationship with Wade. Because Logan loves him with a ferocity that he didn't even know he was capable of.
Logan allows himself to be possessive because he's proud of his relationship with Wade. He has nothing to fear, it's secure and stable, but it's freeing to flaunt it. It gives him a sense of animalistic satisfaction to claim Wade as his. He was never allowed to publicly belong to someone before, let alone publicly show they belong to him. He indulges in it and savors the sweetness of Wade leaning back into his arms.
#kitkat#poolverine#deadclaws#deadpool 3#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett#wade wilson#deadpool movie#wade x logan#wade/logan
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In the in universe batfamily fandom thereâs a relatively famous (infamous?) subgenre of fic known as the âBillionaire Bats AUâ that has the Wayne family as the Bat family.
It spawns from a fic of the same name that first came out shortly after Tim started publicly appearing as Robin and is running to this day (though uploads are far less frequent)
When it first got popular there was a small amount of time where Bruce thought Tim was writing it because it got a little too many things right. Though he is able to rule that out after he finds the actual author whoâs just some 14 year old girl.
The fandom gets into a lot of arguments about it:
âBarbara Gordon is a random choice for being the former batgirl I mean seriously? Just cause they both have red hair doesnât make it make senseâ
âGuys RPF is icky knock it offâ
âIt actually makes more sense if Batman is a time traveling Dick Grayson from a bad futureâ
âIâm sorry I canât get past having Tim Drake as Red Robin have you seen the guy?? The wind could knock him overâ
âBruce is really ooc hereâ
âI donât like the retcon that Tim Drake was one of the Robinsâ
One controversial take was when the fic introduced Clark Kent as Superman because the author is a BruClark shipper and was pushing her agenda since âSuperbat is basically canonâ so them being the same people made it more realistic.
Bruce keeps an eye on it just in case and it has resulted in Tim and Steph having to explain so much slang to him.
âWhat is an OTP? Why do people keep asking for a âBruce whumpâ chapter??â
#dc comics#batfamily#batfam#bruce wayne#dick grayson#stephanie brown#cass cain#jason todd#damian wayne#barbara gordon#duke thomas#tim drake#meta
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Invisible | Part Eight
Pairing: Bucky x reader AU
Word count: 3.7k
Warning: Angst....
A/N: first of many fights <3 also your comments make my day ïżŒ
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You walk into the apartment, the excitement from your date still buzzing faintly inside youâuntil you spot Bucky sitting on the couch. His eyes immediately flick to yours, his expression unreadable, and just like that, any leftover thrill from the night vanishes, replaced by an ache that settles heavily in your chest.
Itâs the first time youâve been alone with him all week, and for a second, neither of you says anything. Then he stands, clearing his throat. âSo⊠howâd it go?â
His words reignite the frustration youâve been holding back since last week, since his careless comment at the bar. Instead of brushing past him like youâd planned, you stop, crossing your arms and staring at him, letting your words come out sharper than you intended.
âGood. It was a great date, actually,â you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. âDean was a total gentleman, and wouldnât you know itâI handled a real date just fine.â
A flicker of regret crosses his face, but he quickly looks away, rubbing a hand over his jaw. âIâm sorry,â he mumbles. âThatâs⊠thatâs not how I meant it. I donât know why I said that, and you know Iâd never hurt you on purpose.â
You laugh bitterly, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room, as you shrugged off your coat, placing your keys and phone in the dish. âReally, Bucky? Because lately, that seems like the only thing youâve been doingâhurting me.â
His gaze snaps back to you, his expression hardening. âYou really want to do this? Just⊠hash everything out right now?â
You throw your arms up, the frustration boiling over. âWhy the hell not? Itâs not like things have been getting any better with us pretending everythingâs fine!â
He steps closer, his jaw tight. âFine. Letâs talk about it. Letâs talk about that night, then.â He pauses, his voice dropping as his eyes bore into yours. âWhy did you leave?â
You freeze, caught off guard. âWhat⊠what do you mean?â
He takes another step toward you, anger and hurt evident in his face. âYou know exactly what I mean. After that night at the party, after we⊠after we slept together. Why did you leave without a word? I woke up, and you were just gone.â
Your pulse quickens, emotions swirling in a chaotic mess inside you. âAre you kidding me, Bucky? Did you even want me to stay?â
He lets out a hollow laugh, the sound filled with disbelief. âWhat are you talking about? Of course I did! Youâre the one who walked out, not me!â
The anger rises, mixing with all the hurt and confusion youâve buried over the years. âI left because⊠because I panicked, alright? You had this reputation, Bucky, and everyone knew it. I thought⊠I thought youâd wake up, regret it, and hate me for being just another one of your mistakes.â
His eyes widen, a mixture of anger and disbelief flashing across his face. âDo you really think that little of me? You think Iâd just⊠forget about you? Youâre my best friend, for godâs sake. Weâve known each other since we were kids, and you thought Iâd throw that away for just sex?â
âOh, so it was just sex, huh?â you snap, bitterness dripping from every word.
âThatâs not what I meant, and you know it!â he shouts, frustration evident as he rakes a hand through his hair, his voice breaking slightly. âGod, you have to know it was more than that!â
You cross your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold everything in. âI donât know what I thought, Bucky. But I knew I couldnât stand being something you regretted. I wasnât going to sit there and wait for you to decide whether it was worth anything to you.â
He stares at you, hurt and frustration radiating from him. âAll Iâve ever done is care about you. Everything people said about me, all those rumorsâthey were just that. Rumors. I thought you of all people would know that.â
You look away, fighting the sting of tears in your eyes, but he steps closer, his voice rising. âDo you know how much it killed me? You left me there like it meant nothing.â
âMaybe it didnât mean as much as you think it did!â you shout back, anger overtaking the sadness. âMaybe that night wasnât some big, life-changing moment for either of us. Maybe it was just a mistake!â
His face crumples slightly, like youâve slapped him, and his voice drops, filled with hurt. âIs that really what you think?â
You hesitate, the words burning in your throat, but you nod, unable to back down. âI⊠I donât know, Bucky. All I know is that I canât keep doing this. I canât keep waiting around, trying to read between the lines, hoping youâll finally decide what you want.â
He steps back, his face hardening, his voice cold. âThen maybe you should go. If youâre so tired of being here, if Iâm such a disappointment to you⊠maybe itâs better for both of us if youâre not here.â
Your heart clenches painfully, but you force yourself to nod, swallowing back the tears. âFine. If thatâs what you want, then Iâll go.â
âGo, then!â he yells, his eyes flashing, and you can see the unshed tears there, barely contained. âGet out. Do whatever you wantâI donât care anymore. Just⊠leave.â
For a moment, you just stare at him, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave. Then, without another word, you turn on your heel, your hands shaking. You feel the tears spilling over as you open the door, but you donât let yourself look back, slamming it behind you, the sound echoing painfully through the empty apartment.
The chill of the night air bites into your skin as you walk through the dark streets, the city lights casting a glow around you, making the world feel almost surreal. Youâre shivering, partly from the cold and partly from the adrenaline thatâs kept you moving since you stormed out of the apartment, leaving behind your coat, your phoneâeverything. You feel like youâre walking through a dream, or maybe a nightmare, your heels clicking against the pavement in the silence.
Itâs only after youâve been walking for a while, the shock wearing off, that you realize the closest place you can go is Steve and Samâs. You pick up your pace, arms wrapped around yourself, mascara streaking down your cheeks as the wind stings your face. Itâs late, nearly ten oâclock on a Saturday night, and as you walk you canât help but worry. What if theyâre not home? What if you just end up standing outside in the cold, with nowhere to go?
You finally reach their apartment building and practically rush up to their door, knocking, then pressing your ear to the door, hoping you hear movement inside. The minutes feel like hours, and youâre starting to feel that familiar rise of panic, the one that tightens your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Just as youâre about to give up, you hear footsteps on the other side.
The door unlocks, and then it opens, revealing Steve.His face shifts from confusion to shock as he takes you in. âWhat the hell happened?â he asks, voice thick with concern as he quickly pulls you inside, shutting the door behind you. âAre you okay?â
The second youâre inside, the warmth of the apartment breaks down whatever wall you were holding up. You start crying, and without a word, Steve wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sob against his chest.
After a moment, he gently guides you to sit on the couch, his hand rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. But as you pull away, wiping at your smudged makeup, you see the worry in his eyes shift to something sharper, angrier.
âWait,â he says, frowning as he looks you over again. âWhereâs your coat? And your phone? You didnât just walk all the way here without anything, did you?â
You sniffle, still catching your breath, and nod, the hurt fresh all over again. âI left everything at the apartment,â you manage, voice shaky. âI just⊠I couldnât stay there, Steve. Bucky told me to get out. He told me to leave.â
Steveâs face falls in shock, his mouth opening slightly as if he canât believe what heâs hearing. âHe⊠he told you to get out?â he repeats, trying to process it. âAnd then just let you walk out? At this hour? Without your things?â
You nod, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cover your face. âI donât think he⊠he was just so mad, Steve. I was too. He didnât care. He just⊠told me to go.â
Steve lets out a sharp exhale, struggling to contain his anger. âThatâs no excuse. I donât care how mad he was, he shouldâve never let you leave like that. He shouldâve checked on you, at the very least. Damn itâŠâ He reaches out, squeezing your shoulder with a mix of anger and worry. âYou should have called me. Iâd have come to get you in a second.â
You offer a small, broken smile through your tears, still trembling. âI know⊠I just⊠wasnât thinking clearly.â
He shakes his head, his hand still on your shoulder, his gaze intense and filled with concern. âDonât apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.â His voice softens, his anger giving way to a fierce protectiveness. âI just canât believe he let you walk out alone. It kills me that you felt like you had to do this.â
He squeezes your shoulder, his voice soft. âDo you want to talk about it, or just⊠sit for a while?â
You let out a shaky laugh, still catching your breath. âI donât even know what to say. Everything just⊠came out. All these things weâve been avoiding saying, and⊠I donât know. I didnât think itâd hurt this much.â
Steve nods, a sad, sympathetic look crossing his face. âSometimes⊠those things we avoid saying are the things that hurt the most. Especially when itâs someone we care about.â
You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and he reaches up, brushing it away gently. His eyes are soft, filled with an empathy that makes you feel a little less alone. âThank you, Steve,â you say, your voice barely a whisper.
You lean into him, letting yourself sink into his warmth, and he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around you again. The adrenaline finally ebbs, exhaustion taking its place as you relax in his embrace, feeling safe for the first time since you left.
You close your eyes, and before long, you start to feel them grow heavy, your breaths slowing as you begin to drift off on Steveâs shoulder.
A few minutes later, Steveâs phone vibrates in his pocket. He carefully shifts, trying not to disturb you, and pulls it out to see a message from Natasha: Hey, have you heard from her? She hasnât updated me on the date, isnât answering her phone, and Iâm getting worried.
He sighs, glancing at you before typing back, Sheâs here. She walked from the apartment without her phone or her coat. She and Bucky got into it, pretty bad, ive never seen her like this.
Natashaâs response is almost instant: Are you kidding me? followed by a string of angry emojis.
Steve takes a deep breath, looking down at you as he types out another message, this time to Bucky, his fingers pressing the keys harder than usual: Sheâs here. Alone. No thanks to you! Without her things. And you let her walk out like that? What the hell were you thinking?
He sends the message and then texts Sam, whoâs still out with coworkers, letting him know to be quiet when he comes home because youâre sleeping on the couch. A moment later, Sam replies with a string of question marks.
Steve glances down at you, tucked against him, your breathing even and steady now, and sighs before typing a final message to Sam: Iâll explain everything later.
Steve sits on the couch, holding you gently as you fall asleep against him, your breathing soft and steady now, a world away from the state you were in when you first showed up at the door. He glances down at you, feeling a pang in his chest as he takes in the remnants of your makeup, smudged from the tears you cried on his shoulder, and heâs struck by just how much he hates seeing you like thisâhurting, broken down, all because of Bucky.
Yet, selfishly, thereâs a part of himâdeep down, hidden from everyone, including himself most daysâthatâs grateful you came to him tonight. He knows itâs wrong, knows itâs just his heart betraying him again, but he canât help it. Heâs loved you since junior high, since you were both just kids fumbling through life, figuring out what friendship meant. And over the years, that love has only deepened, becoming something he never talks about, never even lets slip. Heâs had to sit on the sidelines and watch as you poured your heart into Bucky, hoping one day heâd finally open his eyes and see you the way Steve does.
You deserve everything in the world, Steve thinks. Someone whoâll give you the love youâve always deserved, who wouldnât leave you standing alone in the middle of a dark city street, heartbroken and afraid. But instead, youâre stuck in love with someone whoâs too scared to do anything about it, and Steve⊠heâs just the friend you come to when it all falls apart.
A tear slips down his cheek, and he wipes it away quickly, forcing a silent, bitter laugh at himself. Youâre his Bucky, he realizes painfully, and heâs youâwatching, waiting, knowing youâll never see him the way he sees you. Itâs a cruel irony, and he hates himself for even thinking it.
Just then, the door creaks open, and Sam steps inside, blinking in surprise as he takes in the sight of you curled up against Steve, your tear-streaked face softened in sleep. He gives Steve a puzzled look, eyebrows raised, and Steve just raises a finger to his lips, shushing him. Carefully, he shifts out from under you, gently laying your head on the couch cushion and covering you with the throw blanket. He watches you for a moment before standing up and walking over to Sam, whoâs now leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed.
âWhat happened?â Sam asks, his voice low as he eyes Steve with concern.
Steve rubs the back of his neck, sighing. âShe showed up about an hour ago, just⊠wrecked. Crying, shivering at the door. She didnât have her phone, her keys, or even a coat.â
Samâs eyes widen. âWhat? Why didnât she have her stuff?â
Steveâs jaw tightens as he answers, anger simmering in his voice. âBecause Bucky told her to leave. They had a huge fight, and he just let her walk out like that. She came here on foot, alone, and he didnât stop her. Didnât even check if she had what she needed.â
Sam lets out a long breath, running his hands down his face in frustration. âAre you kidding me? That guy is such an idiot sometimes.â
âYou donât think I know that?â Steve mutters, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. âI thought he was supposed to tell her how he felt. I thought he was ending things with Kate.â
Sam shakes his head, exasperated. âI know. I thought that was the plan too. Just last week, he said he was done with the excuses, that he was going to finally tell her. I donât know what the hellâs holding him back, but tonight⊠she had her first date in years, Steve. She was supposed to have a good night, for once, and instead, sheâs here, like this.â
Steveâs gaze shifts back to you, his heart aching as he watches you sleep. âI donât get it. If he cares about her like he says he does, why does he keep doing this to her? Why wonât he just be honest?â
Sam sighs, shaking his head as he leans against the counter. âI donât know, man. But she was so happy earlier. Right before her date, and she just⊠she was glowing. I hadnât seen her like that in a long time.â
âYeah,â Steve murmurs, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. âAnd now⊠now sheâs back to this, all because of him.â
Sam lets out a deep breath, crossing his arms. âMaybe this is a turning point, though. Maybe some good can come from this mess.â
Steve frowns, glancing back at him. âHow could this possibly be a good thing?â
Sam gestures toward you, curled up on the couch. âMaybe some space between them will be good for both of them. She can finally see that she deserves better than this back-and-forth, and he can realize what heâs throwing away. Maybe itâs what they both need.â
Steve sighs, looking down, his voice barely above a whisper. âYeah⊠maybe.â But as he stares at you, asleep on the couch, he canât shake the quiet ache in his chest, wondering if youâll ever see that someoneâs been there for you all along.
---
The next morning, Steve steps out of his room to find Sam already up, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. Sam glances toward the couch, noticing you still curled up, fast asleep, wrapped in a throw blanket.
âSheâs still out,â Sam says quietly, nodding in your direction.
Steve looks over at you and nods. âYeah, she must've been exhausted,â he says softly.
Sam takes a sip of his coffee, watching Steve for a moment before asking, âYou gonna skip your run today?â
Steve glances back at him, then shakes his head. âI can miss a day,â he replies with a shrug, moving into the kitchen and grabbing things from the fridge to start breakfast.
Sam watches him, setting his mug down on the counter. âLook, man⊠this canât be good for you either.â
Steve pauses, glancing at Sam. âWhat do you mean?â
Sam gives him a pointed look. âCome on, you know what I mean. You, being in love with her all these years.â He lowers his voice slightly, glancing over at you again. âJust⊠I donât want to see any more of my best friends getting hurt, alright?â
Steve sighs, his shoulders tensing slightly. âKeep it down, Sam. Sheâs literally right there.â
Sam sighs too, his tone gentler now. âIâm just saying, Steve, you can still be a good guy and a good friend⊠while protecting your own heart. I donât want you to keep waiting around and getting hurt.â
Steve nods slowly, resuming his work in the kitchen. âI know what Iâm doing, Sam. Trust me. Itâs been years of this. Iâll be fine.â
Sam gives him a skeptical look but just shakes his head, muttering, âWhatever you say, man.â He reaches for a mixing bowl, getting ready to make pancakes. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, the smell of pancakes and coffee filling the kitchen.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees you beginning to stir on the couch. You stretch, blinking as you slowly sit up, momentarily disoriented, and your eyes go wide as you remember where you are.
âGood morning, sleepyhead,â Sam says with a grin, turning around to look at you.
âOh GodâŠâ you murmur, running a hand over your face, slightly embarrassed. Everything from last night rushes back in a blur.
âYou okay?â Steve asks, concern in his voice as he sets down the spatula.
âYeah, just a bit of a headache,â you mumble, wincing slightly.
Without a word, Steve gets up and heads to the bathroom, returning with some Tylenol and a glass of water. You give him a grateful smile as you take them.
Sam grins, shooting you a playful look. âWell, you look like shit.â
âSam!â Steve yells, half-scolding him, but you just laugh, shaking your head.
âThanks,â you chuckle, swallowing the Tylenol. âI feel like it, too.â
Steve sits beside you for a moment, watching as you sip the water. Sam looks at you thoughtfully, then says, âYou should go take a shower. I bet itâll help clear your head.â
You nod, biting your lip. âI would⊠but I donât exactly have anything to wear.â
Steve immediately jumps up, nodding toward his room. âIâm sure I can find some clothes thatâll work for you. Hold on.â
âAre you sure?â you ask, looking at him with a hint of embarrassment.
âOf course,â he says, smiling warmly. âAnything for you.â
He heads down the hall, and you follow, feeling a little lighter with each step. Once in his room, he digs through his dresser and hands you a pair of sweatpants, a soft T-shirt, and a towel. âUse whatever you need in the bathroom,â he says gently, his gaze warm and steady.
As heâs about to turn and leave the room, you stop him. âStevie?â
He pauses, turning back. âYeah?â
You give him a small, heartfelt smile. âThank you. For everything. For always being such a great friend to me.â
Steveâs heart sinks slightly at the word âfriend,â the weight of all the things heâs never said pressing down on him. But he musters a smile, nodding. âIâd do anything for you. You know that.â
You give him one last grateful look before heading to the bathroom. Once inside, you close the door and lean against it, letting out a shaky breath as your emotions resurface.
You turn on the shower, feeling the steam rise as you slip out of yesterdayâs clothes. The hot water pours over you, soothing your tense muscles as you stand there, letting everything youâve been holding in pour out.
Your thoughts drift to Bucky, to the fight, to everything that was said, and the words echo painfully in your mind. You wonder if he felt any regret after you left, if he realized how much his words hurt. But then you think about how heâd looked at you, the anger and frustration in his eyes, and your heart twists painfully. Itâs a cycle, you realizeâa cycle of loving someone who canât seem to decide if he wants to hold onto you or push you away.
As the water washes over you, you close your eyes, trying to let go of the ache in your chest, but it lingers, a constant reminder of the choice you donât know how to make.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x y/n#sebastian stan x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes x reader angst#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes au
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This is worse
Trigger warning:Â birthing fetish
My birth video ended up on a fetish subreddit because of my husband
Throwaway. Although my husband will probably see this here anyway. Maybe this can be the conversation starter?? I don't know! I just need to get this out somewhere and have people validate that my feelings aren't crazy!
I'm sorry if this is all over the place. I am a mess.
My (F33) husband (M36) is the most wonderful and caring person I've ever met in my life. I thought. Almost overbearingly sweet. He's always concerned with how I'm doing, how I'm feeling, how is my mental health. He's an excellent father to our two children as well.
I had a difficult birth with my first child. My hospital experience was bad. I felt traumatized afterwards. When I got pregnant with my second, I knew that, barring any issues, I wanted a homebirth. My husband was all for it. He's a nurse, so I felt doubly safe with him plus my midwife to support me.
The midwife filmed and we also had a professional photographer taking pictures. Everything went great. It was so emotional and beautiful. I'm trying not to give too many details away since it's apparently available to ANYONE for their viewing pleasure right now.
I have been pretty possessive of that birth tape. I never uploaded it anywhere. After I downloaded it onto my computer from our camera's sim card, I uploaded it to a USB, deleted it off my computer, and I keep it in a little "hope chest" to watch when I'm feeling sentimental. It is so beautiful and important to me, and I wasn't interested in sharing it. I have several friends who put their whole birth on YouTube, but I wasn't interested in doing that. My birth didn't need to be shared with the world. It didn't need to be a teaching moment. It didn't need to exist to make others feel better. After my traumatic first birth, it was mine and i cherished it.
My husband didn't feel the same way and sometimes had light arguments with me about it. He was never pushy, but several times, when I would watch it, he would comment "this is such an excellent birth video! You are so happy and calm! I really think you should post this. Homebirths get such a bad rep and this could put so many women at ease." I would tell him absolutely not. This is private. Stop pestering me about it. Its my body. He eventually dropped it and hasn't brought it up since.
My husband and I have never been controlling. We don't have the passwords to each other's phones. I've never felt the need to check each other's phones or computers. I trust him implicitly. Well. I did anyway. I know he has a reddit. We both reddit pretty often. But i don't know his profile or what he does on here. Idk I've just never thought about it.
A few days ago, I was in one of my parenting subreddits and came across a disturbing thread about birth videos getting posted nonconsenually in a birth fetish subreddit. I thought to myself, that is exactly the reason I didn't want to post my birth video. The commenter posted the link to the fetish sub and I'll admit curiosity got the better of me and I went to look. I wanted to know if any of my friends videos wound up there so that I could tell them.
Well their videos DID wind up there. Every single one. The sub has several vast g drives linked to birth videos. But then I saw it. MY FUCKING BIRTH VIDEO. It looked like it had been a YouTube video at one point?? Idk I don't understand how this works. I cant find it on youtube anywhere, so idk. I'm so fucking ashamed and horrified. There is a closeup of...well EVERYTHING down there in a fucking fetish site. My baby taking his first breaths. Me breastfeeding. It doesn't even cut off after the birth. It shows my baby getting weighed, and just...held. If this is a birth fetish sub, why does it feature so much of just...my CHILD. This seems like waaayyyy more than just a birth fetish thing. Idek how to report the video.I reported the post and reddit says it doesn't violate anything.
I am bawling as I type this. Like wtf. Only ONE person knows where that tape is: my fucking husband. I don't even know how to broach this subject with him.
"Hey did you fucking violate my privacy and post OUR BABY'S BIRTH ONLINE, or did you submit it straight to a fetish site, because that's where it is right now."
I don't know what to do. I can't believe I even have to have this discussion. Wtf even if he didn't submit that video straight to the fetish site, he uploaded it somewhere else where they found it, and now his actions have led to THIS situation. He exposed ME to perverts online. He exposed our newborn infant to perverts online!!!
Our marriage will NOT survive this and I am a wreck. I should have known he had SICK intentions when he was being so weird about wanting me to post this. WHY? WHY WOULD HE DO THIS?? I'm not even that angry about those sickos seeing me, but every time I think of my sweet little baby's face in there...I feel like I'm going to throw up. Surely this is illegal?? Surely newborn babies can't be featured in content that people are...sexualizing!!! Can they?? I'm also just....absolutely gutted by the fact that so many other women have had this special moment bastardized by that sub. How many of them are in my shoes? Or my friends shoes. I'm horrified. Do I press charges against my husband?? I can't believe this is how my family is going to end. What will I even tell people. What will I tell my kids!!? Idek what to do!!
TLDR: Husband posted birth video online and it wound up on a fetish site. I don't know what to do.
Update: just a quick update. I left and took the kids to my mom's house. Idk how long we'll be here. I didn't tell my husband anything. I just wanted to get the kids the fuck away from him. Even if he didn't share that video directly with those creeps, I don't want him around them.
TLDR: Husband posted birth video online and it wound up on a fetish site. I don't know what to do.
Update to: birth video in a fetish subreddit
I just...need to vent I guess. This isn't a happy update.
As I mentioned in my last post, I went over to my mom's house. She was bewildered about why I was there. I couldn't fess up to the reason why I was so upset. I am still so embarrassed. I didn't want her to go looking for the damn video either. Thinking of my mom searching around a porn sub to find my BIRTH VIDEO made my skin crawl. I was hysterical. Still am. I couldn't really hide that. I just told her something bad had happened and we needed to stay for awhile. I'm going to have to tell her, but every time I think about doing it, I just start crying more. The situation is even more complicated now, so I'm just scared people will be mad at me for doing what I'm doing, even my own mom.
My husband called and texted over and over for hours. We haven't spent a night apart in years. I gave him no warning. I texted him once and said we were visiting my mom and would be back later, but that I needed a break. I was worried he'd call the police, but he didn't. He continued to text sporadically, pleading with me to talk with him about what was wrong.
I went back over to our house the next day around the time I figured he'd be off work. I took one of my mom's old phones and used it to record our whole interaction. Turns out he'd called out of work he was so distressed. He ran up to me and immediately started asking what was wrong, asking where the kids were etc. He was SO understandably upset. Seeing him like that just made me start crying too. When I started crying, he started crying. He tried to hug me and I stepped away which just made him more upset. It was such a mess. I was finally able to compose myself enough to ask him to watch a video on my phone. He was confused. More so when he realized it was my birth video. A few minutes in, he interrupted to ask why I was showing him. I ended the video, and a hundred other birth videos in the g file folder appeared. He still just looked confused. I exited the folder and pointed to the name of the sub I was in. He took my phone for a better look and I just started bawling and bawling. After a few minutes, he started raging about how we needed to mass report the post and call the FBI and blah blah blah. He kept repeating "we'll fix this. Holy fuck. This is so sick." I tried to get his attention by asking "how did they get that video?" But he just kept pacing around ranting. I just started repeating over and over "how did they get it!?" Until I was screaming at the top of my lungs. He eventually stopped and just stared at me. Neither of us said anything for a long time.
He started crying and told me that he had started a "Daddy Blog" a year after our first was born. He posted about being a dad and eventually about his experience with my second pregnancy. He had posted the video on youtube to link to his blog. He felt like there wasnt enough resources out there for dads regarding pregnancy. He didn't know I didn't want it posted until a week or two after baby was here and I was so vehement about not posting it and getting it tucked securely away on a usb. It was up for about TEN fucking months before he finally took it down. He was waiting to see if I changed my mind, and was reluctant to remove it because he'd received so many messages from thankful dads about how educational and helpful his blog/vlogging was. I had 0 knowledge about this blog. I didnt even know people blogged anymore?? We had both expressed many times how we didn't want to create a massive digital footprint for our children because of SITUATIONS JUST LIKE FUCKING THIS, so I this is such a fucking weird surprise. There's hundreds of pictures of our family on this thing.
Anyway, we got into a huge argument about how this was a breech of trust and privacy. He maintained that he thought my reaction about not wanting the video posted was over the top, and how I never told him I didn't want to share it, how he didn't even think of it as a big deal because he deals with that kind of thing every day so it was just not a big deal to him and blah blah blah. His excuses were stupid and I don't care. My birth wound up on a fetish subreddit because of him and we are getting a divorce.
When I told him it was over, we had another big screaming match. He went through several different emotions. Crying, wailing, begging, and finally anger. I hadn't said ANYTHING about custody arrangements, or my plans besides divorce, but he started threatening full custody and how he was going to put up a huge fight, how it would just be "he said/she said," how he has the better job, etc. Whatever. I didn't tell him I recorded anything (legal in our state). I eventually just walked out.
So yeah. That's where I'm at today. I need to consult with a lawyer about what comes next. I am moving as quickly as I possibly can. Sitting down to write this update was probably a stupid move, but I received SO many heartfelt messages from people concerned for me that it felt necessary. I honestly just...needed to vent and have people tell me I'm not crazy or awful for doing what I'm doing. I told a few friends, and they all just seem...weird. They're concerned about the videos I found in the fetish group, but nobody has reassured me that I'm making the right moves in regards to the situation.
I am in an incredibly bad place right now. I'm worried I'm making the wrong decision. Do i let him see the kids?? I don't know what to tell my family. I don't know if i need to contact the police. I don't know if i want to. The most stupid part of me wishes I could call my best friend and talk to him about it, but uh...yeah I'm divorcing him. What a stupid feeling to miss him so badly and knowing that I will never be with him again. I just keep thinking that I'm doing something stupid, and i feel like so many people will see it that way.
On top of everything, my birth video is just...in a fucking fetish sub. Every time I think about that, I get choked up. I've reported it a million times in just the few days since I posted. I've made alts to try and report. I've had friends report. My other friends,with their birth videos ALSO posted non-consenually in there, have tried reporting. It doesn't matter. I sent the link to the FBI. It doesn't even really matter anyway. They're g drives. If the post got removed, if the whole sub was removed, my video is still in the possession of some sicko using it for fap material. My baby's sweet little face in there...I am sick. I am defeated.
They have a post up in the sub about how their previous group was removed because of pedophile content. No shit. No fucking shit. Your fetish inherently involves children. They ask that "karens" please leave them alone now. They acknowledge that pedophiles lurk in their sub, yet continue to steal content with children in it for sexual purposes. I do not understand how something like this is legal. I don't know how many other dark places on the internet my video has ended up.
The most special moment of my life is now just this fucking smear of shit all because I decided to try and capture it for memory's sake. Something that was supposed to bring me unending joy, now leaves me weeping. I keep looking at my sweet toddler and just...breaking down. He didn't deserve this. I wish I could go back and never have recorded that video. I took my USB and fucking smashed it into a million pieces just to feel like I did something. I am tired.
There's not going to be another update for awhile. I am in a very dark place.
Link
he needs to die
#radblr#radical feminist safe#radical feminism#radical feminists do touch#radical feminist community#radfeminism#rad fem#feminism#radfem friendly
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