#it just makes me cry. people care about me. they always have and they always will. even if i dont see it right away. even if it takes time.
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Taste Me When He’s Kissing You
Summary: When Your roommate seemingly break up for a time, one of them decides to make a move.
Characters: Geto Suguru, AFAB!Reader, Gojo Satoru
Warnings: language, oral sex, making out (mxm), minions of threesomes, it’s hot!
Word Count: 1.7K
A/N: Hi thank you all for your patience! My life has been so crazy the last few days! Lots of deliveries at the house lots of work at my job, I'm working on several different stories right now just trying to get them out in between not losing my mind! This is highly inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s Taste!
Geto Suguru and his boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, were constantly on and off. As their roommate, you got to experience this firsthand. So, of course, when Gojo stormed out, slamming the door and telling Geto they were done, you watched curiously from the kitchen. Suguru sighed, dark hair falling over his shoulder as he pressed his forehead against the front door.
“Mm—“ you hummed, taking a bite of pineapple off your fork. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Heh, I guess you could say that.��� He sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he leaned over the counter opposite you, watching you take another bite of pineapple. “He said we should see other people.”
Suguru watched closely as your pretty tongue darted out past your lips to lick at the sweet juice coating them. “And how do you feel about that?” Your words were brushed aside as Suguru reached for the container, grabbing a chunk of the citrusy fruit. “Oi! That’s mine!” You scolded as you pulled your bowl away, pouting as you did.
“Oh ya’ know, Satoru will be back.” he licked his lips, eyes on yours. “But you know what else he said before he left?”
You snatched the pineapple back out of his hands. “What?” You honestly didn’t care what he had said.
“That he was going to ask you out.”
You inhaled sharply before going into a coughing fit. The Vitamin C stung your sinuses’ and the back of your throat as you harshly coughed into your hand with tears stinging your eyes. Gojo Satoru wanted to ask you out?! What that fuck?!
“L-Liar!” You shouted in between coughs. “You’re such a liar!”
“Nope, that’s the truth.” Suguru leaned over the counter closer to you. “But do you wanna know what I told him?”
This time, you avoided the pineapple altogether as you hummed. “What?” You took a deep breath before clearing your throat, waiting for him to continue.
“I told him, ‘Not if I beat you first’.”
You started to laugh, ready to call him out for the blatant lie. But as the sound began to rise in your chest, he reached across the counter and slammed his lips against yours. The sudden kiss, hands jerking slightly in his grasp, but the initial shock wore off, and you found yourself slowly sinking into the kiss. With a whimper, your hands reached up, resting against his before he broke the kiss with a deep guttural growl that had your pussy throbbing.
He hummed violet eyes, searching yours before focusing back on the pineapple. “Let’s put an old wise tale to the test, shall we?” Before you could even ask what he was talking about, he dragged you to the room.
Nothing could have prepared you for what was going to happen next.
You were coated in a thin layer of wear; your panties and sweats were still hooked around your ankle as your legs trembled. Suguru’s face was buried directly between your thighs, and his tongue was slowly running up and down over your lot. The tip is darting out teasing flicks towards your clit. The torturous licks were practically unavoidable, with Suguru’s large hands gripping your hips as tight as he could without hurting you, preventing you from always pulling from his skilled mouth.
You writhed against the sheets, crying out softly as he moaned against your sex, his pretty lavender eyes flicking towards your face as your breathing hitched. You were already close to cumming for the third time since he had settled between your thighs, and fucking hell, he wanted every drop you had to offer for him. So he continued his ministrations, eyes lingering on yours as he hummed, causing vibrations to tickle the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your toes curled inside your fuzzy socks while your fingers fisted into the sheets beneath you.
“Ohh fuck!” You cried out, chest heaving as your breast bounced ever so slightly under your shaky jerks. “Holy shit! S-Sugu! Sugu!” He hummed, digging his fingers harder into your sides while he slowly rolled his hips against the mattress. Grinding his hardened cock against the crisp material, longing to be buried inside of you.
“Mmmnm~” he whispered, eyes narrowing, “That’s it, be a good Princess and cum all over my tongue.” His voice was so deep and was over-saturated with lust, dripping to the point you could feel his desire in every caress of his skin against yours. “Cum for me, baby~ cum~ pretty girl.”
“I-I—!!” The warning failed before it even began. “Nngh!!” You screamed, not giving a fuck about your neighbors or who might be listening in. All that you could focus on was the way Suguru wrapped those soft lips around your clit.
Stars and the universe and the cosmos flashed before your eyes as your orgasm hit you like the meteor that took out the dinosaurs. You screamed and squirmed, thrashing your head side to side as the waves of pleasure rolled through every nerve in your entire body. Not once did Suguru let up. He kept licking and sucking at your sensitive pussy until you were practically yanking his head away from your aching, throbbing sex.
“H-Hold on a second!” You begged as he tried dipping his head back between your thighs for the fourth time. “Easy! Fuck, easy there, Sugu!”
“Can’t help it~ you taste so fucking sweet!” He snarled, dragging you back to his mouth. You brought both hands to his hair with a yelp, tangling it in his silky soft strands.
For just an instance, you were about to lose yourself in his touch and tongue again when the sound of someone clearing their throat filled the room. You automatically seized up, eyes wide in panic, clenching onto every muscle in your body. Suguru slowly licked his lips, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Satoru, leaning against the door frame, watching the scene unfold before him.
“Wow, talk about moving on fast.” His voice and words held no heat as his eyes opened up. You’re nearly naked form. “I guess I didn’t stand a chance against you, did I?”
“Nope.”
Suguru ducked his head back between your legs, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. “Oh fuck me!” You cried out, shutting your eyes tight, half an embarrassment while the other half was trying hard not to drown in the pleasure that was starting to build up in your abdomen again.
“Tsk—” the floorboards creek underweight as Satoru walks towards the edge of the bed, gently grabbing your chin and forcing your head to the side to look up at him. “I wanted to be the first one to taste you.” His eyes glance at his best friend and boyfriend, nestled firmly between your legs. “Just how do you intend to make it up to me? Seeing that he got to taste you first?”
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as your eyes narrowed as you looked up at the white-haired man. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to taste me when he’s kissing you.” You said with a specific tone of confidence you didn’t know even lingered within your body.
Both men froze at your words; Suguru lifted his head, his chin and lips glistening with your slick. Satoru’s momentary shock slowly shifted into a sultry smirk as he released his group on your chin, focusing his attention on the dark-haired man looking at him. Satoru was kneeling, crawling to the center of the bed where you and Suguru were. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed a handful of Suguru’s hair, yanking it at the base of his roots.
“Nnmh!” Suguru hissed out, his cheeks flushing a dusty rose color as his eyes glimmered with lust as Satoru brought him close to his mouth. “Satoru~” Suguru purred as the taller man closed the distance between them.
“You heard her; if I wanna taste~ I’m gonna have to kiss you.”
Without another word, his lips slammed against Suguru’s in a heated kiss. One that was full of biting and moaning. Moans that were so deep and full of passion it was nearly pornographic. Suguru didn’t miss a beat. His hands grabbed Satoru’s shirt closer while Satoru’s fingers ran through the strands of the dark hair.
Tongues move against tongues, and you press your thighs together at the site of the men making out in front of you. They didn’t hold back. They were like two horny, crazed animals longing for each other, longing to share the taste of you against their tongues. It had between your legs, rubbing at your slow, lazy circles as Suguru tugged Satoru’s shirt over his head, throwing it across the room before his lips were on his again.
It was so erotic. Your cunt throbbed in need as they broke, kissing heavily lips, swollen as they pressed their foreheads against each other. And lilac eyes burning holes through the other growled, gripping each other with a mighty need. It was almost as if they had forgotten that you were in the room with the whimper of pleasure that rose in your throat as you felt yourself getting close to the edge.
“Awe.” Satoru hummed, reaching down and grabbing your hand to prevent you from tipping over the edge. “Not so fast, honey. I need to taste you directly because you taste as sweet as the pineapple you’re always snacking on.” He dropped between your legs, his mouth following the path of bite marks and hickeys that Suguru had left in his wake earlier.
“Oh, my fuckin’ f—“ You cried out, leaning your head back to rest it against the pillows only to have your hair yanked back up. “Mmmhm!”
A thick throbbing cock was right in front of your face. It was leaking beats of pre-cum, making your mouth water. “Come on, Princess. You can taste me while he tastes you.” You bit down on your bottom lip before nodding your head, opening your mouth to take him in.
You weren’t sure if this was what they had initially planned on doing or if they had indeed broken up. But what mattered the most was that this would be the beginning of your very long and very happy relationship together.
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Hey 💜💜 wondering if you could write something where Damian and reader have been trying to have a baby for so long, and they've done all the treatments, but nothing ever worked, so they’ve stopped "trying". And then she ends up pregnant randomly, and her gift to him on Christmas is a positive test or a cute onesie or whatever, and it takes him a minute to actually believe her 💜💜
i love this request so much! working on it!
damian priest x reader
likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
‼️mention of infertility, pregnancy, pregnancy sickness, a little angst, mention of smut, fluff and comfort‼️
early christmas present
one year and a half.
one year and a half of you and damian trying to have a family together. one year and a half of you going from doctor to doctor, clinic to clinic and changing different treatments and yet nothing ever happened.
maybe it wasn’t meant to be. maybe you and damian weren’t fit to be parents and this was the sign. maybe it wasn’t meant for you to be a mother in this lifetime, no matter how much you wanted to be.
and you spent a year and a half blaming yourself. you reached to a point where you tried to break up with damian, saying how he deserved someone who could give him a family.
he thought you were crazy when you said that. he loved you so much and the idea of losing you was killing him, so, after a lot of therapy sessions, sleepless nights crying in each other’s arms, you came to the conclusion that it wasn’t really meant to be and that there was nothing you could do about it.
the idea of being infertile never crossed your mind so it was a big shock to you but as time passed by, you learned how to live with that and instead of focusing on the bad things, you took your life back.
a few people in the company knew or more - heard - about you and damian not being able to have kids and tried to suggest you many different options, from adoption to surrogacy but even if they seemed having good intentions, it pain you to know that your own problems became public domain.
you and damian lived your life. he promised to stay by your side and he did. he knew how much you wanted this and he was hurting at the idea of you feeling like it was your fault.
you found strength to take your mind off of that and focusing on different things. helping damian training, having dates like it was your first time together, spending much needed time in each other’s company. all the little things you loved that felt lost a year ago.
passionate nights with damian, him reminding you how much he loved you and appreciated you. you felt like yourself again and you got used of being just you and him, even if it meant for the rest of your life.
about a week ago you got sick. thinking it was just a normal cold, you let it go. but it got worse when the delicious smell of fresh bread and coffee became unbearable for you and got you nauseous every single morning.
“stomach issues again?” damian softly asked when he saw the disgust painted on your face.
“i think so…it smells so bad damian” you tried to joke when damian backed off so he could drink his coffee without making you feel worse.
“do you want me to make you something else? eggs? bacon? pancakes? anything you like?” he was so caring with you but the idea of eating made you even sicker.
“i feel like i could throw up the whole menu” you said making him laugh “i booked an appointment for today, i’m having a check up, maybe i got some virus or something…nothing too serious” you tried to remain calm but the idea of being sick for so long made you worry.
“i wish i could come with you but i promised rhea i would help her train…let me call her so i can come with you” he was about to pick up the phone but you stopped him.
“it’s not necessary damian, i promise” you smiled “she needs you, i’ll see you later on tonight” he knew that you wouldn’t have let him ditch rhea for a simple check up and he knew that no matter what he said, you wouldn’t let him come.
he nodded, moving the coffee away so he could properly kiss you before you left the house.
a couple of hours later and you were sitting in your car, watching the people passing by as you were trying to elaborate what the doctor just told you.
you weren’t sick - you were pregnant.
you were pretty sure it was impossible for you but all the tests the doctor ran turned positive.
how?
when?
your mind was racing and you couldn’t stop the million thoughts that were going through it.
sure, you and damian stopped having sex with condoms when you were trying to have a baby and when you learned that you couldn’t have kids you never really cared about safe sex anyway.
but how did it happen if you were infertile?
the doctor didn’t have a proper answer and he already scheduled some appointments to keep you checked, saying that it was almost a miracle.
right now, you were thinking about damian.
how were you going to tell him?
many ideas crossed your mind. from a mug with “best dad”, to a small t-shirt or maybe even a teddy bear.
you wanted to make this special for him too so when you crossed a shoe store on your drive back home, you decided to stop and get some inspiration. immediately your eyes fell upon a baby version of the black nike sneakers he had and you thought it was going to be an awesome gift.
your baby wasn’t even born and yet you were buying matching shoes for them and damian. while wrapping the box, the sale assistant smiled at you, unconsciously knowing that you had in mind.
you couldn’t contain your excitement and enthusiasm so you tried to speed back home.
too much surprise damian was already back and he was watching something show when you entered the front door.
his eyes immediately fell upon you, remembering you had the visit that morning.
“hey mi amor” he smiled “how are you? feeling better? what did the doctor say?” thousands of questions immediately echoed in the room, making you chuckle.
“one question at a time damian” you smiled sitting next to him on the couch “i’m feeling better, thanks, and the doctor gave me an explanation on why i keep getting sick, especially in the morning” you tried not to be so excited but it was hard.
“so?” damian was worried. he couldn’t understand why you were so happy and smiley.
instead of giving him an answer, you took the box right out of your bag and gave it to him “let say this is an early christmas present…and also the reason on why i’m always so sick” you watched him look between you and the box “come on, open it” you smiled.
damian carefully opened the small box and for a moment his heart stopped.
mini shoes? he wasn’t understanding.
and then it clicked.
“what? how? is this real?” his eyes moved between your now teary eyes and the little shoes he was holding in his hands “is it real?”
you nodded, not being able to find enough words.
“we’re gonna be parents?” he asked, now fully already knowing the answer.
“yes…” your voice broke a little but the joy filling the room was worth all of the tears you were shedding.
“this is the best gift i could ever ask for” he wrapped you in his arms and held you as you both cried of joy.
“i already booked the next appointments. the doctor wants to run some more tests and try to understand how i actually got pregnant…and we have an ultrasound appointment in a week too…we’re gonna see the baby soon” you cried onto damian’s shoulder.
“fuck, i love you so much mi amor” he quickly wiped off his tears before softly kiss your lips “and i can’t believe you got us matching shoes” he bursted out laughing.
“i can’t wait to get you matching clothes, matching pjs, matching socks, everything gonna be matching” you joked, making him even happier.
damian’s hand went over your belly “i can’t wait to meet you baby…” he softly spoke making your heart warm “you are already so loved…we love you so much, mama and papa…i can’t believe i’m saying this” he was still high on emotions and you couldn’t blame him.
maybe it really was a christmas miracle.
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the music is punk because it challenges the norm. the clothing is punk because it challenges the norm. the politics are punk because they challenge the norm. it's not a sound, or a look, or a book, or a slogan. it's a way of thinking that puts radical acceptance and relentless pursuit of joy, face to face with a world that wants you dead. you can't put a price on it. the disabled woman that says "fuck it people know I can't hold my blatter anyway. I don't care if they can tell I'm wearing the rehab-provided brief. Get me my bright lipstick I'm going to bingo!" is flexing the same muscles as the suburban white boy who steals eyeliner from his conservative mother. they are both people using identity, to create joy and signal comradery in lonely times, reputation be damned.
not to mention, all of the clothes I have been able to afford new when I was in my poorest moments were shit quality anyway. anything you can do to extend the lifespan of a physical object that was made under the modern fast fashion system past "thrown out, unsold at the store" is a win. in the same way that any pressure you can keep against an actively bleeding wound is a win. cloths are a common class of tools we use to help regulate our comfort, with that is with the temperature or our cave-mates. if the clothes make you feel uncomfortable they are already useless. it is already trash. why not try anything to see if it works? there are intelligent capable people across the centuries who died dreaming of what to do with once gorgeous expensive trendy fabric, that will now look dated and trashy outside of "the spring of '32 when i fell in love with jazz." or whatever the kids are into these days. the stupid walmart blazer you took a chance on 2 years ago but now feel "too X to wear" is no different. either you trash it now, or live with that trash in your home until your kids do it for you, while crying about how they always thought you looked good in that color. you might as well see if there's enough fabric to re-make that halter top you loved in college. when it looks homemade you get to boast and explain all about how you're trying to make shit better in little ways. and who cares if it fails? Aren't you deserving of a little petty violence? when the last time you really didn't give a shit about seam Ripping and just went to town? don't you want to be able to yell at something with no moral consequences? so much in this world is complicated and nuanced and requires forethought and responsibility. Wouldn't it feel nice to have a hobby that lets you get reasonably angry at evil fabric for not doing the thing, and then you can just throw it and swear, and then never have to think about it again. because it doesn't matter. it was already cheep plastic made to feed a system that would rather watch the world burn than lose a shareholder. you eat credit cards a year. you can not hurt wasted disposable plastic more than it will hurt you.
and then if it works you have a cute top to wear around places to show you are the kind of person who has cool tops! and help you ease people into the idea that a political movements starts with people deciding what things they inherited they actually want to keep around. and then maybe one day you cut apart and re-make out of nice quality fabric, with the mistakes you learned from the first one. so you can weaponize your ability to present yourself as ""respectable"" when you have to play the politics game in big official ways.
or (imagine this) you can even use your new knowledge of what types of edits you often make to clothing to buy a quality garment that will be more worth investing in. Ones that are made in ways that add value to their communities will feel good on your body from day one, and you can be mened and adapt in ways that may let it outlive you.
or maybe you elevate that shity, guilt ridden- shirt out of the gym lost and found on the last day of freshman year, because "fuck it- I liked that middle-school library fit. and Its a size too small but I'm bound to get thinner eventually. and I don't think its actually stealing if no one else wants it." Maybe if you make it into a statement piece scrap in your favorite "look I'm not happy about it either!" outfit, to show that you want to fuck with the systems in a "hey we should still have A Library tho right?" sort of way. you might run into the middle school girl who gets to break the ice with a fellow "cool garment person" friend. and she gets to laugh about your shirt deadnaming her. and you get to apologize and offer to let her sign something over it. and now you are advertising the formative art of a local queer-punk-artisan who you know is also out there trying her best to make the shitty stuff a little less shitty when they can, even if it means learning how to thread a sewing machine.... eventually.... hopefully.
also, as a person who has spent about a decade trying to figure out ways to keep kids of all ages informed and prepared and enriched on a budget. "Tug of War turned tie-dye Party" would of been a smash hit, my queer and rural in the 90's type parents would have loved it. after growing up with Halloweens filled with pieced-together costumes that made room for sensory issues and accessibility aids. and family "vacations" taken on public land with what's left of the food stamps. i think there is definitely a market for how to teach your children the fundamentals of serving in a world that might find their misery profitable. without like... terrafing them.
imagine how much easier alot of it would have been if someone early in your life had sat you down and said "ok. a lot of times things are going to be bad and unfair and evil. and there's going to be complicated reasons you cant do much about it but feel bad. but if you feel bad all the time it will only get worse. so what you can do is take what is around you, figure out what it is and how it works and why it's there, and then break it in ways that are meaningful and delibrite. and re-shape it to help the actual people who are trying survive."
then they showed you and all of your little friends how to research, what fabric is and understand why you bought supplies, and then get their hands dirty testing how strong it is, and why jeans have rivets even when you want to sew right there. and re-asure them that it's ok you paved the way to make sure they can't hurt anything too bad even if they are really really bad at it. and then let them find joy and pride in making something unique and custom with their own tools for the cost of cleaning out a closet, and some rite dye.
and then the community has a couple new little baby punks making decent folks smile with little bold fashion statements, and turning heads when they experiment with which parts of society they want to bring into the new age. tl;dr: I think we need to start telling the “I’m too poor to dress punk” crowd that they’re posers. -polyamorouspunk, November 2024, tumbr.com
I think we need to start telling the “I’m too poor to dress punk” crowd that they’re posers.
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6#-> 💌: a letter has arrived from satoru gojo.
dear y/n.
i’ve been selfish, y/n. so selfish. sorry for not starting it like i usually do, sweetheart, but i have to be quick with this. i never told you how much i relied on you, how much i needed you to stay by my side. you’ve seen the mask, the facade. you’ve seen me pretending to be the untouchable, invincible one. but you need to know—i’m terrified. terrified of losing everything. terrified of dying. terrified of not being able to protect you, or anyone else.
but more than that, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for every time i pushed you away. every time i made it seem like i didn’t need you when i did.
i wanted to protect you, y/n. i wanted to save you from this fate, from the pain of losing me. but now, i realize that i’m the one who’s done this. i’m the one who’s failed. i know this is gonna hurt you, which is gonna hurt me way more, even after death.
i’m sorry for all the things i said. for all the things i’ve done. but now, i don’t have time to fix it. i don’t have time to make it right. all i can do is pray that you’ll keep fighting after i’m gone. keep pushing forward. because there’s still hope. there’s still a way to stop him, even if i’m not there to see it.
i’m sorry i couldn’t protect you like i promised. i’m sorry that i didn’t love you in the right ways, didn’t give you everything you deserved. i’m sorry i never let you see some parts of me that were just satoru, not the strongest, not the guy who’s supposed to help people, not the guy who's childish and can't shut up sometimes— but the man who would’ve done ANYTHING to keep you happy.
i wish i had more time. i wish i could be with you when the world doesn’t feel like it’s crashing down. but the truth is, i know i won’t make it out of this one. i’m sorry for that, more than you’ll ever know.
and that’s the worst part, isn’t it? i never wanted you to see me like this- weak, vulnerable. it’s not something i’m good at. i never let anyone see the cracks. i should’ve told you everything. i kept you out because i didn’t want you to worry. i didn’t want you to feel like you had to carry this burden with me. but i was wrong. i should’ve let you in. i should’ve trusted you more. i should’ve let you love me the way you wanted to.
and now.. now it’s too late. you’re going to hate me for all the times i pushed you away, for all the times i acted like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter. but it did. you always did. i just didn’t know how to say it. didn’t know how to show you. i didn’t think i deserved to have you that close to me. but i do. and now i’m losing you. losing everything.
please don’t blame yourself. please. this is all on me. on my failure. i’ve known for a while that this was coming. i just thought i had more time. i thought maybe i could fix it. but it’s too late.
i guess that’s what i’m trying to say in this letter: i’ve made mistakes, and i’m not perfect. but i did my best. and maybe that’s all any of us can do in the end. do their best and still make mistakes.
i want you to know that i’ll be thinking of you. i wish i could’ve done more for you. i’ll be honest with you, i always thought i’d have at least a little more time. but if nothing else, know that i’m grateful for the time that i had with you. i’ve had a lot of great moments with everyone. even though i acted like i had everything figured out, you kept me grounded in a way that i never told you enough.
if i don’t make it back, keep going. keep pushing forward. i’ll be rooting for you— hell, i’ll be watching from somewhere, if there’s a "somewhere" to be. if the somewhere is in your heart, then please let me stay there.
i want you to know that i’ve always loved you. more than you’ll ever know. and i’m sorry. so fucking sorry for all the times i took you for granted, for all the times i made you think i didn’t care, when in reality, you were all i ever cared about.
don’t cry for me when i’m gone. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.
goodbye, y/n. i hope i’ll be able to send you one last letter. i love you baby, always have and always will.
p.s. i’ll always be with you, even if you can't see me. take care of yourself, y/n. that's all i ever wanted for you.. please give satoru the third a kiss for me every time you see him. that poor kitty.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x gn!reader#jjk x gender neutral reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujustu kaisen x you#jjk satoru#gojo satoru x you#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#satoru x reader#satoru x you#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#love#love notes#love letters#angst#jjk angst#jujustu kaisen angst#jjkangst#gojo death#seraphina's letters ✎
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[ Dragon Age: The Veilguard Spoilers ]
Well…I reached the end.
And I mostly survived.
Varric 😭
I’m not going to complain about the bits that I took issue with. It’s 3:30 am and I’m too emotional for objectivity.
I did all that work to get the Solavellan ending…and then I gave it all up to punch the egg man in the face. And I don’t regret it for a second. (Chalk it up to my Rook being a girl’s girl, I say.)
One day, I’ll reload and do the whole “secret ending” thing but my gosh, keeping Varric’s…what, spirit? Tethered between Solas and Rook through BLOOD MAGIC?? Even Merrill would not approve of this. I knew he was manipulating Rook. I thought I understood betrayal. But that…that really cemented his place as the villain in this story for me. Even to the last, he believed himself a god.
I lost Harding. That…really got to me. I sort of knew it would happen; her or Davrin, the game didn’t make some big secret of it. And, to be honest, the whole game had a lot of easily-predictable plot revelations, and I think that was one of its major strengths. You could always point out the traitor during the first conversation, and then feel that sense of “ha! I knew it.” If they’d tried too hard to subvert your expectations, it would have come across as poorly written.
I ended up being very glad that I got all the companions to Hero status, and all the factions to three stars, because that meant that I didn’t lose anyone else. It felt right, like I personally did put in those hours and make those careful choices to save those people, and they didn’t just get a free pass due to plot armor. It was all Rook.
And I did enjoy the end of Rook and Lucanis’ romance. To be honest, if that scene hadn’t been waiting for me after she got out of the veil prison, I would not have been able to keep playing. Was it enough? I think so, for Rook. I will be writing my own fanfiction embellishments though.
Scrolling back a bit, the moment in the game that first made me cry was Manfred waking up with magical powers and squealing with excitement. “Magic! Like you!” Instant waterworks. The depressing moments are never as meaningful to me as the shockingly touching ones, and Manfred embodied that sentiment wonderfully.
What else can I say? I loved it. 10/10 for me, especially after waiting 10 years. They honored Varric, and even if I’m still mad about it I guess it’s more than we got for any of our other past beloved NPCs. In my head, he’s hunting Hawke down in the Fade. One day, Cassandra will meet him there and they’ll be reborn as wisps who can dance around the Necropolis together. Emmrich will make sure they’re properly cared for.
#dragon age#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age the veilguard#datv spoilers#varric tethras#dragon age rook#game review#dragon age inquisition#lace harding#lucanis dellamorte#dragon age screenshots
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you writing is so beautiful. the way that logan tries to stop her - how blunt and earnest he is and the worst person for the job (but also best, in his own way) but he's trying, gosh that got me. love the line about logan's tailights being a lighthouse, guiding her back out in all that dark, and then trying to make her promise she won't go back.
and how they bump into each other again, the way he takes time and listens to her each time had my heart aching. the way you write her grief felt so real (I really appreciate how you wrote this fic - my own mental health over the past few years has been rocky and this felt so - gosh, I don't know, relatable? hopeful? wonderful? to read), and the fact that he understands in a way that no one else she knows does - it such a rough connection but you have me feeling glad for each of their encounters.
“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”
Wheezing omg - perfect Wade introduction. And then that she goes back, and I that she hates but I love that he is getting a handle at how she thinks, how he makes her be honest. And gosh when he opens up in return, that fondness he had for Wade, how he's still hurting from before, I was inhaling this.
Loving 'DVDJ' (and the F9/Wade & Logan references omfg) and I so feel for reader and how hard it is to put yourself out there, but what a great group of people for her to surround herself with. And the whiplash with her finding him like that, how it still comes back to him after all the healing he's been trying to do, all of this made my chest ache.
He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one. // “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”
Ahh this made me want to cry - I love how you dug into his grief in this. How she's able to help him this time, find the words he needs to hear. And ahh I love how you write everyone - Vanessa, Wade, Althea. Logan's chip! I am tearing up again, especially at this part:
“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”
oh!! 🥺💖 and then I love the reveal that the cliff was a space in his world, even with their shared history of it. like they were always meant to meet, the “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.” had me like !!!! - sad and lovely is so right.
“‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”
this made me laugh (reference to Hugh's interview right??) omg. and the way you pace things, how they slowly get better and fall into place for her, it makes me so proud, even just as a reader.
“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.” // It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.
Grinning, oh my god. And how sweet she is with the gift and how Wade wants to take a new photo of his new world - my heart. And then how seeing Vanessa and Wade makes her think about more, when at the beginning that was impossible - weeping.
Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.
You like him.
!!!!! god, what a realization. and how she can't handle it, so real. And how he comes through the rain to check on her, oh my god. That he checked, and how scared he must have been!
“I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” // His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.
Oh. And oh my god that perfectly imperfect kiss, the fact he's been wanting to for ages!!!!! I am screaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?” !!!! (the vein appreciation, loved that)
“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”
eep! 😳💖 the smut was so perfect, so good. I am obsessed with how soft he is for her -
“Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance.
LOGAN 😳 the desperation with how they’re still on her table, how sweet and pleased he is - the “then get it out”, omg he is so filthy. This was amazing (that stomach vein yesssss) just absolutely steamy as hell and so so well-written and I had to keep taking breaks to stare at the wall. Phew! Fucking her against the wall!!!! I love the use of the strength here and yessss a long night indeed!! 👀💖💖
And gosh, the last segment. No words, my heart is tied up in the sweetest of strings and knots. This was really something special. I already want to reread and pick each line apart. This was Logan and this is canon to me and wow I just loved this so much and I hope you are so proud of this fic because you really really should be. I am going to be thinking about this for a long time 💖 (and I would love to hear about the title, is Logan her cardinal?)(like a sign of hope and new beginnings?)
Cardinal
Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).
Word count: 16.6k
Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.
Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!
Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.
If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.
THE LOOKOUT
With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this.
Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.
It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.
During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.
Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.
Today you want it to be your last time here.
You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.
The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–
“Hey, stop!”
A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.
“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind.
After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor.
You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset.
But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.
“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.
“You know–” he begins.
“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”
“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”
Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–
“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”
“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.
“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.
The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”
“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”
Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”
He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”
There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.
“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”
To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.
Understanding.
It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff.
The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.
You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.
“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”
“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.
He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”
– – – – –
Logan.
That’s his name.
It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.
Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.
Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same.
Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”
Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”
He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,
“Quit pitying me, Logan.”
“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”
Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”
Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?”
He hums.
“And how does that work?”
“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.”
The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–
“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.
“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”
“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”
“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”
Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.
“I should head home,” you say, standing again.
Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”
“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”
“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”
“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”
He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.
THE CRAVING
New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.
You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.
There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it.
It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.
The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.
After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy.
When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.
It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?”
Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand.
“First time’s on the house.”
You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.
A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.
“She isn’t interested, pal.”
It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–
“Logan?” you slur in disbelief.
Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.
“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”
Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”
“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.
“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.
Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“And then what, huh?”
“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”
“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”
“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”
It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.
“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.
“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.
Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”
He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle.
You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far…
Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–
“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.
Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”
– – – – –
When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–
“Mornin’, sunshine.”
The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air.
“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”
“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.
“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”
“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.
“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.
Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.
“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.
You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”
“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.
“What–”
“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”
“Oh…,” you say, voice small.
You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.
“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”
You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk.
There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.
“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”
The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.
“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door.
He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.
THE PUZZLE
It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this.
Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you.
So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.
Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better.
Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.
“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.
He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”
It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.
“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.
“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment.
Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang.
“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”
He nods in acknowledgement.
“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”
Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.
“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”
“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”
– – – – –
You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.
“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.
“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”
You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.
“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”
“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little.
“You’re a quick study.”
Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”
With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”
To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”
“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”
You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,
“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”
The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”
Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”
“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”
Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat–
It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…
There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here.
There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.
“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.
“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”
“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”
At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”
You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.
“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.
“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”
“You can pay next time.”
When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.
– – – – –
You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.
THE PANTRY
“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.
“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.
“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.
You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.
It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared.
There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.
Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.
“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.
“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”
There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.
You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.
An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.
The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.
Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–
You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.
Fuck.
Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”
Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.
“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.”
Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.
“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”
You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.
“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”
“It caught you off guard, it happens–”
“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”
Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.
It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.
“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”
“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”
“What if it wasn’t enough?”
“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”
Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are.
“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”
Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”
– – – – –
Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway.
It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile.
You respond in kind.
When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.
A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.
THE MEETING
April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.
With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.
Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed – like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.
You’d answered without saying a word.
“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.
“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.
“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”
You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”
It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago.
“Sounds to me like now might be good.”
“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination.
“Logan?”
“Still here.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”
The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.
The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day.
Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week.
“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”
You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...
But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support.
That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters.
Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front.
The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.
“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”
It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand.
“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.
The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.
“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts.
It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.
“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–”
He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after.
“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”
You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.
“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”
A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.
Your palms hurt after.
– – – – –
“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.
The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.
Logan scoffs in reply.
“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”
You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.
It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.”
“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.
“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”
Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”
“Maybe next time.”
During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.
“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”
Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”
“You went there on your side?”
He hums.
“By yourself?”
He hums again.
“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.
“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”
It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely.
The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,
“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”
His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.”
“Can you do it?”
“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”
It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”
“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”
“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”
“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”
“Definitely,” you reply.
“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”
You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”
“I like it when I drink it with you.”
It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”
“See you.”
He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.
THE SUMMER
Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.
You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.
It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.
It’s way better than champagne.
– – – – –
You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place…
The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.
“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”
“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”
Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room.
“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”
Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”
“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.
“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.
Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.
Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”
“Wade,” Logan warns.
Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.
You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”
“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”
“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”
It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.
– – – – –
Apartments look weird with nothing in them.
It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.
“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.
You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.
It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.
Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.
It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.
“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”
– – – – –
“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.
Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare.
Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.
“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”
You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.
Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”
You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.
“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.”
You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”
– – – – –
“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.
“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.
“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.
“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”
You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”
“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”
THE PARTY
“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.
“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.
“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”
You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”
“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”
“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”
When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”
A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”
“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”
“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.
“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.
“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” you smile.
“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”
You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”
The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.
“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.
Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”
“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”
“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”
– – – – –
The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips.
While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.
It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.
For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.
Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–
“Do you dance?”
You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you–
“Logan,” you breathe.
It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.
It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.
You like him.
All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”
You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.
Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–
“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.
Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”
“Bye, Logan.”
THE TABLE
Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.
Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…
…broad, handsome.
Shit.
Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.
But he might.
Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.
But it would change everyth–
Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your…
friends.
You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.
The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.
“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.
It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.
The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.
“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.
“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”
“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.
“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”
“Then what the fuck was that all about?”
The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.
“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”
The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”
His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.”
Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.
Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.
Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”
“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”
“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”
“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.
Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.
“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”
He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”
The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him.
His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.
Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own.
“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”
It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit.
“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.
“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.
“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”
All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down.
The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.
“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine.
Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.
The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life.
Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…
“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.
It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt.
He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.
“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.
“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.
Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.
With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.
“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”
“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.
If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.
He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.
“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin.
It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.
He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”
The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.
“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.
You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.
“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”
He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.
“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.
“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.
“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”
The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–
With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you.
“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.
With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.
The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.”
Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple.
You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall.
Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies.
“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”
You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”
He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.
The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.
It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.
Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...
It’ll be a long night.
THE PEARL
It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed.
Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.
In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.
“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”
The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.
“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.
“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”
She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”
“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.
A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.
It takes a lot of string indeed.
Sometimes even interdimensional string.
– – – – –
(THE END)
If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.
And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂
#this was incredible#logan howlett x reader#jess reads#2024 fave fics#fic rec: logan howlett#fic rec: deadpool & wolverine#thinking of queue
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SKIZZ DIDNT KNOW IMPULSE WAS A DEMON YET??? I knew be didn't know his name (at leaset. Im like 99% sure he doesnt lol.), but I guess I assumed he knew he was a demon... that actually DRASTICALLY changes things.
Well, obviously he knows now, and.. in actuality it doesn't change too much.. but something tells me skizz would have been fussing over the wellbeing of a certain demon way more if he knew his best friend was one, lol.
Also? Also. I will CRY. do you WANT me to CRY? Impulse is soooo pathetic/aff this chapter. He's such a little guy about one more incident from breaking down and we love him for that. He is the embodiment of every college student ever. Dude just wants a break. (And he should have one. With skizz. Together. Next chapter-)
Everytime there's a chapter I get veryyy happy, and then I finish it and I get ever so slightly sad because that means we're growing ever closer to the end, but then I realize we're not even halfway to the end and I'm happy again with the urge to draw the sillies. The things you do to me/j
I don't actually have anything very meaningful to add here. I'm really just procrastinating my own crushing work, so I should probably get back to that now-
nope, he didn't know! Impulse has been INCREDIBLY secretive about his personal life up until now, giving literally nothing away about himself online. And, btw, Skizz has been similar, both for his own boundaries and to respect Impulse's. ((btw, Impulse also doesn't know that Skizz is an angel))
Also yes, Skizz is empathetic in general, but he definitely would've been even more concerned if he knew Dop was a demon, too. I wonder if that'll come up in any way...
Uhmm, yes. I want you to cry. That is, in fact, my main goal here. I feed off of the tears of orphaned children, I eat suffering for breakfast. Impulse really is super sad tho :( It's only slightly concerning just how much people say they relate to him this chapter rip. We're all fineeee, right guys? As for whether he gets a break next time, do you think him talking to the hot stranger that he made a fool of himself in front of would be very relaxing? I guess you'll have to wait and see (laughs evilly as people continue to cry and cities burn in the background)
I'm so glad you get happy about my chapters!! It delights me how many people are just waiting for them, always excited for the next one. And yea, we're not even close to halfway through, so be excited!! Stay excited!!! ((and if you draw something i certainly wouldnt say no haha u can do it please do it please pretty please ill love u forever-))
That was meaningful!!! Your ask made me so happy :D Yikes on the work, make sure to take care of yourself and take breaks when you can! Health is more important than productivity <3
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i love being friends with girls and then they get a boyfriend and then he becomes the center of her entire existence and all she talks about and all she focuses on and i sit there and i smile and i nod and i feel myself becoming genuinely evil
#shut up about your fucking boyfriend I DONT CARE#<< i never say that bc im not a horrible person but good god idk if im built for this#im crazy and im always a little bit in love with every girl i know its just how im built#like i guess its bc whenever ive dated someone i keep that shit to myself#like you have to torture me for me to admit anythings happening so when other people make it their whole personality#and totally abandon friendships bc OMG must focus 100% energy on some guy it just makes my eye twitch#and then when they wanna come crawling back omg he sucks he cheated i want your shoulder to cry on and im like well you didnt even text#me when my nana died last march so. cry on your own shoulder.#full admittance i am also a jealous person so theres a bit of crazy jealous jessie at play Always. I'm nothing if not honest#sorry kpoppers you get my insnae ramblings this friday night#i'll make up for it i'll post like bang chan ass shots or something tommorrow dont worry
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this keeps me up at night btw.
#mipha#botw#loz breath of the wild#TWICE??? SHE DID IT TWICE??????? AND WE'RE JUST GONNA MOVE PAST THAT????????? literally NO one else has been said to be able to do this#and like. hm. is it. is it... love??#like you know how zelda and her powers are implied to work the same. they focus on protecting the one(s) they love & their powers activate#(i know people theorise that mipha was going to tell zelda her power works when she thinks about link but i've always thought she was going#to say that it works when she thinks about saving the person under her care. because it doesnt really make sense to me that her healing#would work for other people if she was only focused on saving link you know? so i've always thought it was just 'saving the people i love')#and zelda is technically able to do this with link after he wakes up and he's the only person her powers woke for#so does this work maybe like an inverse or an extension of how their powers usually work? like instead of it just being their love for the#other person it's the other person/people's love or reciprocated love for them. zelda & link are implied to have really only had each other#but mipha. mipha had a family and a whole kingdom. she was connected to nearly all of them when she passed and both these events#are said to have taken place shortly after she fell. in the dlc she asks link to pass on a message to sidon for her implying that she#can no longer speak to him as she once could. perhaps that's just her power waning over time but if you think about it in the context#of how the domain is slowly losing people who knew her and those who remain only remember her for what she did for them rather than who#she truly was then could she have stopped being able to connect with them because there was no one left who loved her as they once did.#loved her for who she was.#was she in vah ruta reaching out for her father and brother and realising slowly that they were forgetting her#... 'do not cry. just remember' huh.#freya talks loz#so consumed by mipha thoughts i forgot my own tag
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also i watch The Wild Robot the other day and oh my god 11/10, absolutely beautiful in every sense of the word, would cry again 👍
#josh talks#literally i cried several times throughout the movie#i do tend to be a crier when it comes to movies#but i have never cried like. in so many instances throughout#like usually its like a big climatic scene or the endings of things that make me cry#but this movie could hit you hard from the very beginning#anyway i absolutely fucking loved it#hit me in the Autism Feels (tm) and also had Found Family and i always eat that shit up#i NEED a physical copy of this movie#also side note the minecraft movie trailer played as a preview for this movie and GOD is that embarrassing for minecraft#to have that mess shown before the stunning masterpiece that is The Wild Robot#but it also made me Sad about the minecraft movie and what it couldve been again#imagine if the love and care put into the Wild Robot was put into the minecraft movie....#cuz the wild robot was gorgeously animated and had powerful emotional themes (that i doubt the minecraft movie will have)#there was even this preview for this movie called like Dog Man or something?#and it seems to be an adaptation of a book by the captain underpants guy#and even with such a silly premise and presumably having a target audience of young kids#it was animated so charmingly!! it was pretty and oozed personality!#and looking at the cover of the book it seems to have done a good job of adapting the artstyle into 3D while#also polishing it up while still capturing a similar vibe as the original#like dang. i dont mean to insult dog man cuz i really dont know anything about it. but dang dog man got#so much more love and care into it than the minecraft movie seems to have gotten#anyway sorry to derail from wild robot to minecraft it was just so jarring to have that trailer play before this awesome movie#pls go watch it if u can <3#ive been telling people i know that if they decide to go watch it to tell me so i can tag along and watch it again
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i've let myself be fully absorbed by minecraft :')
#it started with hermitcraft and then i hopped into the parkour civ bandwagon and i just wow#while i'm staying mindful to stay out of the toxic parts of the community it's been nothing but a wild ride#if i'm being careful there are so many great people that are just here to appreciate the craft#share fanart#cry about irl interactions (specifically the hermit family during twitchcon STILL CRYING BTW)#right when i accepted i was invested in them the parkour civilization thing blew up#i have always been a acookiegod watcher so seeing him here was delightful#but wow#that 4hr whole thing was just so fascinating to watch#talked to my bf abt this and i had no other way to describe it besides it felt like pokemon#the slow start and the slow rise to the top#i initially thought the 1st part was the elite four but after watching both movies i realized it's the whole game#part 1 was making your way through gyms and part 2 was the elite four plus the champion#DONT GET ME STARTED WITH THE ELEMENTS LIKE ICE GLASS CRYSTAL AND NEO????#elite four vibes through and through#and the villain#mindblown#it felt nostalgic but fresh at the same time#i can't wait to dip my toes (and actually fully sink into) the whole mc fandom#toff.txt
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The fact that this won’t even be the LAST time Sanji gets horribly manipulated by another woman. I’m just 😔
#HE’S A SIMP and girls take advantage of that too often 😭#AND THE FACT THAT he still forgives them anyway!! Even after putting him through hell!!#Listen say what you want about Sanji but there’s no denying that he’s. SUCH a good person#Too good of a person who is endlessly kind and caring and forgiving#Sanji gives and gives and gives and never takes. He’s so stupidly selfless sometimes it makes me want to cry#And people take advantage of that so often :’(#HE’S A GOOD BOY!!! He doesn’t deserve this#Shima speaks#One Piece#Sanji#Black Leg Sanji#He literally became my favorite (besides Luffy) for this exact reason#The fact that he’s so self sacrificing. The fact that he gives himself entirely to other people#And doesn’t expect anything in return#And has so little self worth I just. FUCKING hell dude.#His attempted sacrifice at Thriller Bark was a really big thing too#’They can always find another cook’ that was probably his thought process#BUT SANJI MY LOVE. THEY CAN NEVER FIND ANOTHER SANJI. ANOTHER YOU#If Sanji had taken Zoro’s place he WOULD have died. And that would have fucking torn Luffy APART#SLAMS MY HEAD INTO THE GROUND UGHHH SANJI. I LVOE YOU
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one of the things that will always destroy me is people believing that good story = darker/more mature/more sexual. this belief has ruined so many stories that could have been amazing & has prevented almost everyone from enjoying other really good stories simply because the age range it's aimed at is one they believe can't have complex themes, characters, plot, etc etc. they don't believe they can be moved by something a publisher or studio decided is for kids & so write it off without even thinking about it. biggest curse of being a writer who actually loves stories & telling them is that literally no one else cares in the most pessimistic, higher-than-thou, capitalism brainrot way you can imagine. & it's all automatic. because that's just what you're taught.
#like people who love all kids media uncritically is another problem#but i find an even bigger one is people not believing animated stuff & younger age range stuff can impact you#like imagine trying to explain something you love so much it makes you cry#& every single time people react as if you told them something batshit off the walls insane like you only eat dirt or something#& they need to help you because there is clearly something wrong with you#& no matter how you explain it they always look at you like a crazy person#i feel like no matter what the kinds of art i love will always get shoved to the back of the closet#how i explain the hopelessness of trying to convince someone they're allowed to watch cartoons#but they're adamant they aren't because they're ''too old for that kind of thing''#it really makes me want to cry. & it makes me angry#anyways this is all to say that the minecraft movie is bad because people are afraid to interact with silly things in good faith#& complete 100% seriousness. they cannot take a concept like minecraft seriously#& so they can't see what it's REALLY about#it's not just haha silly block animal & because they can't see it as it is without the filter of ''for kids''#it will be a bad movie. & it won't represent everything everyone who grew up with that game sees in it#i hate seeing a huge problem & either no one else sees it or they do but just don't care because they don't think it's a problem#it IS a problem. it's a HUGE problem that people think they're not allowed to play or have fun or interact with silly concepts seriously#please take shit seriously i'm crying & i'm begging. we could have had something beautiful#people's inability to acknowledge beauty just because the setting is. in their eyes. for kids. is literally ruining art#& i'm gonna start killing about it#Animorphs save me............................................
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I am so beyond ready to quit this job. Wednesday cannot come fast enough.
#to be fair it's bc school starts again in a few weeks#but idk. every day at this office feels like sandpaper on my skin. people always ask me shit i dont understand#and every case is so individual there's no set checklist to follow to troubleshoot#so most of the time I just grind my gears and get stuck#it'd busy more days than not.#and it was advertised to me as data entry only. client interactions was not what i signed up for.#it's all client interaction.#we're short staffed so nobody gets to take the back office and have a break.#when we weren't short staffed i was the new guy and only got 1 day in the back a week while everyone else got 2.#all my coworkers are conservative but talk like they're apolitical.#i thought it'd be fulfilling bc im helping people get benefits#but many are rude or impatient as any other service job. I'm constantly trying to direct people that don't want to listen#or explain the intricacies of something i barely understand.#and i don't want to lead people astray bc you have to start over if you blow a deadline.#but there's just nothing redeeming that i enjoy.#i hate customer service. i hate constantly asking questions. i like seldom few of my coworkers.#i can't be me at work.#and i don't care about the work itself anymore.#this job made me cry every day for weeks last month from sheer stress and overstimulation.#i almost cried myself sick several times.#the only reason I'm not there anymore is bc i dont fucking care anymore.#it took me 2 months to burn out. 2 months!#i was training for half of that!!#idk. everyone decided i was smart and could pick it up quickly so. even though everyone else got 4-6 weeks of shadowing#you can make do with 3 before you start doing stuff solo.#which feels unfair. i wasn't ready for it. and i resent the decision quite a bit.#plus it's been a nightmare for me in terms of external stressors and my generally deteriorating mental health. so.#all in all. i hate it here.#and i can't wait to turn in my notice so i can gtfo in 2 weeks#i am so tired. free me. let me go back to my music please
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The problem with my art right now is that 1) the little drawing time I have goes to @daily-basil ; 2) I have phases, and am currently deeply unmotivated ; and 3) when I do draw what this blog is currently about (Arsenic) I draw him in a gay way (because I love him deeply) and not like the unhinged person he actually is. I'm sorry I'm so soft about him right now. Yes I want Sunny and him to tear each other apart but they also need to love each other so so so much first
#siiiiiiigh...#im sorry i need him to hold sunny gently and tells him he loves him and yes he'll say it in horrible unhinged ways BUT#poor man who does not know how to love and does not know he can be loved. he is convinced he needs to manipulate people to make them stay#writing down arsenic lore for tosteur like two days ago made me so emotional about him. shaking and crying#there's not even like An Event it's just that his whole childhood sucks and he's never been accepted by anyone and he's so lonely and#(starts crying)#he does horrible horrible things but all he does to sunny truly comes from love. deeply inhumane and twisted love but love nonetheless#(except when he's being a selfish ass who doesn't have any sort of morals and generally doesn't give a shit about other people. of course)#god he's such a horrible person (/simplification) i love him#he does not care about hurting other people and only cares about his own selfish desires#he thinks he can do anything he wants and if other people get hurt by his actions it's not his problem#don't you DARE touch a single hair on sunny's head. not in a 'i care about my bf' way btw.#but because if sunny gets hurt. he has to deal with that and 1) it's boring unless it brings him something and 2) that's *his* plaything.#even when he does nice things for sunny he doesn't make it just to make sunny happy#he does it so that sunny will associate happiness with him and stay.#that's what he thinks consciously at least. he always had ulterior motives for everything he does#it doesn't really make him calculating because it's automatic at this point. it just makes him deeply selfish#my poor little boy who has never had anyone genuinely care about him before...#which doesn't excuse shit of course but hhhh i love him so much.#(D if you see this. this is about the OC not the guy. of course)#arsenic#rant#sometimes i think about nick like a normal person ('he's so awful and interesting') and sometimes i just slhrflfbfb. (cries)
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omw to play emotional support for my mom disguised as ✨fun family bonding time✨ for the rest of the week <3333 there's something so deeply wrong with me uwu teehee
#and i still havent texted my friend back even tho she texted me a week ago and i told her ill text her back this week when i have the time#and i DO have the time. im just fucked in the head and the prospect of having a conversation with another person where i again#have to pretend im not at the very brink of a serious mental and emotional breakdown. is making me lose my fucking mind#ik she's having a bad time rn and she needs the reassurance and jesus fucking christ i tried i had two long conversations with her#that were allllll about her. only her. not a single word about me. that's fine. this is what people need in such moments right#to just get patted on the head and hugged and told their suffering is real and what happened to them is unfair and just made to feel#that for a moment they're the centre of attention and it is all about them. this is normal. this is why therapy exists.#so i try to give this to her but it is fucking draining. and i NEVER get the same treatment back. like she caught me crying at uni last week#and like yes she'll say some nice things but she'll always find a way to turn the conversation back on the topic of ✨her✨#like we started talking about my therapy and i finally got to actually say a word or two about what im dealing with. but then she goes#'yeah im just trying to figure out what's wrong with me when i listen to you haha like i could never cut myself cause it looks ugly.#ofc it doesnt look ugly on you haha but i could never lol'#like thanks haha good to know ill just shut up then and steer the conversation back onto you why dont i. i mean its not like#i spent over an hour a few days back sitting with you and listening to your talk about your childhood and validating you and not saying#a word a single fucking word about myself even tho i was also going through it myself but who cares right. and now im the bad guy again#because im not texting back.#i feel like im finally fucking snapping cause at this point im properly fucking angry. IM having a bad time too. IM going through it too.#I have bad coping skills and had a fucked up childhood and traumas in my life TOO and im allowed to just not be able to handle it#i really wanna break something lol maybe therapy's working after all lmao#oh also this is why i dont eat breakfast. i do it once and then feel guilty and suicidal lol normal behaviour#pojebie mnie zaraz przysięgam na boga mam dość kurwa BASTA
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