#it’s for sure not the worst live adaptation

[redspacegirl]

i am back. with the headcanons. big ol warning for PD s2 finale spoilers! anyways lets (noises that sound vaguely of an airplane) fly right into this.

So, ashe (reminder for my first timers here. i hc ashe as transfem. don't agree? that's chill, you can have your own headcanons. however ill be using she/her in this post <3) carries the squad in nearly every video game. she is genuinely so good, on the verge of a sweat in most games. while playing in minecraft, she'll be the one to actually farm everything. she has the y level for diamonds memorized by heart (-54 iirc), and is solid at using redstone. she has a solo minecraft world that she's played on for 4 years, and has given Dakota a tour of what the world looks like. she also plays a lot (LOT) of horror games, and knows a bunch of good, niche, roblox horror games (+ indie horror games outside of roblox games). she also follows a few roblox myths, and was absolutely devastated to find out that it had been a year after she returned (missed out on a bunch of myth events :'C). She ends up being the one to walk first in the roblox horror games (dakota tries, but then gets distracted, or maybe a little scared but shh you didn't hear that).

William is on the COMPLETE opposite side of the spectrum. He is. SO bad at video games. He love video games, he just can't help but suck complete and total ass at them. the only game he is good at is, as is canon, mario kart. i mean, given he was living in his rotting body, it would high key make sense for him not to have full articulation. even after that, after the s2 finale, he still completely sucks. despite this, he rages SO hard. obviously not breaking controllers or anything (that shit is expensive), but he will start yelling at the screen, yk chuck the controller at a soft surface or something. Another thing, he is very good at roblox dress to impress. He has all the gamepasses for it and everything. He also votes everyone else (minus his friends) one star. He didn't play a lot of roblox growing up, but he surely watched so many indie horror game playthroughs. he and ashe both know a lot of video game lore stuff, though mainly william. william will actually research and watch a lot of video game theories (he totally watches so much game theory no question). he'll post on reddit about his findings and everything.

Vycent managed to adapt to video game controls with surprising ease. I think he also gets REALLY competitive at video games, he will sometimes go out of his way to get Will riled up. Mario Kart games with the prime defenders are actively the worst. anyways, he's solid at video games. Vyncent prefers stuff like Legend of Zelda, and is a switch main, however he'll play on PC for some games, especially Minecraft night with the squad (on Java edition, as things should be /j). he has played baldurs gate 3 and full on started crying over how much it reminded him of home. A similar event happened with Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom. he does play some games on his phone, however most of them are the type the average middle-aged mother has on her phone, yk the ones where you match the stuff together and all that. he has like 20 of them that he'll cycle through, but he does have that one dragon matching game specifically that he plays every day religiously. (and he has cookie run kingdom for the enjoyers out there. i guess)

Dakota is incredibly chaotic when gaming, which should come to no surprise. (shout out to the person in the replies who said this but) he mains. his fucking. tablet. he is also insanely good on tablet. however, for whatever reason, he'll struggle a bit on pc (depending on the game ofc). not as much as will, but he's better on mobile either way. he plays fortnite on there (i have never really played fortnite on mobile but i've heard it is absolutely horrendous). While ashe goes out to gather materials, Dakota likes to build the base. He's actually very good at it, and makes a homey cottage for the team. when he does try to go mining, he ends up mainly going cave diving, and he'll set up a bed near the entrance of the cave, because he just KEEPS dying. he doesn't rage as bad as Will does, he just keeps getting more and more determined to keep trying. He is also the reason there is a designated 'Pet Room' in the base, where they have 14 dogs, 9 cats, 6 parrots, 7 horses, a polar bear, and a huge fish tank. They all have names, and Dakota Did go out and gather up nametags for all of them.

LAST DAY OF FLUFF WEEK(I AM SO BURNT OUT WITH PD (which is crazy as number three pd enjoyer) IM SORRY ITS LATE) (they are playing minecraft. btw)

i have gaming headcanons but i will be writing those later. maybe

[britcision]

So, the YuYu Hakusho live adaptation

Well.

We got a real good anime adaptation, which is rare enough

And they did a good job with the costumes, aesthetics, and they did hit a lot of the fight scenes as close to the original as they could

They just… very obviously understood absolutely none of the actual messaging or what made those scenes impactful

Spoilers below for the original anime/manga and the live action

I understand they only had 5 episodes to get through the first season but I just finished episode 3 and I literally do not understand how they plan to get from here to the Dark Tournament

Genkai was introduced, trained Yusuke for 20 fucking days, trained Kuwabara as well and blatantly favoured him for 19 of those days including telling Botan to tell Koenma Yusuke’s a write off

(Do not fucking ask about Koenma he’s a cool teenager with a pacifier the entire time it is literally not even commented on)

Then oh Yusuke does his finger handstand for one entire night, pops off a spirit gun that Toguro notices

(Elder Toguro promptly shits himself in glee)

Genkai can magically tell they’ve noticed, nearly cries, and hands over the fucking spirit orb. Immediately. It just pops straight in, no big deal, no question, Yusuke wanders off for ramen and Toguro kills her

Not one Genkai fight scene. A lil moment of her fucking around and throwing walnuts at Yusuke, but not even breaking a sweat

Tarukane and Yukina were introduced right off the bat and Hiei’s stolen spirit treasure is a piddly little knife he used to make a teeny weeny cut and give himself a jagan eye so he can look for her, no evil machinations or transformation for this bitch

Yusuke and Hiei don’t even fight before Kurama calls them both bitches and they’ve already picked up Kuwabara to get on the boat for The Fucking Tournament Island which is apparently just Sakyo’s house

Oh yeah, because Sakyo told Tarukane episode ONE that he’s digging a hole to the demon world, sold him Yukina (so who should Hiei really be stabbing?), and has now invited Tarukane back to his place to be protected by Sakyo’s demons, the Toguros

The Black Black Club are fucking all there. In person. Just chilling. At Sakyo’s house on the tournament island and the Demon Triad are there but none of the tournament folks are but they’re on Sakyo’s boat? Minus Genkai? Who died about 30 minutes tops after her first appearance?

Oh, and we saw the demon triad and Toguro popping a giant beastie and Hiei running around with his knife and then immediately after the cut Yusuke just fucked off to Genkai’s to be instantly accepted as her pupil for a 20+ day training montage so who knows what the fuck Hiei and Tarukane were up to in the meantime, Tarukane fully left the mainland and apparently Hiei spent 3 weeks sitting on his thumb about it

I just. The saddest part is that I really, truly think the people making the adaptation thought they were being faithful to the original

The characters look so good, the costumes are incredible, the special effects are fucking fantastic

But every single moment of build up, of dramatic tension, of getting to know the characters and seeing them care about something is gone

Yusuke’s dramatic revelation that it’s time to get serious with his training isn’t Toguro levelling a parking block; it’s watching Kuwabara hit a rock with a wooden sword until his spirit sword happens

His whole motivation to get stronger is “well I can’t let Kuwabara beat me”, which even Genkai calls piss weak one day and then the next it’s fine, he’s ready to finish his training

(One thing I do like is the characters themselves occasionally dropping a “well what the fuck did that mean” about particularly egregious logic leaps, like Elder Toguro shapeshifting to impersonate Hiei and kidnap Keiko

Like

Do they not understand Hiei was a fan favourite just for being an evil little shithead in his first appearances who didn’t care about anybody except maybe Kurama?

Instead we have pre-reformed Hiei who only wants to save his sister uwu won’t even take a stab at properly fighting Yusuke before they’ve teamed up

Just let Hiei be a little shit

Just let him have a stupid grandiose plan that even je can later admit made no fucking sense

Let Yusuke shoot him in the ass and show some ingenuity under pressure)

Don’t get me wrong, I’m finishing out the season just to see where the fuck they’re going, but I thought I had a general idea for the first two episodes and now I just. I don’t know.

I think they’re gonna pansy out of giving me Jin

They’re not gonna do my goddamn flying demon uni-leprechaun

However if they do punch Sakyo and toss him into a pit at the end of this season I will not be mad, he’s gonna be Right There in punching range apparently because they’re not going to a tournament, they’re going to HIS FUCKING HOUSE

Oh and no Shizuru

No badass moments for Keiko (well I guess she did slap the face off Elder Toguro once that was great)

No Atsuko past the first episode

Botan is basically a semi-sadistic cheerleader

Genkai is dead

Because it’s not like anyone liked this show for actually having interesting and semi-independent female characters

Honestly I even had a couple moments of “maybe I’d like this better if they did a worse job”, because it’s so clearly made by people who really cared about the show, and worked to fit as much as they could into five episodes (fuck you Netflix)

But what they cared about was fight scenes

Not any of what actually made YYH interesting and compelling; no character growth, no relationships between rivals, between enemies to allies, between teacher and student

Not 30 seconds on the relationship between Toguro and Genkai, for all they lifted lines directly from the anime

He walks in and pops her, no big deal

Not even on screen

Puu does not exist

For a character who starts the show by fuckin dying, Yusuke really has not been pushed to his limits since

And to be fair, the things the show does well, it’s fucking nailing

Toguro’s muscle transformation? PERFECT. Understated, clear potential to become fucking ridiculous around 80%, classy as hell

Kurama’s rose whip? Incredible, 10/10, so fucking glad we’ve seen so much of it, super well done

Spirit gun and spirit sword? Fabulous, gorgeous, I am in love, only thing that would make it better would be shooting that asshole teacher in the head (not that Yusuke has been to school since the day he died except to sit on the roof)

It’s just… the edgelord version of the story. As truncated as possible, just event event event, without any patience or respect for character relationships or growth or that, y’know, you need to give your audience a reason to care

The good news is, at this point it’s pretty much no reason for them to do the fourth season just in general which would make Yoshihiro Tagashi very happy

Just in general, it’s… fine. It’s a little short action show with great special effects and some fantastic costuming and aesthetic

There’s something that sorta almost resembles a story

And as far as live adaptations go? We definitely for sure know it could be worse, especially with Netflix *stares in Death Note*

I just won’t be all that disappointed if they don’t get the second season they really really really needed

[choasinthetornado]

And if I said Voltron was getting a live action adaptation what would you guys do

[humanjarvis]

i'm sorry for scaring you

synopsis: caleb shows a new side of himself during one of your fights. it almost makes you believe he's changed.

tags: angst, suggestive (psychologically), fluff (sorta kinda), caleb kneels, caleb crawls, caleb is pathetic, caleb is overprotective and unwell pairing: farspace colonel!caleb x reader word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is angstier than i intended i wanted it to be hot, maybe it's still hot, when he tries to lock u up in his house but he has lethal booboo face ⬆️

“I didn't ask for any of this! I didn’t ask for your protection, and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“You not wanting it doesn’t change the fact that you need it,” Caleb replied blankly. 

In the four months since you’d reunited with Caleb in Skyhaven, your relationship had taken a hit. In the first few weeks, you’d barely seen each other; he’d stop by to check on you, assume you thought him the scum of the earth, and abruptly retreat back home. It wasn’t until you’d grown fed up with the awkwardness and uncertainty that you began approaching him again—asking him about his day, initiating phone calls, and even starting the rare video call, if he was lucky. 

Around the last month or so, things had gotten better. During your increasingly frequent visits, you’d gone out together several times—to see the new cyberpunk action movie, to window shop in the pet store, to marvel at the Skyhaven nightscape from the safety of his personal aircraft. Just as you thought you’d both been making progress adapting to your new dynamic, a wave of highly dangerous wanderers had infiltrated the city, and Caleb had had the nerve to essentially place you on house arrest until the threat was dealt with. Fast forward to now, his composure threatening to overpower your impassioned rebuttals. 

“Did you honestly think I’d let you leave right now?” he asked. “You’re here for a week. The Fleet will take the next couple of days to sort out the problem, and we can go out together when it’s done.”

“We can go out together. Right. So you can rush me back here the second someone looks at me the wrong way?”

“No one will look at you the wrong way. Not here. Not while you’re with me. But you need to understand, Pipsqueak: you came to Skyhaven for me. You’re in skyhaven for me. I won’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger, and you won’t change my mind,” he replied, his large frame looming over you as he stepped closer. 

You’d had enough. You’d spent almost an hour on the losing side of this back-and-forth, and you were too exhausted to pull your punches anymore. “My first time seeing you after the explosion,” you started, voice trembling. “Do you know how it felt? When you stepped off that plane, when you interrogated me behaving like you never have in your life—I didn’t know what to think. But when you brought me back here? Started spewing off that shit about a world where my only world is you? I was scared, Caleb. I thought I’d needed to be afraid for you, but I was afraid of you. That you’d lock me in this house forever, that I'd only see the sun when you decided it wasn’t top bright for me. I was afraid that I’d die here having grown to hate the person I’d wanted to live for,” you finished, your words dripping with venom.

Seething, you spun around, ready to storm out of the kitchen and into the quiet of the guest room Caleb had remodeled for you. 

You’d taken three steps toward the door when you heard something hit the ground with a heavy thud. 

Body still facing the door, you stopped in your tracks. This was new. Unexpected. You’d been prepared to hear a few calls of your name, some “Wait!”s, maybe even a “Don't walk away from me.” Worst case, you’d expected him to pin you in place with his Evol, preventing your exit and prolonging your fight. 

But a thud? A thud could mean many things. Enough things for you to remain frozen contemplating the possibilities before the voice in the back of your head broke through your thoughts, reminding you of the very real chance that you’d spiked Caleb's blood pressure so much that he’d fainted.

The fear that he was hurt made you finally turn around, only for Caleb to catch you off guard yet again.

Caleb the Loathsome, the overprotective, obsessive, now cold-blooded colonel of the Farspace Fleet, was on the floor before you. Kneeling.

All at once, your anger dissipated, melting into shock at the assertive man before you’s sudden display of submission. 

Realizing you’d turned around, Caleb lifted his head, meeting your flustered expression with his pained one. His furrowed brows, shining eyes, and pouted lips—he looked pitiful, honestly. And as much as it tugged at your heartstrings, it awakened something dormant inside you. 

It made you feel powerful. It gave you an idea. 

Biting the inside of your bottom lip, you took several steps toward Caleb’s kneeling form, closing the distance you'd been so eager to put between you all of ten minutes ago. A slight gasp escaped Caleb at your movement, and he swiftly lowered his gaze back to the floor, as if worried that daring to watch your approaching form would make you retreat. 

When you came to a stop, you were just in front of his knees, looking down your nose at his bowed head. For a few moments, Caleb’s heavy breaths were the only sounds between you, thickening the cold air in the room. 

Then, finally—finally—you touched him, lifting his chin up before resting your palm on his cheek. At your touch, he leaned forward, nuzzling his head against your thigh. 

“…You want this that bad, huh? Want me that bad?”

“More than anything,” he breathed. 

You stared at him. 

“Please,” he whispered, turning his head into your hand to brush his lips across your fingers. 

At this, you hummed softly, running your thumb across his cheek twice before turning away from him once more. When you break contact, Caleb freezes in the midst of rubbing his face on your leg, his eyes popping open in panic. He only calms when he sees you heading for the armchair tucked into the right back corner of the room, slowly taking a seat, your legs spread. 

“Relax,” you call out, settling in your chair. He didn’t move a muscle.

You decided you’d had enough of the tense silence after a few more beats. It was time to test him.

“…Come here, Caleb.”

In an instant, his head snapped up. His gaze, abruptly ending its budding relationship with the floor tiles, held yours for more than a few seconds this time, your slight smirk challenging his slight disbelief.

Caleb had all the cunning in the world. Since joining the Fleet, nothing got by him—and on the rare chance that it did, he’d chase it down and make it beg for mercy. He was a prideful man. He was a calculated man. So when you called for him in your sweet voice, slightly breathy with unadmitted nerves, he figured you out quite quickly. 

You were testing him—to see if he’d walk or crawl to you—and he knew it. 

And unfortunately for his dignity, any reservation he held about the latter was overshadowed by his desire for you: to be in your space, to breathe your air, to be close enough to feel you—even if he rarely did now, out of fear that his touch would repulse you.

He needed you to need him. So he crawled. 

Inch by inch, Caleb crawled toward you, the only person who would ever see him reduced to this. The only person who could reduce him to this. And all the while, as the fabric of his dark pants dragged across the floor, his violet eyes never left yours. In them, you saw resignation. You saw anticipation. You saw the shattered remnants of a pride that he’d let be broken, and you saw them rebuild themselves in lust the closer he came.

A few inches away from you, Caleb stops, sitting demurely on his heels. His hands twitch in hesitation before falling into his lap. His vulnerability is palpable, and you can feel him banishing himself back to his hell of self-deprecation, the guilt-eroded space in his mind where he repeats how little he deserves you. Before he can lower his gaze again, you beckon him upwards,  guiding his palms to rest on your knees. His kneeling form almost equals your seated one in height.

“I used to love watching you scare off the boys who were mean to me,” you tell him, placing your palm back on his cheek. “But as much as I like you intimidating, this little act might be my new favorite.” 

His nervous breaths come to a momentary halt before he brightens slightly, chasing your touch. He nuzzles into your palm like he did your leg earlier, and you sigh. 

“You scared me, Caleb,” you murmur. 

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“I know you want to keep me safe, that you have kept me safe for as long as either of us can remember,” you say, continuing to stroke his head. “But I don’t want to be afraid of you, Caleb. I won't be afraid of you. So if you want to keep doing this, if you want us to move on, if you want me—it can’t happen again. Tell me it won’t happen again.”

Your movements still as you tighten your grip on his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. A grimace flashes across his face as he goes quiet for a moment. But you wait for him. You have to. As exhilarating as it’d been to see him crawl before you, this was the true test—if you extend your trust, will he extend his lenience? You have to believe that he will. To give him the chance to. 

And as you’re wrapped up in your optimism, your fantasies that he’ll acquiesce and let your relationship go back to normal, Caleb responds. 

“...I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

this is the worst way you could have called me out and I will get revenge for it later you horrid little plantbear

anyway, OP, with the disclaimer that most of these are older bc I live under a rock these days, I do have some suggestions:

Mononoke - monster of the week type supernatural series where a medicine seller solves some grotesque problems. warning: the animation is incredible, but it can be eye-straining for some, so be aware of that going in

Natsume Yuujinchou/Natsume's Book of Friends - I would put this one in the horror-adjacent slice of life category. this series pulverized my heart multiple times--no summary, but I'll say as a xxxHolic fan I think you'll also enjoy it

Mushi-Shi - a gorgeous supernatural monster-of-the-week slice-of-life. the pacing is very intentional, though to some it feels slow and doesn't keep their attention. (despite my ADHD I did not have this issue, but thought it worth mention just in case so you were prepared)

Kyo Kara Maoh! - boy gets bullied in school and a swirlie sends him to the demon world where he accidentally becomes king of the demons, and even more accidentally gets engaged to a bratty prince who he was trying to fight with. there are a lot of good shonen demon battle antics but also a lot of slice of life comedy and absurd characters.

Dororo to Hyakkimaru-den - cyborg son of a samurai violently collecting his body parts from the demons who stole them, with the aid of a young thief.

Poco's Udon World - dude moves back to his small hometown in the wake of his father's death and ends up accidentally adopting a shapeshifting tanuki. wholesome supernatural slice of life.

Tsuritama - extremely anxious high school boy gets dragged into fishing by a self-declared space alien. shenanigans ensue.

Recs with caveats:

The Morose Mononokean - basically xxxHolic if Yuuko were a grumpy high school boy and Watanuki was slightly more chill. I haven't actually seen a ton of it yet but it seems up your alley enough I'm putting it here anyway.

Nabari no Ou - shonen series about a war to control an apathetic ninja with a powerful secret technique, which is good, but this series also has a fair bit of genderweirdness and a canon intersex character that might add another layer of interest. I have only read the manga though and, while I've heard the anime is a good adaptation, I can't say for sure.

Fruits Basket - if you watch it, please consider watching the 2001 series before the 2019 reboot. The reboot is a fuller and more accurate adaptation overall, but it skips a lot of character moments early on that were handled more completely in the 2001 series.

Special Rec (problematic fave) beneath the readmore bc god did i ramble:

Saiyuki - a loose adaptation of journey to the west (though the kanji for this read more like journey to the extreme), featuring four prettyboys with angsty backstories and a dragon that turns into a jeep fighting hordes of bloodthirsty yokai and overcoming their traumas, with an interpersonal dynamic that's half bastard coworkers, half found family.

it compels me lol. some parts of it aged poorly (esp given one of the core themes is exploring taboo) but overall I still find it to be very solid.

in my honest opinion, you should read the manga instead of watching the first few anime adaptations, due to how heavily they were censored. BUT, if you're an anime-only type, then just make sure you aren't watching the English dubs (unless you wanna hear someone shouting 'fag' every 20 seconds I guess.) also, Saiyuki, Saiyuki Reload, and Saiyuki Reload Gunlock especially are not known for their animation quality...

the anime adaptations that I think are definitely worth watching are the movie (Saiyuki Requiem), the Gaiden OVAs, and the later series Saiyuki Reload Blast. (Zeroin also seems pretty and solid, but I haven't been able to get around to that one yet)

Hope something here tickles your fancy

Hey weebs that follow me, I've been out of anime and manga circles for some time and outside of a few titles I'm starting to run low on things to try. If I give examples of what I've liked in the past, can you give suggestions on other things that are out there?

What I've liked over the years seems to be:

Samurai genre (Kenshin, Kurogane, Sword of the Stranger)

Supernatural/Horror-lite (Descendants of Darkness, Noragami, Beyond the Boundary, Inuyasha, Yu Yu Hakusho, xxxHolic, Jujutsu Kaisen, Shaman King, Shounen Omnyouji) (preferred genre I love this shit)

Fun Shounen Things (My Hero Academy, Pokémon, Haruko no Go)

Cute Shoujo slice of life things (His and Her Circumstances, Free!, Super Gals!, Land of the Blindfolded)

[ubeb0nes]

HCs of Sevika in Love ఌ

Congrats champ, you bagged a baddie!

**Reader is fem!

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It's not that Sevika has crazy high standards. Her wants in a partner are actually very straightforward; it's just that most people lack the base integrity and self-accountability to even catch her attention in the first place

I really don't think she'd ever fall for anyone from Piltover, there's just too many generations of trauma accompanied by a life lived under their foot for her to get past. She loves Zaun too much to ever love anything to do with Piltover

That said, she's attracted to the ideals she associates with the Undercity; perseverance, strength (doesn't have to mean physical), adaptability and loyalty. If you have her love, you most certainly earned it bae

For her, it's probably an "oh shit"/"oh no" type of singular moment, when she realizes she's fallen in love

Either you got hurt or in some position where her true feelings were forced out of her, OR it's during an achingly soft moment where it's clear how loyal/devoted you are to her, and only her.

Absolutely spends months denying herself. She will try to distance, reasoning that you're both better off without the notion of love walling you in.

Zaun is no place for that, she thinks. She recalls Felicia and her husband, dying together on that bridge while a twenty-something year-old Sevika, at the time, watched them fall.

The pain to know you couldn't save your loved one in your final moments (even worse to leave two young children behind). She couldn't imagine it. Didn't want to. Sevika knew that her road would end at a violent last stop, and she didn't want you anywhere near that. She thinks about having met you in a different place.

…But she can't fully hide how she feels about you, not ever. She may oftentimes be rough and ruthless, but even at her worst moment Sevika isn't a cold individual. She's too passionate about you, cares too deeply for where you are and how you are

So when you show up at her apartment to yell at her for being so cruel, for shutting you out of her heart instead of being a grown-ass woman and telling you what the fuck you did wrong, she lets you.

She lets you yell until you've tired yourself out, and then she pulls you into that embrace you missed so much. You hit her shoulder or her chest, weakly, because you love her like crazy and never wanna actually hurt her, and tell her to fuck off.

"I didn't wanna push you away, dumbass," she'll say to you, softly, as she presses a kiss to your ear, "You think I don't want you with me all the time? To tell you I love you and shit without it coming back to bite us in the ass? Of course I do. Of course I do. I just… I don't know how. But I'm gonna fuckin' learn, doll. I promise."

"You… you love me? Really?" "Doll, I don't even let Silco talk to me like that." "You asshole-!"

You're mad, but not really. How can you be? You two will make this work, she already gave you her word.

It's more likely for you to move in with her than vice versa. She lets you go ham on adding your personality to her living space, she doesn't have any strong preferences besides cleanliness

Always says I love you before she goes to work. Just in case. If you mess with her and don't say it back, she will get up in arms about it within two seconds of silence

"I could die, you know." "Babe, I'm just joking!" "Do you see me laughing??"

Obviously, lets her drama queen side show more. She's just all-around looser once she confesses.

She makes sure you know how different you are from others, how special you are. Even her posture is different the moment you're within arm's reach

Body language and physicality are Sevika's main fluency. When in love, you notice the way she angles her body protectively around yours in public, or how she always urges you to link your arm with hers when you walk.

You notice that she almost looks… smaller at home. You realize this is on purpose. She makes herself less intimidating when it's just you, lowering herself to your level and opening her posture to you

At home, she likes kneeling by your side when you're sitting on the couch, checking you over or pressing slow kisses to your hands.

Devoted, devoted, devoted. She never wants you to forget.

Every time you call her name, she always stops what she's doing to give you her attention.

"Sevi?" "Yes, baby?" Every time. It's grounding for you both, in a way

Her henchmen become your henchmen. They know better than to say no to your requests for their help. (Ran is down for antics with you regardless!!)

People all over the Undercity start to recognize you as "Sevika's woman". Not her "girl", you garner too much respect for that

You are the only person Sevika answers to besides Silco. Her close circle teases her that you turn her into a little lovestruck puppy

It's really only them who are even capable of teasing her about this, because her changes in behavior are so minute but so important

She puts out her cigarillos when you sit down with her. She always shifts you over to her left side (the side most capable of protecting you). Her eyes start scanning the room more frequently than before you'd arrived.

She figures out over time that she was wrong. When she holds you against her while you sleep, and you grab her hand half-consciously to press kisses to her wrist, she knows you don't make her weak

When you whisper that you love her against her neck while you sway in the kitchen, moving to whatever music vibrates from the depths of her beloved city, she knows you don't make her weak

When you pull her back together without fail, remind her that she is more than just a grunt in a revolution, a soldier that can be replaced, she knows you don't make her weak

There isn't anything she wouldn't do to get back to you. She has to live long enough to know what a good life in a liberated Zaun looks like with you

[cherie-doll]

I have this brainrot for a while now

Which cod man would be the most husband material, who waits for the shortest amount of time before getting married? And who would be the one who would be fine with not getting married at all? And where are the rest of them?

How many kids would they want if they want?

I don’t need sleep, i need answers!😭

sorry for the delay my wifi is so slow, we just got a new batch of snow down here and tbh it might be affecting my internet

✧ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ᰍᩚ Price... he's PERFECT husband material. Cut from the finest cloth I'm SO normal about him. You've just observed his behavior closely and he doesn't do annoying things like leaving his clothes lying around on the floor or leaving unwashed dishes in the sink. He def want to get married, but doesn't wait too long nor asks you right away, he'd time it just right. As for kids? Maybe he could convince you to have one or two...

ᰍᩚ Ghost... he doesn't realize he can lowkey be a good husband. He thinks he's not willing to adapt to anyone, given how much stuff he's been through. A relationship isn't the worst thing he's had to go through, he's gone through worse, so why is he thinking about it so much? He doesn't want to enter a relationship with only half a heart, not mindlessly. But he knows his feelings towards you don't come from nothing. His feelings would have to be resolved before you even started dating, so that afterwards everything progresses pretty smoothly. And after marriage, kids? Maybe idk.

ᰍᩚ Soap... he probably had your entire life planned out before he confessed. He knew he loved you, was convinced he wanted to marry you and needed to have kids. So, he waited the least amount of time to marry you. There's lots of things he could improve on as a partner but the good thing is he's willing to make any and all of those changes for you. His respect will never run dry, he won't let desperation take ahold of him, always letting you know one way or another he still cares. It was up to you to decide how many kids you'd be okay with but if it were up to him... yk what better not go there.

ᰍᩚ Gaz... Perfect boyfriend AND husband material. He loves showing affection with the little things, a cup of coffee or tea and cuddling when you feel down or taking care of chores when you need a break. Simple things that he does on the daily that in the long run fortify your relationship. The amount of time he waits before asking you to marry him depends and it's all on how you want your relationship to progress. He's surefooted in his decisions so after the initial stages of the relationship when he's gotten to know you very well, your faults and what he loves about you, he just lets you know that if you want to take that step, he's more than ready to do so. He def wants kids, at least three.

ᰍᩚ Roach... oh my sweet boy ToT. He's such boyfriend material and in time will no doubt grow into a loving husband. He very deeply cares about your connection and how deep it runs between you both. The topic of marriage comes up at a very proper time in your relationship, it's when all he can think of is holding your hand every day, how comforting your presence is to him and how this couldn't ever revert into something casual. Marriage is a definite yes for him. Kids are something he wouldn't think of right away. Maybe a few years down the lane, and maybe one.

ᰍᩚ Alejandro... you made him wish impossible things. How you've made him feel, the sensations not only running smoothly over his skin but finding a way to penetrate deeply, to make him desire nothing else but a life with you. Marriage was the ideal way to continue living in that daydream. How he wishes the days were endless, so he can rejoice for eternity with you. If this was what made him wish to be better, then he was surely husband material. In time, he'd want to start a family with you, to create life, to have little ones to take care of. Three or four kids would occupy his days.

ᰍᩚ Rudy... is THE blueprint for all husbands out there to follow. He's very patient, his voice soothes you, could lull you to sleep. Always listens to you even if you rant, if you point out a flaw of his he works to be better. Never pushed you into doing anything, even when he could already hear the wedding bells ringing, he wanted you to make this decision on your own. In the back of his mind, he most likely already had baby names planned and asked if you wanted kids. He def did and wanted three. He thought it was the perfect number.

ᰍᩚ Phillip Graves... husband material at its FINEST. He's not only charming and a gentleman as a boyfriend but also as a husband. He just couldn't wait to put a ring on your finger so he did want marriage very soon. There is no way he'd NOT want children, he's just as much father material as he is husband material. I've said it before but he was made to father children and I will die on that hill. He loves going everywhere with his son, showing him how to run a company and then he gentles when his daughter is born, doing everything she wants.

ᰍᩚ Makarov... husband material at the core. Deep on the inside he can be genuine and want to care for someone. He likes having someone to depend on him, under his care, leaning on him for that strange affection that isn't found anywhere else. It would be hard to refuse him with the amount of gifts he sends to sweeten you up and coax you to accept his proposal that came too soon for your liking. But look at it this way, he'll always provide everything you'll ever need and want and in exchange you only have to agree to marry him, live with him and... kids. Yes, he wants kids. A numerous family preferably.

ᰍᩚ Keegan... is quite levelheaded when it comes to relationships so he's fine with staying your boyfriend and living with you or becoming your husband when you marry. He could improve on becoming peak husband material but you're lucky if he picks up his clothes from the floor and places it in the laundry basket instead. He thinks having no kids is better until you get a scare thinking you might be with child and he gets excited until you call false alarm. He felt disappointment and then realized he did want kids after all. Would be fine with just one but wouldn't completely be against having another one later on.

ᰍᩚ König... it's not him you have to worry about when it comes to marriage. He's got to watch out for himself because YOU'RE going to wife him up, otherwise he'd never get around to asking you to marry him. Not that he wouldn't want to but he's thinking when would be the perfect moment to ask and he's always thinking, "I'm going to ask them next date", and another date comes and goes by and then another and another... He'd learn to be so loving with kids you just gotta convince him he CAN be a good father. I don't know how many he could handle though.

ᰍᩚ Horangi... he's fun but he's prob best as a boyfriend. Not that he could never be a husband because he can, but he'd be completely fine with not marrying. If you're expecting him to bring up the question and get down on his knee for you... then you're probably setting yourself up for disappointment. It'd take him a while and you'd have to hint at wanting marriage, because otherwise he wouldn't mind just moving in together. I know I used to say he'd want marriage quickly but idk man my perception of him changed. He might get baby fever (rare) and he might ask for ONE kid them, but don't think he's the type for them much.

ᰍᩚ Nikto... if he does open up to wanting a relationship you've got to work with him on the long run. He might be closed off to certain things simply because he might not see a point in progressing in that field, but once he sees that you respect him and don't force anything, he'd def want to marry you. I'm not exactly sure how long he'd wait before proposing to you, honestly it all depends but once he grows attached to a person he wouldn't want to be apart from them so I'm guessing he'd tie the knot pretty soon. The topic of kids is something he's very hesitant of, he rarely gets baby fever, like ever. It'd have to be a lot of convincing on your part. But he might be okay with one or two at most.

[homunculus-argument]

Out of all the discomforts and inconveniences of my life, people have always been the worst.

The electricity shut off for about an hour a while ago. We got no beforehand warning, so it wasn't planned nor scheduled, and we had no way of knowing how long it would last. So calmly I took my iced tea and grabbed the book I had been reading (graphic novel adaptation of Frankenstein) and went to the balcony to read, as we need to keep the curtains shut during the day to keep the heat out inside the apartment.

And my boyfriend calmly took out the solar panel's generator, hooked his own computer into it, and by using his phone's internet continued to finish the process he had been doing before the electricity rudely shut off. Perfectly calmly, not sure when our lights would go back on or whether the water pipes would have anything in them, not knowing whether we could flush the toilet twice today.

The blackout lasted an hour, though we would have been perfectly fine bracing it to last the rest of the day, if bad luck had it. And all things considered, it was a perfectly pleasant hour. Nobody was fretting or distressed, looking to take their frustrations out on anybody else, or trying to supervise that everyone involved would be appropriately distressed about the situation, the sufficient level of distress dictated randomly on the spot. Nobody was offended by my desicion to make the best of it, or angered by my distress about not knowing what the appropriate level of distress was, and "acting like I'm the only one suffering here" about it.

There simply was no disaster, nothing like it. The electricity simply shut off for a moment, and an hour later came back on. For the most part, life is actually perfectly nice when you don't live with people who seek to improve their own mood by making sure that you're upset too.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

New life - worst!Logan x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Logan tries to live his new life in solitarity with peace and quiet. However, it all changes when you move in next to him.

Pairing: worst!Logan x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, inexperienced (but not a virgin) reader, Wade Wilson. SMUT, hot shower sex, eating out for both So please do not interract if you're under 18.

AN: So I had this story sitting and waiting to be published. This is probably the most smutty thing I have ever written. But I hope you will enjoy it ;) No beta read all the mistakes are my own...

Words: 24 220 (oops)

Logan sat on the porch of the small cabin, his rough hands wrapped around a bottle of cheap beer, staring out at the thick woods that surrounded him. The world was quiet, too quiet for a man like him. It wasn’t just the silence of the woods, but the kind of silence that stretched into the very core of his existence, making him feel like a ghost—a relic in a world that had moved on without him. 

He had seen it all. Hell, he’d lived it all. Fought battles that would break most men, lost more people than he cared to remember, and survived wars that had been meant to end him. Yet here he was, in this new reality, a world stitched together from the broken pieces of his past and fragments of a future that wasn’t supposed to be.

And then there was Wade. 

Logan took a long drink, letting the beer burn its way down his throat. Wade Wilson—Deadpool—was a walking contradiction. The bastard was a thorn in Logan’s side, an immortal jester who seemed to mock the seriousness of life with every breath he took. Wade’s idea of fun was throwing himself headfirst into a fight just to see how many pieces he’d end up in. And somehow, by some twisted stroke of fate, Wade had followed Logan into this new world. 

It wasn’t just Wade, either. Laura was here, too. His daughter, if he could call her that. X-23. She was tough, capable, and deadly. More like him than anyone else, and that’s what scared him the most. 

Logan had always thought that isolation was his fate. He’d always believed he was doomed to walk the world alone, leaving destruction in his wake. But now…now he wasn’t so sure. 

In this strange new place, with Wade and Laura nearby, Logan found himself struggling to make sense of it all. And the worst part? He couldn’t decide if he hated the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore—or if he secretly loved it.

---

The world they found themselves in wasn’t exactly like the one Logan had known before. There were no Sentinels hunting mutants down. There were no endless wars between mutants and humans. It was… quieter. Softer. And it made Logan feel restless, like a caged animal pacing inside a zoo enclosure too small for his needs.

This world was full of people living normal lives—people who didn’t know about the blood Logan had on his hands, the wars he had fought, or the pain that clawed at his insides every time he closed his eyes. They didn’t know who he was. And he wanted to keep it that way. 

But there were still reminders of the past, flickers of the world he’d left behind. Wade, for one. The bastard had somehow adapted to this new reality like a fish to water, making sarcastic jokes about “timeline anomalies” and “multiverse etiquette” while Logan tried not to punch him in the face.

It wasn’t that Logan hated Wade. No, he knew Wade had been through his own version of hell. It was just that Wade had a way of poking at the deepest parts of Logan’s soul, the parts he didn’t want anyone messing with. Like Wade knew exactly how to find the cracks in Logan’s armor and jab at them with a grin on his face.

Yet despite that, Wade was here. And Laura. And something about that gnawed at Logan in ways he couldn’t explain. 

Wade’s presence wasn’t just an annoyance. It was a reminder that Logan wasn’t alone. That even in this fractured world, there were still people around him. People who gave a damn. Wade might be a pain in the ass, but Logan couldn’t deny that the man had his back when it counted.

And Laura—she was tougher than nails, just like him. The kid had been through more than anyone her age should have to endure. In many ways, she was his mirror: fierce, stubborn, carrying the weight of violence in her bones. But where Logan was tired, worn down by the decades, Laura still had fire in her. She hadn’t lost that part of herself yet.

God, he hoped she wouldn’t.

---

Logan had spent his life running from his past. It was the one thing he was good at. He had been the lone wolf for so long, keeping people at arm’s length, pushing them away the moment they got too close. He’d lost count of how many times he had built walls around himself, thicker and higher each time. He’d perfected the art of being alone.

But this time, the past felt closer than ever. 

In his quiet moments—those rare seconds when Wade wasn’t around, spouting off ridiculous commentary about “crossing universes” or “rebooting franchises”—Logan found his mind drifting back to the things he couldn’t forget. The people. The places. The blood.

The world around him might have changed, but his memories hadn’t.

He remembered the sound of Charles’ voice, the way the professor’s mind had felt inside his own, guiding him when everything else was chaos. He remembered Jean, her face twisted with power and pain, and how he had been the one to end it. To end her. He remembered the wars, the endless wars, and the way they had ripped him apart inside, piece by piece.

Logan’s hands clenched around the neck of the bottle, his knuckles turning white. It wasn’t fair. The memories weren’t fair. They were all ghosts now, haunting him in the quiet of this new world. He had outlived them all, and sometimes he wondered if that was the worst part—being the last one standing.

Laura was the only one who could understand, even if she didn’t say it out loud. She had the same memories, the same scars. They were alike in that way, bound together by the violence of their creation. 

Yet she still looked at the world with a glimmer of hope. 

Logan envied her for that.

---

What tore at him the most—what kept Logan up at night, staring at the ceiling, his chest heavy with the weight of it—was the gnawing feeling that maybe he didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore. 

For years, Logan had convinced himself that solitude was his destiny. That he was too dangerous, too broken to be close to anyone. He had lost too much, and losing again wasn’t something he could handle. It was easier to keep the world at a distance. To fight alone. To bleed alone. 

But now, sitting here in the middle of nowhere with Wade making bad jokes and Laura not too far away, Logan found himself facing a truth he didn’t know how to accept.

He cared about them. 

He’d never say it out loud, of course. That wasn’t his style. But it was there, gnawing at the back of his mind every time Wade dragged him into some ridiculous situation or Laura reminded him, with a single sharp look, that she was capable of handling herself. 

In some messed-up way, these people had become his pack. His family.

Logan didn’t do family. Not after all the ones he had lost. But now, against all odds, there was Wade with his incessant humor, and Laura with her silent strength. And, whether he liked it or not, Logan found himself caring.

Maybe too much.

That was the real problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t afford to care. He had spent his whole life losing the people he loved, and he didn’t want to go through that again. But this world—this strange new reality—was forcing him to face a future he hadn’t expected. A future where he wasn’t alone.

And it scared the hell out of him.

---

Logan felt the beast stirring inside him every day. The anger, the rage—it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to tear its way out. In the old world, there had always been something to fight. Someone to kill. That’s what kept him going: the battles, the endless battles.

But here? 

Here, in this quiet world, the beast had no outlet. There were no enemies to hunt, no wars to fight. And that scared him more than anything, because without the violence to drown in, Logan was left with the one thing he had spent his entire life avoiding: himself.

He didn’t know how to live without the fight. Didn’t know how to be the man people wanted him to be in this strange new life. 

And yet, for the first time in years, Logan could feel something else stirring inside him. Something softer. It was a terrifying feeling—one that made him feel exposed and vulnerable in a way no battle ever had. It was the feeling of wanting something more.

Of wanting someone to come home to.

Logan shook his head, trying to shake the thought loose. He was too old for this. Too worn out, too broken. There was no place in his life for softness. No place for—

A voice cut through the silence. “Hey, old man, you brooding again? Don’t worry, I brought beer! And chimichangas!”

Wade.

Logan growled low in his throat, but deep down, a part of him—the part he refused to acknowledge—was relieved. 

---

As the sun set over the trees, casting long shadows across the ground, Logan leaned back in his chair, listening to Wade’s footsteps approaching. In another life, in another world, this would’ve been the kind of thing that set him on edge.

***

Logan could hear you long before he saw you.

It was a sunny afternoon—too damn sunny for his taste—when the sound of boxes being shuffled, a car door slamming, and a string of cheerful humming broke the usual quiet of his secluded little corner of the world. Logan’s brows furrowed as he sat on his porch, a cigar clamped between his teeth. He could feel the change, the shift in his surroundings, like the arrival of an unwanted storm. 

He wasn’t expecting anyone new to move in. He didn’t need neighbors. Hell, he barely tolerated the company of Wade, and that bastard was like a cockroach, impossible to get rid of. But the sounds continued, grating on his nerves.

Logan tried to ignore it. He took a deep drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl around him like a protective shield. He wasn’t in the mood for people. Never was. 

But then he heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway leading up to his cabin.

“Hey there!” a bright voice called out, too damn chipper for the likes of him.

Logan squinted into the sunlight, his gaze landing on the source of the intrusion.

A woman— with a wide smile and way too much energy—was making her way toward him, waving as if they were old friends. She had a box tucked under one arm, and her other hand flailed in his direction like she hadn’t quite mastered the art of walking and greeting someone at the same time. 

Logan’s first thought was to retreat, to grumble some excuse and disappear into his cabin, lock the door, and hope she’d get the hint.

But then she was there, standing at the edge of his porch, her eyes bright with curiosity and excitement. Logan could practically feel her energy radiating off her, and it made his skin itch.

“Hi! Nice to meet ya,” you said, holding out a hand as if you two were meeting at some friendly town gathering. “I just moved in next door! Well, not exactly next door, but you know, close enough. Over there.” You pointed vaguely in the direction of the small house a few yards down the gravel road, the one that had been vacant for months. “I thought I’d come by and introduce myself!”

Logan stared at you, his mouth clamped shut around the cigar, saying nothing. He didn’t want to shake your hand. Hell, he didn’t even want to look at you, but there you were—bright, bubbly, and apparently oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t the neighborly type.

Your hand hovered in the air for a moment longer before you dropped it, unfazed by his lack of response. You were smiling at him like you had all the time in the world, eyes sparkling with some kind of optimism that made Logan’s stomach twist.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you said, cocking your head to the side, studying him like he was some kind of puzzle you were eager to figure out.

Logan grunted, the only sound he could manage. He wasn’t about to engage in small talk with some stranger, let alone one as annoyingly cheerful as this one.

You didn’t seem bothered by his silence. In fact, you didn’t seem bothered by anything. You just kept talking, as if his gruff demeanor was nothing more than a speed bump on the road of your conversation.

“I’m opening a coffee shop!” you announced, her face lighting up even more, which Logan hadn’t thought was possible. “Right down the street, actually. It’s called Beans of Heaven—cute, right? I thought it was clever. It’s gonna be small, but cozy. You should stop by sometime. I make the best coffee. Seriously, the *best*. You’re not one of those ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ types, are you? ’Cause I can fix that. I’ve got all sorts of flavors, too. But if you’re more of a black coffee, no sugar, no fuss kind of guy, I can do that, too.”

You paused just long enough to take a breath, and Logan couldn’t help but feel a little bit of admiration for the fact that you hadn’t passed out from lack of oxygen. Damn, you could talk.

“I bet you’re a black coffee type,” you said, giving him a wink like you’d just solved some great mystery. “Strong, no nonsense. That’s you, right?”

Logan grunted again, this time out of sheer disbelief. Were you for real?

You smiled wider—how, he didn’t know—and clapped your hands together. “I knew it! Okay, well, I just wanted to say hi and let you know that I’m around. If you ever need anything, just holler! Or, you know, come by the shop. First cup’s on the house!”

Before Logan could tell you to leave, you waved one last time and turned on your heel, bouncing back toward the car like the world was made of sunshine and rainbows. 

Logan stared after you, feeling a mix of irritation and confusion swirling in his gut. You were too much. Too loud. Too… happy. A part of him wanted to destroy that happiness, to crush it beneath the weight of his own darkness, just to see how long your smile would last.

But another part of him—the part that still hadn’t learned to let go of the things he’d lost—wanted to hold on to it. To be a part of it. Maybe even protect it.

He crushed those thoughts as soon as they appeared. That wasn’t him. Not anymore.

No, the loudest part of him wanted to stay far away from you and that relentless energy. He didn’t need that kind of brightness in his life. He’d learned long ago that everything bright eventually dimmed. And Logan was no good at keeping things alive.

---

It didn’t take long for you to open the shop.

Within a week, there was a new sign on the old building just down the road, a colorful thing that read Bean of Heaven in bold, cheerful letters. The place had been empty for as long as Logan could remember, just another relic of a town that was slowly dying. But you had breathed life into it, just like you had with everything else you touched.

Logan had no intention of visiting. He wasn’t about to walk into a place where he’d have to sit and listen to your nonstop chatter. But fate, or maybe just bad luck, had other plans.

He ran out of beer.

There were no bars nearby, and the nearest liquor store was a half-hour drive. He’d been sitting on his porch, staring at the empty bottle in his hand, when the smell hit him—rich, dark, the unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting down the street from your shop. His stomach growled, and despite himself, Logan found his feet moving toward the source.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and there you were—standing behind the counter, pouring coffee with the same level of enthusiasm most people reserved for winning the lottery. Your head snapped up when you saw him, and your face lit up with that damn smile again.

“Neighbour! You made it!” you said, like you’d been expecting him all along. “I knew you’d come by eventually.”

Logan grunted, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t respond, just made his way to the counter, eyes scanning the shop. It was cozy, like you’d said—lots of wooden tables, warm lighting, and shelves lined with plants and knickknacks. It didn’t feel like a place that belonged in his world. 

You handed him a cup, black coffee, no sugar, no cream—just how he liked it. He took a sip, the warmth flooding through him, and he couldn’t help but let out a small sound of approval.

It was the best damn coffee he’d ever had.

“You like it, huh?” You asked, eyes twinkling with pride. “Told you I make the best coffee. You’re gonna be hooked, I promise.”

Logan didn’t answer, just took another sip, letting the coffee do the talking for him.

You leaned on the counter, your head resting in your hands, watching him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. “So,” you said, breaking the silence, “you’re kind of a mystery, aren’t you?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like being a mystery to anyone. Especially not someone like you, who seemed intent on figuring him out.

“I bet you’ve got all sorts of stories,” you continued, undeterred by his silence. “I mean, you’ve got that whole ‘lone wolf’ vibe going on. You know, the brooding guy with the mysterious past? People eat that stuff up.”

Logan grunted, trying to ignore you, but you didn’t seem to get the hint. You just kept talking, words bouncing around the shop like they had a life of their own.

“You ever think about opening up? I mean, I’m sure you’ve been through a lot. Everyone’s got their demons, right? And I get it, you don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. But, you know, sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to. Not that I’m saying you need to talk to me or anything, but—”

Logan shot you a look, one that usually shut people up pretty fast. But you? You just smiled, like he hadn’t even glared at you.

“You’re not much for conversation, huh?”

***

The first few weeks after Logan’s initial trip to Beans of Heaven passed in a haze of routine. Every morning, like clockwork, he’d walk down the road to the small coffee shop. The sun was always just barely creeping over the horizon, and the air was still crisp with the night’s lingering chill. The smell of freshly brewed coffee would hit him the moment he opened the door, mingling with the scent of cinnamon rolls and other pastries you had undoubtedly baked before dawn.

You, for your part, had made a habit of greeting him the same way every day, with a wide smile that seemed to stretch across your entire face. “Logan! Black coffee, no frills, coming right up!”

At first, he just grunted in response, as usual. But there was something about you—something relentless, something he couldn’t quite figure out. Most people would’ve taken the hint after a few days of silence from him, maybe decided to stop talking altogether. But not you. No, you kept at it, talking about everything and nothing, filling the air with words while Logan sat at his usual table in the back corner, sipping his coffee.

He didn’t respond. Not really. But there was a part of him that started to look forward to it, the way your voice would fill the shop, the way you laughed at your own jokes. It was ridiculous, how much energy you had. And even more ridiculous how much it didn’t annoy him as much as it should’ve.

---

It happened one day, without him even meaning to.

Logan had been sitting at his usual spot, staring out the window, watching the way the morning light filtered through the trees. You were behind the counter, humming some cheerful tune while you wiped down the espresso machine. You hadn’t started talking to him yet that morning—maybe you’d finally realized he wasn’t much for conversation.

But then, out of nowhere, you blurted out, “You ever play hockey, Logan?”

His eyes flicked up to you, and for a split second, he almost ignored the question, like he always did. But something inside him cracked, maybe because it was such a random thing to ask, or maybe because he hadn’t been asked about hockey in a long time.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough like gravel. “A long time ago.”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, you looked like you weren't sure if you’d imagined his response or not. But then, just as quickly, you beamed at him. “I knew it! You’ve got that ‘gritty, fight-anyone-who-looks-at-you-wrong’ vibe. Bet you were one of those enforcers, huh? Knocking people’s teeth out?”

Logan snorted, a sound that surprised even him. He hadn’t meant to make it, but there it was. “Something like that.”

You practically bounced on your heels, grinning like you’d just unlocked some great mystery. “That’s awesome! You’ll have to teach me some moves one day. I mean, I’m not a hockey player, but I do love watching the games. Fast-paced, brutal—right up your alley, I bet.”

Logan didn’t respond, but something about the way you said it—about how easily you talked to him, how you didn’t flinch at his gruffness—made him feel… different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that was unfamiliar. 

It felt comfortable. And that was terrifying.

---

After that day, something shifted between you two. It wasn’t drastic, but it was there—a slow, almost imperceptible change. Logan found himself responding more often, if only with a few words here and there. You, in turn, seemed to take his gruff replies as victories, your laughter growing warmer every time he said something back.

You still talked a lot. About your shop, about the town, about random things you found amusing. Logan didn’t mind, though. Your voice became part of the background, something that made the shop feel… alive.

And then, one Sunday, you hit him with the invitation that he hadn’t seen coming.

“Hey, Logan?” you called from behind the counter as you wiped down the tables after the last customer of the day had left.

He looked up from his coffee, raising an eyebrow in question.

“So, I was thinking… I’ve got this Sunday dinner tradition, and I usually eat alone, which is fine, but it’d be way more fun if you joined me,” you said, words spilling out in that usual rapid-fire way you had. “I’m making lasagna—well, trying to, anyway. It’s kind of a work in progress, but it’s edible, I promise.”

Logan stared at you for a moment, trying to figure out if you were serious. Dinner? With him? It was the kind of thing people did when they were friends, or at least something close to it. 

He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. But the look on your face—hopeful, yet casual, like you weren't pressuring him—made it hard to say no. You weren't asking much. Just dinner.

“I don’t do lasagna,” he said gruffly, setting his mug down.

You blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “Oh… okay. Well, what do you do? I can make something else—anything you like.”

He sighed, knowing he was walking right into the trap. “Steak. Rare.”

Your face lit up like Christmas had come early. “Steak it is! Sunday, six o’clock. Don’t be late!”

And just like that, Logan found himself sitting at your table a few days later, cutting into a steak that was cooked almost perfectly, and listening to you ramble on about some small-town drama that he didn’t care about in the slightest. But he listened anyway, because for the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn’t mind the noise.

It was… nice. And that unsettled him more than anything.

---

Sunday dinners became a thing. He didn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly, every Sunday at six, Logan found himself sitting at your table, eating whatever meal you’d decided to cook that week. 

In return, he invited you over one evening to watch a hockey game. He wasn’t much of a TV guy, but the game was on, and he figured if you liked hockey as much as you said you did, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else to sit in silence with while the action played out on the screen.

But, of course, silence wasn’t part of the deal with you.

“Oh my God, that hit was brutal!” you exclaimed, clutching the edge of the couch as one of the players was slammed into the boards. “Is it bad that I kind of love that part?”

Logan chuckled, a sound he was still getting used to making around you. “That’s the best part.”

They watched the rest of the game, and by the end of it, you were nearly bouncing off the couch with excitement, throwing out commentary as if you were one of the analysts. Logan didn’t mind. It reminded him of the old days, of sitting in dingy bars with teammates, knocking back beers after a hard fight. It felt good. Comfortable.

Too comfortable.

---

That comfort was the problem. The more time Logan spent with you, the more he found himself settling into a routine—a dangerous routine. Sunday dinners. Hockey nights. Coffee in the mornings, with your cheerful voice filling the air as you teased him about his gruffness.

He could feel himself relaxing around you, letting his guard down in ways he hadn’t done in years. And that scared the hell out of him.

Logan had learned long ago that comfort didn’t last. It couldn’t. People left. People died. He was a walking reminder of that. The more comfortable he got, the harder it would be when it all inevitably fell apart. And it would fall apart. It always did.

So he started to pull away.

It wasn’t drastic at first. Just little things. He stopped responding as much when you talked to him. He’d grunt instead of offering actual words. He’d sit in the shop for shorter amounts of time, finishing his coffee faster so he didn’t have to linger in your presence.

You noticed, of course. You weren’t oblivious.

“You okay?” you asked one morning, your usual smile faltering just a little as you set his coffee down in front of him.

Logan didn’t meet your gaze. “Yeah. Fine.”

But he wasn’t fine, and you both knew it.

The following week, he didn’t show up for Sunday dinner. He didn’t even call to cancel—he didn’t have your number anyway. He figured you’d get the message. You didn’t need him complicating your life. You didn’t need his baggage, his darkness. 

And he sure as hell didn’t need to get attached to someone who would eventually leave, one way or another.

Days passed, and Logan avoided the coffee shop altogether. He holed up in his cabin, kept to himself, buried his feelings under layers of gruff silence. He told himself it was for the best. He was saving both of them from whatever disaster was waiting down the road. 

But the silence that followed his absence was unbearable.

---

You had always been good at reading people, even if they didn’t want to be read. And Logan? He was the kind of guy who had ‘walls’ written all over him, the kind of guy who didn’t let people in easily

***

Logan sat in his small living room, the faint crackle of the fireplace the only sound in the cabin. He had a beer in his hand and an ever-present scowl on his face. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the room in shadows, but he didn’t bother to turn on any lights. There was no point. Darkness suited him just fine.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Logan grunted, already knowing who it was without checking. Wade had been pestering him all week, leaving voice messages filled with his usual barrage of nonsense, bad jokes, and bizarre references. Most days, Logan ignored him. But tonight, for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he picked up.

“What do you want, Wade?” Logan grumbled as he hit the video call button.

The screen flickered to life, and there was Wade Wilson—Deadpool—grinning like an idiot, wearing what looked like a unicorn onesie, complete with a rainbow mane on the hood.

“Logan!” Wade exclaimed, way too loudly. “My favorite grumpy Canadian! How’s life in the great wide wilderness? Have you finally turned into a lumberjack or are you just planning on brooding yourself into oblivion?”

Logan rolled his eyes, already regretting answering. “What the hell do you want, Wade?”

“What do I want?” Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “What do I want? Just to check in on my best buddy, that’s all! It’s been ages. I’m just making sure you haven’t gotten yourself eaten by a bear or, you know, spontaneously combusted from sheer grumpiness.”

“I’m fine,” Logan said flatly, taking a long pull from his beer.

Wade squinted at him through the screen. “You sure about that, pal? You look like you’ve been chewing on nails and spitting out iron filings. You’re not even gonna give me a smile? Not even a little one?”

Logan grunted. “Don’t push it.”

Wade wiggled his eyebrows. “So, how’s the new reality treating you? You’re all settled in, yeah? Got your cabin, got your woods, got your mysterious brooding vibe going strong. You must be in paradise.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, trying to get comfortable, but Wade’s incessant cheer made it impossible. “It’s fine. Quiet. Just how I like it.”

“Oh sure, I bet,” Wade said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure you’re just living the dream out there, all by yourself, surrounded by nothing but trees and loneliness. Except…wait a minute…” He leaned in close to the camera, his eyes narrowing. “What about that neighbor you mentioned once or twice? What was her name?”

Logan answered before he could stop himself.

Wade’s face lit up with a devilish grin. “Ah! That’s the one! Sooo… how’s she doing? Is she still making you that delicious, life-changing coffee?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with Wade. Not with anyone.

“It’s nothing,” Logan muttered, his voice low. “She’s just… a neighbor.”

Wade leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “Just the neighbor, huh? You sure about that? ‘Cause from what I’ve gathered, you’ve been spending a lot of time over at that little coffee shop of hers. And I don’t think it’s just because she makes a killer latte.”

Logan’s grip on the beer bottle tightened. “I go there for the coffee. That’s it.”

“Uh-huh,” Wade said, nodding slowly, his eyes wide with fake innocence. “So, no other reason, huh? Not even a teensy, tiny bit of interest in just her? You’re not, I dunno, secretly enjoying her bubbly personality? Maybe even starting to like the fact that she talks your ear off every morning?”

Logan growled, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. “I told you, Wade. She’s nothing special. Just an annoying, overly cheerful neighbor who won’t leave me alone.”

Wade’s grin faltered for a second, but Logan didn’t notice. He was too caught up in his own frustration, the words spilling out faster than he could stop them.

“She talks too much. Laughs too damn much. Always smiling, always trying to drag me into these pointless conversations,” Logan snapped, his voice rising. “And she’s always… happy. Like, ridiculously happy. It’s like she’s never had a bad day in her life, and it’s just… it’s too much. I don’t need that. I don’t want that.”

Wade held up a hand, trying to interject, but Logan kept going, his anger building with each word.

“She’s not even a friend. Just this… annoying bother who stumbled into my life and won’t let go. She doesn’t get it—she doesn’t get me. She’s… she’s a distraction. A useless, loud, irritating distraction.”

“Logan—” Wade tried to say, his voice quieter now, but Logan didn’t hear him.

“And what’s worse is, no matter how much I try to push her away, she just keeps coming back. With her damn coffee and her stupid smile and her endless chatter. I don’t need that kind of noise in my life. I don’t need her. I don’t need anyone.”

“Logan—” Wade said again, this time more urgently, his eyes flicking to something off-screen. But Logan wasn’t paying attention.

“I just want to be left alone, Wade. That’s it. Alone.”

There was a beat of silence. The fire crackled in the background, and Logan took a deep breath, his anger slowly ebbing as he realized how much he’d said. He hadn’t meant to go off like that, but once he’d started, the floodgates had opened.

Wade cleared his throat. “Uh… Logan, buddy. You might wanna turn around.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Wade pointed over Logan’s shoulder, a tight, uncomfortable smile on his face. “Turn. Around.”

Logan’s body went rigid. Slowly, he turned in his chair, the weight of Wade’s words sinking into his chest. His heart pounded as his gaze landed on the porch.

And there, standing in the fading light, was you.

You were holding a tray with two cups of coffee and a box—probably filled with some homemade baked goods, knowing you. Your face was pale, eyes wide with shock and hurt. You looked frozen in place, as if you couldn’t quite believe what you’d just heard.

Logan’s mouth went dry, a sinking feeling settling deep in his gut.

You blinked, smile weak, forced, like you were trying to hold it together. “I, uh… I’m sorry,” you said, your voice so soft it barely reached him. “I didn’t mean to… overhear. I just… I brought you some coffee and… and a little something to eat.”

Logan opened his mouth to say something, to explain, but no words came. He was trapped, frozen by the weight of his own mistakes, of everything he’d just said.

Your eyes flicked to the ground, and you set the tray down on the porch railing, hands shaking just slightly. “I’ll… I’ll just go.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You didn’t say anything else. You just turned and walked away, the sound of footsteps fading as you disappeared down the gravel road toward your house.

Logan stood there, staring at the tray you’d left behind, a hollow ache spreading through his chest. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do.

He’d hurt you. The one thing he’d tried so hard not to do, and he’d done it anyway.

Behind him, Wade’s voice broke the heavy silence. “Well, Logan, you really stepped in it this time.”

Logan didn’t respond. He just stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, watching the spot where you had been moments before, his mind racing with all the things he wished he could take back.

But it was too late.

You were gone.

***

You could still remember the day you first saw him—the man who seemed to be carved out of stone, with a permanent scowl etched on his face and eyes that carried the weight of the world. He’d been sitting on the porch of his small, weather-beaten cabin, a cigar clamped between his teeth, exuding an aura of "stay the hell away." And yet, there was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was because, despite that gruff exterior, you sensed something familiar. Something like loneliness.

You had just moved into your new home, a quaint little place down the road. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. After years of drifting from place to place, trying to find somewhere that felt like home, You had finally found this sleepy little town. It had charm, history, and enough distance from your past to feel like a fresh start. 

Your coffee shop, Beans of Heaven, had been a dream for years, and now it was finally real. You poured your heart into the place—every morning waking up early to bake pastries, grind fresh coffee beans, and create an atmosphere that felt warm and welcoming. But something was missing. Maybe someone was missing.

Then there was Logan, your grumpy, brooding neighbor who never smiled and hardly ever spoke. He intrigued you in ways you couldn’t explain, but more than that, he reminded you of something you had been missing for a long time: companionship. And though you knew he was the type of man who would rather chew glass than have a heartfelt conversation, you wanted to get to know him. You wanted to be his friend.

---

The first time you approached Logan, you were filled with usual optimism. You had introduced yourself with a wide smile, carrying a box of fresh pastries and two cups of coffee—hoping that a bit of kindness might crack through his tough exterior. His reaction, or lack thereof, had been exactly what you’d expected: a grunt, a nod, and nothing more.

Most people would’ve given up after that first encounter. You weren’t most people.

You didn’t let Logan’s cold demeanor deter you. Day after day, you greeted him at the shop with the same enthusiasm, offering him a free coffee or some fresh-baked cookies. He never accepted anything beyond his usual black coffee, and most of the time he’d just sit in silence, staring out the window. But still, he came back, and that was enough to encourage you.

You had always been the “bubbly” one. The girl with too much energy, too much cheer. It was part of who you were, and you liked to believe that this positivity could rub off on others. But in reality, making friends has never been easy for you. People would be drawn to the warmth and laughter at first, but eventually, they’d drift away. Your constant need for connection, endless talking, enthusiasm—it all became too much for them.

You’d had friends in the past—plenty of them, in fact—but they never stayed for long. They would start to roll their eyes when you laughed too hard or sigh when you talked too much. Slowly, subtly, they’d pull away, leaving you feeling like you were always too much. Too much of a handful. Too much energy. Too much emotion.

So when Logan accepted your invitation to Sunday dinner for the first time, you had been over the moon. He had seemed so closed off, so unreachable, that you hadn’t expected him to agree. And yet, there he was, sitting at your table, cutting into a steak and grumbling his way through dinner. He wasn’t exactly the picture of warmth, but just having him there, sharing a meal with you, felt like a small victory.

Then came the hockey night. Logan had invited you over, and for once, it wasn’t you doing all the pushing. You’d sit on his couch, cheering on the players, feeling more alive than you had in a long time. For a while, everything felt… comfortable. 

It was strange to feel so at ease around someone like Logan, but that was the thing—despite his grumpiness, despite his silence—he made you feel safe. You didn’t feel the need to tone yourself down or apologize for being “too much.” With Logan, you could be herself, and that feeling was rare.

---

As the weeks went by, you found herself growing closer to Logan, though “closer” in Logan’s world didn’t mean much. He still grumbled more than he spoke, and he rarely shared anything personal. But the fact that he kept showing up—whether it was for coffee in the mornings, or Sunday dinners at your place—meant more to you than you could ever express.

And somewhere along the way, your feelings started to change. 

It wasn’t just friendship you were after anymore. No, it had become something much deeper than that. 

You were falling for Logan. Fast and hard.

You hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t like you had planned on it. But there was something about him—something in the way he was so guarded, so rough around the edges, yet kind in the smallest of ways—that made your heart ache. You had seen glimpses of who he really was beneath that tough exterior, and those glimpses made you want to know more. Made you want him.

It was the little things that got to you. Like the way he’d sit quietly and actually listen to you, even when you rambled on about random things. Or how he’d sometimes mutter a sarcastic comment that made you laugh, even when you knew he was trying to sound annoyed. There was a softness to him, buried deep down, and you wanted to uncover it. You wanted to make him smile.

But Logan was a hard man to read, and just when you thought they were becoming friends, just when you thought there might be something more between them, he started pulling away.

---

It wasn’t drastic at first. Just small changes. Logan became quieter, more distant. He stopped responding as much when you talked, going back to his old ways of grunting and nodding instead of giving those rare, short responses you had come to appreciate.

Then, he started spending less time at the coffee shop. He’d come in, get his coffee, and leave without saying much. The conversations you both used to have, no matter how one-sided, seemed to dwindle, replaced by a heavy silence that you didn’t know how to break.

It hurt. You didn’t want to admit it, but it did. After all the time they’d spent together, after all the dinners and the quiet moments, you had started to believe that maybe—just maybe—Logan felt the same way about you as you did about him.

But his distance told you otherwise. 

You had never been good at confrontation. You hated the idea of pushing someone into talking about something they didn’t want to. But with Logan, it was different. You didn’t want to lose whatever connection you had. You didn’t want to be just another person who drifted away from him.

So, one evening, you made up your mind. You were going to talk to him. Maybe even… ask him out. You had never been this nervous before, not with anyone else. But Logan was different. He mattered.

You baked his favorite dessert—black olive brownies, not too sweet, just like he liked them. It was something he had mentioned in passing once, a rare glimpse into the things he enjoyed. You had never heard of anyone liking such a strange combination, but you had found a recipe and made it work. You wanted it to be perfect.

Logan had given you a key to his cabin a while ago—“Just in case,” he had said, gruffly, one day after dinner. He’d made it sound like no big deal, but to you, it had meant everything. He trusted you, at least in some small way.

---

That evening, you decided you’d surprise him. Show up with the brownies and some coffee, and just… talk. Maybe you’d tell him how you felt. Maybe you wouldn’t. But at the very least, you wanted to clear the air between you two. You didn’t want to lose him.

You walked up the gravel path to his cabin, your heart pounding in your chest, the tray of brownies carefully balanced in your hands. You were nervous—more nervous than you’d ever been—but you told yourself that everything would be fine. Logan wasn’t the type of man who would just shut you out completely. He wouldn’t hurt you. Not intentionally.

But as you reached the porch, you heard voices. 

Logan’s voice, deep and rough, coming from inside the cabin. And someone else—someone familiar.

You paused just before you reached the door, your hand halfway to the knob. It was Wade’s voice. You smiled to herself, remembering the way Logan would grumble about Wade’s constant calls and visits. He’d only ever mentioned Wade a few times, but you could tell the two of them had a complicated friendship.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You didn’t want to. But something in Logan’s tone stopped you in her tracks.

“…she’s just an annoying, overly cheerful neighbor who won’t leave me alone.”

You froze.

Your heart clenched in your chest as the words sunk in, cutting through you like a knife. You told yourself you must have misheard, that maybe Logan was talking about someone else, but then he continued.

“She’s not even a friend. Just this… annoying bother who stumbled into my life and won’t let go. She doesn’t get it—she doesn’t get me. She’s a distraction. A useless, loud, irritating distraction.”

You felt your hands start to shake, the tray of brownies wobbling in your grasp. You could hear Wade trying to interrupt him, trying to stop him, but Logan’s voice kept going, his words growing harsher, more defensive.

“I just want to be left alone, Wade. That’s it. Alone.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as you stood there, frozen on the porch. Your mind raced, your heart pounding so loud you could barely hear anything else. You had come here to talk to him, to open yourself up in a way you hadn’t done in years. You had thought—no, had hoped—that maybe Logan cared about you, even in his gruff, distant way.

But now, standing there, hearing him tear you apart with his words, you realized how wrong you had been.

You had always been too much for people. Too much energy. Too much positivity. Too much… everything. And now, once again, you have pushed someone away without even realizing it. 

Your stupid, foolish heart had fallen for someone who didn’t want you. Who didn’t even see you as a friend. You had been a distraction to him—nothing more than a nuisance he had tolerated out of some sense of politeness.

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away. You wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

You set the tray of brownies down on the porch railing, Your hands trembling as you adjusted the coffee cups next to them. You stood there for a moment, staring at the door at Logan, when he turned around. 

Taking a deep breath, you forced a weak smile onto your face. It was a habit. Something you did when you needed to hold yourself together.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, to Logan. “I didn’t mean to… bother you.”

With that, you turned and walked away, your heart breaking with every step. 

---

You had always been the type of person who saw the best in people. You believed in second chances, in redemption, in the idea that everyone deserves kindness. But now, as you walked back to your little house down the road, you felt that familiar ache settling deep in your chest—the one you had felt too many times before.

You had been too much for Logan. Just like you had been too much for everyone else in your life. Friends, acquaintances, even your family—they had all grown tired of you eventually. Of your laughter, energy, the need to connect with people. You had tried so hard to fit in, to make yourself smaller, to be less of a burden. But it never worked.

And now, Logan—the one person you had thought might be different—had proven you wrong.

You were destined to be alone. To always be too much for people to handle. 

Logan had made it clear how he felt. 

He wanted to be alone, and you would respect that. You wouldn’t bother him anymore. You wouldn’t force your way into his life, trying to make him laugh or smile or feel anything at all. You would leave him alone, just like he wanted.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d learn to live with that.

***

Logan hadn’t planned on hurting you. Hell, he hadn’t planned on any of it. He’d only been trying to keep you at arm’s length—just like he did with everyone else. It wasn’t like he was good with people. He’d learned that a long time ago, that anyone who got close to him ended up hurt one way or another. He was a mess of scars and guilt, haunted by too many lifetimes of pain. He was trying to save you from that.

But now, sitting alone in his cabin, the familiar quiet pressing in on him from all sides, Logan realized just how wrong he’d been. The stillness, the silence—it wasn’t the peace he’d been craving. It was suffocating.

He had driven you away.

It had been days since you’d heard him call you “an annoying, overly cheerful neighbor who wouldn’t leave him alone.” Days since you’d heard him say you weren’t even a friend, that you were just a distraction, a bother. Days since he’d noticed the way your smile had faltered, the way your shoulders had slumped ever so slightly before you quietly left, your tray of coffee and brownies left behind like a sad reminder of what he’d done.

At first, Logan had convinced himself it was for the best. You’d get over it, move on with your life, and he’d go back to the way things were before you’d stumbled into his world. Before you’d made him laugh—actually laugh—or shared your endless supply of kindness, even when he’d done nothing to deserve it.

But that wasn’t how it went.

You didn’t bounce back like you usually did. You didn’t come by the cabin the next day, or the day after that. And the longer the days stretched without you, the heavier Logan’s chest felt. The realization hit him slowly but forcefully: he didn’t want to go back to how things were before.

He missed you.

***

Logan hadn’t stepped foot in your shop since that night, but after nearly a week of dodging the place, he finally couldn’t stand it anymore. So he went. The bell above the door jingled as he walked in, and the familiar scent of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air. But something was off. Something that made Logan’s gut twist uncomfortably.

You were there behind the counter, as usual, but you weren’t the same. Gone was the lively energy that always filled the shop, replaced by a quietness that felt entirely wrong in this place. You weren’t laughing with customers or talking their ears off about the latest coffee blend you were experimenting with. You were polite, efficient, but that was it. Nothing more.

And when you saw him, your expression didn’t change. No smile, no warmth. Just a quiet nod as you took his order like he was any other customer.

It stung more than Logan cared to admit.

He approached the counter, trying to find the words—words he wasn’t good at, words that felt heavy and awkward in his mouth. “Look, I… I’m sorry,” he grumbled, his voice low, rough, as if the words themselves were foreign to him.

You looked up at him, your eyes soft but distant, and gave him a small, tight smile. “There’s no need to apologize, Logan. Really. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. It was anything but fine, and he could see it in the way you held yourself. You were still kind, still polite, but there was a distance there now, a wall that hadn’t been there before. It was like you had taken all that warmth you used to shower him with and locked it away, offering him only the bare minimum.

“You don’t need to act like… like nothing happened,” Logan muttered, his frustration bubbling up despite himself. He didn’t know how to fix this, but he hated the way you were looking at him like he was just another face in the crowd.

But you shook your head, that same small, strained smile on your face. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I understand.”

You turned to grab his coffee, but Logan could see the slight tremble in your hands. You were hurt, even if you weren’t saying it outright. And you were trying so damn hard to pretend like it didn’t matter, like his words hadn’t struck you right in the heart.

When you handed him the coffee, your eyes briefly flickered with something—something like sadness—but then it was gone, replaced with that same forced politeness.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking the cup. He lingered for a moment, hoping you’d say something more, but you didn’t. You just moved on to the next customer, your back turned to him like he wasn’t even there.

Logan left the shop feeling worse than he had when he walked in.

The next few days were no better. Logan started coming back to the coffee shop more regularly, hoping to find a way to fix things, but every time, you treated him the same. Like any other customer. No more easy conversation, no more warmth in your voice, no more lingering smiles.

You were kind, but you were distant. Every interaction felt like a transaction—polite, professional, but cold. And the worst part? Logan could see how much it hurt you to act that way. He could see the moments where you started to talk to him like you used to, where your eyes lit up for a split second like you wanted to tell him about something funny that happened or share one of your stories. But then you’d catch yourself, and the light would die, replaced by that same tired, distant smile.

You were holding yourself back, and Logan knew it was because of him.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed the change in you. Some of your regulars—people who had known you long before Logan ever showed up—started asking if everything was okay. You just brushed them off with a laugh, saying you were tired or had been busy lately, but Logan knew better.

It was his words that had drained you. His careless, stupid words that had taken the best part of you—the part that had always been so full of life—and dimmed it.

And it killed him to know that.

***

The worst part came on a Saturday afternoon before your Sunday dinner meeting the next day, just as Logan was about to leave the shop. He had started to make a habit of stopping by, hoping that maybe—just maybe—you’d start talking to him like you used to. That maybe you’d give him a chance to make things right. But that hadn’t happened. Not yet.

As he reached the door, your voice stopped him.

“Logan?” you called softly, and he turned to see you standing behind the counter, your hands nervously fidgeting with a dishtowel.

“Yeah?” he grunted, turning to face you fully, his brow furrowed.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking to the floor before you spoke. “About tomorrow… You don’t have to come to dinner if you don’t want to. I… I understand if you’d rather not.”

Logan’s heart sank. You had always invited him to Sunday dinner, ever since you’d become friends. It had become part of the routine, something comfortable and familiar. And now, you were telling him it was okay if he didn’t come. That he didn’t have to be there.

The way you said it—the quiet resignation in your voice—it was like you were apologizing for existing. Like you thought you’d pushed him too far by inviting him into your life, by asking for his company.

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a soft sadness. “I’m sorry if I… if I pushed too hard. I just… I thought maybe you enjoyed it. But if you don’t, it’s okay. I don’t want to bother you.”

Logan stared at you, his throat tight, his chest heavy with guilt. You thought you were the one who had pushed too hard? You thought you were the one who needed to apologize?

“Don’t,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Don’t do that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You just gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s okay, Logan. Really. I understand.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You just turned back to the counter, your shoulders slumped as you busied yourself with cleaning up, as if the conversation had never happened. As if you weren’t slowly slipping away from him, bit by bit.

Logan left the shop with a heavy heart, the weight of everything he’d done crashing down on him all at once.

***

Logan stared at the TV, barely seeing the game. The familiar roar of the crowd, the sharp scrape of skates on ice—all of it faded into the background as his mind drifted back to you.

The silence in the cabin was suffocating. Usually, you’d be here by now, sitting next to him on the couch, your laughter filling the room as you tried to explain to him why one team’s jersey design was superior to the other. You didn’t know much about hockey, but it never stopped you from trying to keep up.

But tonight, the couch beside him was empty.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his hand resting on the cold beer he hadn’t even opened. He thought back to yesterday, to the way you’d looked at him when you told him he didn’t have to come to dinner. The quiet apology in your voice, the way you’d tried to act like everything was fine even though it clearly wasn’t. You’d been pulling away, bit by bit, and Logan had done nothing to stop it.

He couldn’t shake the image of you standing behind the counter, your usual light dimmed, your eyes tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. And the worst part was, you had apologized to him. You had made it seem like you were the problem, like you had pushed too hard when in reality, it was him who had shoved you away.

And now, here he was—alone, with nothing but the echo of your absence to keep him company.

Logan reached for his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before he sighed, setting it down on the table with a heavy thud. He didn’t know how to fix this. He wasn’t good at apologies, wasn’t good at talking about his feelings or admitting when he’d screwed up. But he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

And then, like a lightbulb flickering on in the back of his mind, he realized there was only one person he could call.

Logan stared at his phone for what felt like hours, the gnawing pit in his stomach getting worse with every passing minute. He didn’t want to make this call. Of all the people in the world, Wade Wilson was the last person Logan wanted to ask for help. But Wade had been there that night. He had seen everything—and worse, he had seen you.

That meant Wade knew. And if Wade knew, well, Logan had no choice but to call him.

With a resigned sigh, Logan tapped Wade’s number. The phone rang twice before Wade’s obnoxious voice burst through the speaker.

“Logan! My brooding, hairy amigo! What can I do for you? You need a babysitter for Laura? Oh, oh! Wait, I got it—you wanna do a buddy cop movie together! I’ll be the zany, charming sidekick, and you can be the angry guy who growls a lot. Wait, you already do that. So I’ll be—"

“Wade,” Logan growled, cutting him off. “I need your help.”

There was a pause, and Logan could almost hear the grin forming on Wade’s face.

“Oh my God. Hold on. Hold the f—beep—up,” Wade said, dropping his voice like he was narrating a dramatic trailer. “‘Logan needs my help.’ Wow. Wow, guys, are we hearing this? Logan, a.k.a. the Grumpiest X-Man, a.k.a. ‘I don’t need anybody,’ is asking me for help. This is huge! Character development, people! Mark this down for the sequel.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting the call. “Wade…”

“Okay, okay, I’m done. I’m done. What’s the problem? Did you finally realize that leather jackets and flannel aren’t a personality?”

Logan gritted his teeth. “It’s about her.”

Another pause. Then, in classic Wade fashion, the tone shifted completely. “Ohhh. Right, the cute neighbor girl with the coffee shop. The one you totally ruined. I remember now. Dude, you really shit the bed on that one, huh?”

Logan clenched his fist, the memory of that night still fresh in his mind. “Yeah… she heard me say some things. Things I didn’t mean.”

“Oh nooo,” Wade groaned dramatically, dragging out the vowels. “You did the whole ‘I’m a lone wolf, I don’t need friends, emotions are for weaklings’ bit, didn’t you? The classic Logan screw-up! Ten out of ten, would not recommend.”

Logan didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

“Dude, she was standing right there with coffee and brownies!” Wade continued. “You might as well have drop-kicked a puppy in front of her. It was painful to watch! I mean, not as painful as X-Men Origins: Wolverine, but still…” He paused, and Logan could practically hear him smirking. “You know she left that tray behind, right? I ate the brownies. They were a little too sweet, but solid effort. Girl’s got a good heart.”

Logan growled, feeling the sting of regret twist deeper in his chest. “I get it, Wade. I messed up.”

“Yeah, no kidding. But here’s the thing, Wolvie,” Wade said, his tone suddenly shifting to something more genuine. “She didn’t just hear you. She heard you, you know? She was standing right there. That ‘annoying’ comment? That hit her like a damn truck. And if you think she’s just going to bounce back with a smile and a cup of coffee like nothing happened, you’re delusional. This is a Hallmark movie waiting to happen, and right now, you’re the grumpy lumberjack who just drove her back to the city.”

Logan swallowed, the weight of Wade’s words hitting him hard. He hadn’t just hurt you; he’d made you feel like you didn’t matter. And for someone like you—someone who put so much heart into everything you did—that was unforgivable.

“So what do I do?” Logan muttered, his voice low.

“You gotta fix it, obviously,” Wade replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve gotta show her that you care. And yeah, that means talking about your feelings, Logan. I know it’s your least favorite thing after happy endings and Deadpool sequels, but tough luck. She’s not a mind reader. You gotta tell her what she means to you.”

Logan frowned. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do that.”

Wade made a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on! You’ve got claws, a healing factor, and that grizzled Clint Eastwood vibe going on, but you don’t know how to tell a girl you care about her? Listen, all you gotta do is be real. Apologize for being an emotionally constipated idiot, and tell her the truth. That’s it. No drama. No over-the-top declarations of love. Just tell her how you feel.”

Logan sat in silence, the weight of Wade’s words sinking in. He knew Wade was right—God help him, Wade was actually right. If he didn’t fix this, he’d lose you. And after everything, he couldn’t let that happen.

“And for the record,” Wade added, breaking the silence, “if this turns into some epic romantic moment, I better be invited to the wedding. I’ve already got a Deadpool tux ordered, and trust me, it’s glorious.”

Logan sighed, already regretting the call. “Thanks, Wade.”

“Anytime, Wolvie,” Wade chirped, his voice back to its usual annoying cheer. “Now go make things right, and remember—don’t stab anyone while apologizing. That’s generally frowned upon.”

Logan hung up, staring at the phone for a moment longer. Wade’s advice was ringing in his ears. He had to fix this. He had to tell you the truth, no matter how hard it was.

Because losing you wasn’t an option.

***

Logan stood outside your coffee shop, the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him harder than any enemy he’d ever faced. He’d never been good with words, never been good at talking about feelings or admitting when he was wrong. But this? This was something he had to do.

The bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open, the familiar scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries filling the air. It was a comfort, but today, it did little to ease the tension in his chest.

You were behind the counter, as always, but Logan could tell right away that something had changed. You weren’t your usual self. Gone was the bright energy that had always seemed to follow you around like a cloud of sunshine. You smiled at customers, sure, but it was strained, and your usual chatter was replaced by polite, quiet exchanges.

Logan made his way to the counter, the words of apology swirling in his head, but when you looked up at him, something inside him twisted painfully. You looked tired—not physically, but emotionally. The light in your eyes had dimmed, and it was all because of him.

“Logan,” you greeted him softly, your voice polite but distant. “What can I get you?”

He shifted awkwardly, his usual gruff demeanor faltering as he tried to find the words. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice low.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the counter. “I’m working right now,” you replied, your tone calm but guarded. “But we can talk later. After I close up.”

Logan swallowed the lump in his throat. The distance in your voice was like a knife twisting in his gut, but he nodded. “I’ll wait,” he muttered.

You gave him a small, tight smile, the same one you’d been giving him ever since that night. The same one that wasn’t real.

“Okay,” you said quietly, and then you turned back to your work, leaving Logan standing there, feeling more lost than ever.

As he left the shop, Logan couldn’t shake the image of you trying to hold it all together—trying to act like his words hadn’t hurt you when he knew damn well they had.

And that was when he realized: this was the moment Wade had warned him about. He couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. He had to tell you the truth, or he’d lose you for good.

And losing you was something he couldn’t handle.

***

Logan stood in the dim light of Beans of Heaven, waiting for the last customer to leave. The smell of fresh coffee hung in the air, comforting but laced with tension. He had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in his head, but the words felt like jagged rocks in his throat. He wasn’t good at this—never had been. Hell, most of his life had been spent avoiding conversations like this altogether. But tonight, Logan couldn’t avoid it anymore.

You were cleaning up behind the counter, your movements slower than usual, the exhaustion clear in the way your shoulders sagged. You hadn’t said much to him since the night you overheard him—a few words here and there, nothing more. Logan didn’t blame you. He’d hurt you. Badly. And now, he had to own up to it.

When the last customer finally walked out, you turned the sign on the door to "Closed" and exhaled softly. You didn’t even glance his way as you started wiping down the tables. It was like the distance between you had grown into a chasm, one that Logan didn’t know how to cross.

But he was going to try.

“Can we talk?” Logan asked, his voice gruff but quiet.

You paused mid-wipe, your back still turned to him. There was a long, tense moment before you nodded and turned around to face him, leaning against the counter. You didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him enough—you were listening, but barely. Your guard was up, and Logan had no one to blame but himself for that.

“Let’s sit,” Logan said, gesturing to one of the tables.

You hesitated, then walked over to the table and sat down. Logan followed, his heart pounding harder than it had in any battle he’d fought. This wasn’t like fighting an enemy—he couldn’t punch his way through this. He had to speak, to explain himself, and that scared the hell out of him.

He sat across from you, his hands resting on the table, fingers tapping against the wood as he searched for the right words. For a moment, he just looked at you—your face drawn, tired, but still beautiful in that way that had pulled him in from the start. And he hated himself for what he was about to say, for the truth that was going to spill out.

“You deserve the truth,” Logan began, his voice low, rough. “About me. About why I… pushed you away.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he saw the hurt there, the confusion you’d been carrying ever since that night. He swallowed hard and continued.

“I ain’t from here,” he said, the words awkward as they came out. “Not… this world, I mean. I come from another universe. I came here—ended up here—after a lot of shit went down. My past… it’s a mess. Hell, I’m a mess.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you didn’t interrupt. Logan knew he had to keep going, to let the words out before he lost the nerve.

“I was part of a team once,” Logan continued, his gaze dropping to his hands. “The X-Men. We fought for something bigger than ourselves. We tried to make things better… tried to protect people. But I failed them. I let them die. All of ‘em. Professor X, Scott, Jean… the people I cared about most in the world. I couldn’t save them. And it broke me.”

He clenched his fists, the memories crashing down on him like a wave. He had relived those moments over and over again—his failure, the pain of losing everyone he loved.

“I ain’t good with people. Never have been,” Logan said, his voice raw. “I’ve spent my whole life pushing people away, ‘cause I know what happens when they get close. They get hurt. Or worse. I’ve seen it too many times.”

Logan hesitated, his eyes flicking back up to yours. There was something there—a softness, a flicker of understanding, but the hurt was still lingering behind it.

“That night,” Logan said, his voice dropping even lower, “when Wade started talkin’ about you… about us… I panicked. All I could think about was how I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. How I didn’t want to get close, ‘cause I knew it’d end up the same way it always does. So I said those things—those stupid, hurtful things. I didn’t mean ‘em. But I said ‘em anyway.”

Your expression didn’t change, but your fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Logan exhaled, feeling the weight of his confession pressing down on him.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “But I did. And I can’t take that back. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or to trust me again. But you deserve to know that none of this is your fault. I pushed you away because of me. Because I’m afraid of losing you. Of losing anyone else.”

The silence that followed felt like it stretched on forever. Logan stared at the table, waiting for your response, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what he expected—anger, tears, maybe even for you to get up and walk away.

But when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, steady.

“You hurt me, Logan,” you said, and the words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I’ve spent my whole life being the person who’s too much. Too loud. Too bubbly. People get tired of me. They always do. And when you said those things… it felt like you were just like the rest of them. Like you’d gotten tired of me too.”

Logan clenched his jaw, hating himself more with every word you spoke. He hadn’t just hurt you—he’d made you feel like you weren’t enough. Like you were the problem, when it was really him all along.

“I ain’t tired of you,” Logan said, his voice hoarse. “It wasn’t about that. It was my own damn head, my fears… my screwed-up past. I never wanted to hurt you. I swear.”

You looked at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his face as if you were trying to find some piece of the truth hidden there. Logan waited, his chest tight, his breath shallow. The silence between you felt heavy, thick with everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

When the silence stretched on too long, Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, murmuring a soft, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d laid it all out, and now it was up to you.

Logan pushed back from the table, ready to leave—ready to give you the space you needed, the space he had denied you by showing up tonight. He stood up, muttering, “I’ll leave you be. I shouldn’t have—”

“Logan.”

Your voice stopped him mid-step, and he turned to look at you, surprised.

You weren’t looking at him directly, but your voice was softer now, a little less guarded. “There’s a Cup final this Friday, and I was thinking… I could really go for some good beer.”

Logan stared at you for a second, processing your words. It wasn’t much—it wasn’t forgiveness, not yet—but it was something. It was an opening.

And for the first time in days, Logan felt a glimmer of hope.

“Beer, huh?” Logan grunted, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “I think I can manage that.”

You looked up at him then, a small, tentative smile playing at the corners of your lips. And in that moment, Logan knew—he hadn’t lost you completely. Not yet.

***

Logan noticed it in the way your conversations shifted. There was a playfulness between you now that hadn’t always been there before. You teased each other more, flirted even—though you hadn’t quite called it that yet. It was lighthearted at first, a few sarcastic remarks here, a little banter there, but it started to build into something more, something that made Logan’s chest tighten every time you smiled in response to one of his comments.

There were nights when the two of you would close up the shop together, and instead of going your separate ways, you’d sit together in the shop long after it had closed, sharing stories and laughing about things that weren’t even that funny. Logan would bring over a six-pack of beer or you’d dig into the pastries that didn’t sell that day, both of you just… existing together in a way that felt easy, natural.

And the flirting? It became less subtle over time. There was a heat behind it now, a charge that wasn’t there before, like the two of you were slowly testing the waters of something more but neither of you wanted to be the first to dive in.

One night, Logan had come over to your place, a rare occurrence, but something that was happening more frequently. You had invited him over after the shop had closed, and instead of sitting in silence or watching hockey, you’d both cracked open some beers and ended up watching a cheesy romantic comedy that was so bad, it was actually kind of good.

The movie wasn’t exactly what Logan had expected—it was all grand gestures and overly dramatic declarations of love—but there was something about watching it with you that made it… bearable. More than bearable, actually. He found himself laughing along with you, making sarcastic remarks at the ridiculous plot, and somewhere along the way, he realized that he was enjoying it.

Not because of the movie itself, but because of you.

You’d both sat on the couch, not quite touching but close enough that Logan could feel the warmth of your body beside his. And as the movie dragged on, filled with all the usual rom-com clichés, Logan couldn’t help but think about how different this felt—how different you felt. There was something so easy about being around you, something that calmed the constant storm in his head.

But there was something else too.

Logan found himself watching you more than the movie, the sound of your laughter pulling him out of his own thoughts. He’d never really thought about it before, but your laughter was like a balm—so different from the world he was used to. It wasn’t just noise. It was light, something that made his chest tighten in a way that felt both unfamiliar and too familiar at the same time.

When you caught him watching, you didn’t call him out for it. You just smiled, that warm, knowing smile that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, you understood him in ways no one else ever had.

“Logan,” you said softly, your eyes twinkling with amusement as the credits finally started to roll, “why do we always watch these terrible movies?”

Logan grunted, cracking open another beer. “You like ‘em,” he muttered, his usual gruff response. But there was something softer behind it now, something that wasn’t just irritation.

You chuckled, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Yeah, but you could just say no, you know. You don’t have to suffer through them with me.”

Logan shot you a sideways glance, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “Ain’t sufferin’.”

That made you pause for a moment, your expression softening as you looked at him. There was a flicker of something in your eyes—something that made Logan’s heart pound a little harder in his chest.

“Logan,” you said again, your voice quiet but steady, “when are you going to ask me out already?”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t expecting you to be so direct—not tonight, not while you were sitting there in the afterglow of a stupid romantic movie you both hated and loved to hate. But there it was, out in the open, plain as day. The unspoken thing between you, finally given a name.

He didn’t answer at first. He just stared at you, his mind spinning as he tried to process what you’d just said. For so long, he’d kept that part of himself buried—the part that wanted more than just friendship, the part that wanted you. He’d been terrified of it, terrified of what it would mean if he let himself feel that way. But now, sitting here with you, the question hanging in the air between you, he wasn’t afraid anymore.

“I… don’t know,” Logan muttered, his voice low, but there was no hesitation in his tone. “Guess I’ve been thinkin’ about it.”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a small smile. “And?”

Logan’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself be honest.

“And I think I want to,” he admitted, his voice rough but sincere. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up. Don’t want to hurt you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned in closer, your hand resting gently on his arm. It was a small gesture, but it sent a jolt of warmth through him, one that settled deep in his chest.

“Logan,” you said softly, your eyes searching his, “you won’t mess this up. I know you. I know who you are, and I know what you’re afraid of. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan swallowed hard, the weight of your words hitting him straight in the gut. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d push you too far, or when you’d get tired of him, like everyone else had. But you weren’t like the others. You were still here, still looking at him with those warm, understanding eyes, still offering him more kindness than he thought he deserved.

And for once, Logan didn’t feel the need to run.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours as the space between you disappeared. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t some grand gesture like the ones in those stupid rom-coms. It was quiet, simple. But it was real.

“I’m askin’ you now,” Logan murmured, his voice low, his lips brushing against yours. “Will you go out with me?”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in to close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a soft, slow kiss that said more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes sparkled with that familiar light that Logan had grown to love.

“Took you long enough,” you teased, your voice soft but filled with warmth.

Logan chuckled, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Yeah. Guess I’m a slow learner.”

But for the first time in a long time, Logan wasn’t afraid of what came next. He wasn’t afraid of letting you in, of letting himself feel something more than just the weight of his past.

Because with you, it didn’t feel like he was carrying that burden alone anymore.

***

Logan hadn’t been on a date in… well, longer than he cared to admit. Most of his relationships in the past had been more of the “let’s get this over with” variety, not the kind of thing you planned or made special. But this—you—was different. He wanted to do this right. Wanted to show you that he was serious, that you mattered.

The problem was, he didn’t have a damn clue what “doing it right” even meant. What did people do on dates nowadays? Was it still flowers and a fancy dinner, or was that too old-fashioned? The last time Logan had actively thought about dating, people were still sending telegrams. He needed help, but the only person who came to mind made him groan internally.

Wade.

Of course, it had to be Wade.

Logan knew what he was getting himself into when he dialed the number, but that didn’t stop the immediate regret that washed over him when Wade answered on the first ring.

“Wolverine! You calling to finally admit that I’m the most charming, delightful human being in your life? Or is this about the wedding? Because, listen, I already have the tux, and it’s a Deadpool tux. It’s perfect. You’re gonna love it.”

Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose, already tired. “Wade, I need advice.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, predictably, Wade launched into a full-on monologue.

“Oh my God. Everyone stop! Logan needs advice! This is monumental! This is character development at its finest, folks. Truly groundbreaking stuff. So what is it? Planning a trip to the library? Want me to help you pick out your next flannel shirt? Or—wait, wait. It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah. I need to plan a date.”

“A DATE?!” Wade’s voice went up several octaves, and Logan immediately regretted every decision that had led him to this moment. “Oh, this is amazing! I knew it! I knew it! You and her, finally making it happen! See, I told you—grumpy loners can find love too!”

“Wade,” Logan growled, already losing his patience.

“Right, right. Focus,” Wade said, his tone shifting into something resembling helpfulness. “So, you’re planning a date. And you’re completely clueless, right? No worries, big guy. Your ol’ pal Wade is here to help you out. Here’s what you do: skip the over-the-top romantic crap. Don’t try to be something you’re not. She likes you for you, not for some shiny version of Logan who shows up with roses and a speech. Just… do something the two of you will actually enjoy. Something that won’t make either of you uncomfortable.”

Logan frowned, considering Wade’s words. As much as he hated to admit it, Wade had a point. A candlelit dinner at some fancy restaurant wasn’t him, and it sure as hell wasn’t you. You’d see right through it, and the last thing Logan wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable.

“Just be yourself, man,” Wade continued, as if he hadn’t already dropped enough wisdom for one phone call. “Do something that’ll make you both relax. Oh! And if things go well, don’t forget—consent is sexy. It’s the Wade Wilson guarantee.”

Logan grimaced. “Thanks, Wade.”

“Anytime! And remember—if you need a hype man, I’m your guy. I’ll show up in my tux with a bouquet of tacos and—”

Logan hung up before Wade could finish.

Wade’s words echoed in Logan’s mind as he sat at the kitchen table, staring at his phone. What could he do that would make this date feel like them? Something simple, something that would make you both comfortable.

Then it hit him.

That lake you had mentioned a while back—the one you’d talked about like it was the most peaceful place in the world. You’d told him about it on one of your long walks, how you used to go there to clear your head, to escape the noise of the world. A place where the stars felt closer, and everything else just… disappeared.

Logan could work with that. He wasn’t about to cook for you (that would probably end in disaster), but he could pick up some food, pack a cooler, and take you to that lake. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt right. And that’s what mattered.

The plan was simple: grab some food, drive out to the lake, and spend the evening under the stars. Just the two of you. He didn’t need grand gestures. He just needed you.

***

The sun was just starting to set when Logan pulled up to your place, his truck parked in front of your door. You stepped out, your hair tied back, wearing a beautiful dress that suited you perfectly. And damn, if Logan didn’t think you looked beautiful. No frills, no makeup—just you.

“Hey,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you approached the truck.

“Hey,” Logan grunted, returning your smile with a small one of his own.

He opened the door for you, and you climbed into the passenger seat, your eyes flicking to the cooler in the back. “What’s all that?” you asked, curiosity in your voice.

Logan shrugged, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Figured we’d grab some food and head out to that lake you told me about. Thought we could, y’know, just hang out.”

Your smile widened, the kind of smile that made Logan’s chest tighten in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying. “That sounds perfect.”

The drive to the lake was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. Logan wasn’t much for small talk, and you seemed content just to sit back and enjoy the ride. The trees blurred past as they drove further away from town, the sun dipping lower and casting a golden glow over the road.

When they finally arrived at the lake, the sky had turned a deep shade of purple, the stars just starting to peek through the twilight. The water was calm, the surface reflecting the fading light in a way that made the whole scene feel almost surreal.

Logan parked the truck, grabbed the cooler, and the two of you made your way down to the shoreline, settling on a blanket he’d brought. He cracked open a couple of beers, and the two of you sat in silence for a moment, watching as the stars began to fill the sky.

“This is perfect,” you said softly, your eyes fixed on the sky above. “Thank you for this.”

Logan glanced at you, his chest tightening again. “I figured you needed a break,” he muttered. “We both do.”

You looked over at him, your smile soft. “Yeah. We do.”

***

The conversation flowed easily after that. The two of you talked about everything and nothing, the way you always did. You teased him about his gruffness, and he shot back with a sarcastic remark about your bad taste in movies. There was a lightness between you now, the tension from the past few weeks all but gone.

At some point, you pulled out one of the sandwiches Logan had bought, laughing at how he’d bought way more food than either of you could possibly eat.

“Logan,” you said between bites, “you realize this could feed a small army, right?”

He grunted, shrugging. “Didn’t want you to go hungry.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Always so practical.”

As the night wore on, the stars grew brighter, and the conversation turned quieter, more intimate. You leaned back on the blanket, your head tilted toward the sky, while Logan leaned back on his elbows, watching you more than the stars.

“I love it out here,” you murmured, your voice soft. “It feels like everything just… stops. You know?”

Logan nodded. He knew exactly what you meant.

The quiet stretched between you, the air thick with something unspoken. Logan could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, that familiar feeling in his chest growing stronger. He wanted to kiss you—needed to—but he wasn’t sure how to make that first move.

But then, you turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and there was a flicker of something there—something that told him he didn’t need to worry.

You shifted, leaning in closer, and Logan felt his heart start to race. Your lips were inches from his, your breath warm against his skin as you smiled softly.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the night. “When are you going to kiss me?”

Logan’s breath hitched in his throat. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. Instead, he leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, slow kiss that made everything else disappear. The stars, the lake, the past—none of it mattered anymore.

The kiss deepened, your hand sliding up to rest against his cheek, and Logan responded in kind, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you faded into the background. It was soft at first, hesitant, but the more you kissed, the more the fire between you grew.

Logan could feel the heat rising between you, the tension that had been simmering for weeks finally boiling over. Your body pressed against his, your hands tangling in his hair as the kiss became more insistent, more urgent. And Logan didn’t pull away. He didn’t run.

When you finally pulled back, your lips swollen from the kiss, you looked at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper.

“I usually wait until the third date,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “but I’ve waited long enough.”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at you, his mind racing. “You sure?”

You nodded, your smile softening. “I’m sure.”

Logan didn’t hesitate after that. He kissed you again, slower this time, more deliberate, his hands roaming over your body with a tenderness that surprised even him. And when the moment felt right, he stood, pulling you gently to your feet, his hand resting on the small of your back as he led you back to the truck.

The drive back to your place was quiet, but the tension between you was electric, the air thick with anticipation.

When Logan pulled up in front of your house, the night was still quiet, the stars twinkling overhead like a promise. He helped you out of the truck, his hand lingering on your waist as you walked to the front door.

You turned to him, your eyes searching his, and Logan could see the flicker of doubt, of nervousness, but it was quickly replaced by something else—something deeper.

“You coming in?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

Logan didn’t answer with words. He just nodded, following you inside, knowing that whatever happened next, this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan wasn’t afraid of what came next.

***

You and Logan moved swiftly through the shadows, hands unable to resist the pull of each other’s bodies. The moment you stepped into your room, everything else faded away. Your lips collided in a fiery kiss, the kind that left no room for hesitation. Logan’s calloused fingers cradled your face, his rough thumbs grazing the softness of your flushed cheeks, sparking a shiver that ran through you. You let out a breathy moan, silently urging him to explore further, to claim you in the way only he could.

Logan's touch was both urgent and reverent as he led you towards the bed, his lips tracing a heated path down the curve of your neck. Each kiss sent electric sparks racing down your spine, igniting your skin with anticipation. He gently guided you down onto the cool sheets, his broad frame hovering above you, an intoxicating mix of power and restraint. The weight of him, the solid, muscular planes of his chest pressing against your sensitive breasts, made you arch up instinctively, offering yourself to him—a silent, burning invitation that left him breathless.

His hands—those strong, capable hands—moved across your body with deliberate intent. He memorized every inch, tracing the dip of your waist, the soft curve of your hips, and the smooth expanse of your thighs. His fingers found the hem of the dress, tugging it upwards with a tantalizing slowness that made your breath catch in your throat. As he peeled away the fabric, revealing your lace-clad thighs, the world narrowed to just them. Your heart pounded as your desire mirrored the hunger in his gaze.

As Logan hovered over you once again, the air between you two seemed to thicken with anticipation. Your nerves fluttered, heart pounding in your chest, but now it was mixed with an undeniable heat, a pull you couldn’t resist. His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze dark and intense, and for a moment, it felt like the world had fallen away—leaving just you two in the stillness of the night.

He leaned down, brushing his lips once again against your neck, kissing it softly at first, but soon his mouth became more insistent, his tongue flicking against your skin as his hands roamed your body. Logan's touch was both gentle and commanding, tracing the lines of your curves with deliberate intent. His fingers grazed your hips, sliding up the smooth expanse of your stomach, sending shivers racing through you. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, as your mind warred between nervousness and a craving you couldn’t deny.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he growled softly, his breath hot against your skin as his lips continued their descent.

With slow, deliberate motions, Logan pulled your dress up, exposing you inch by inch until it was discarded somewhere on the floor. He took a moment to admire you completely, his gaze lingering on your bare skin, drinking in every curve and freckle. You felt exposed under his intense gaze, but Logan had a way of making you feel not just desired but worshiped.

The moment your lips met, everything else seemed to fade away, the world narrowing down to just the heat between you. Logan’s mouth was firm and insistent, but his kiss was careful at first, testing, coaxing you into the moment. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his rough fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. The sensation of his lips moving against your made your head spin, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours in a rhythm that quickly turned hungry.

Your heart raced as you pressed yourself against him, feeling the hard lines of his chest beneath your hands. The sharp contrast between his rugged strength and the softness of his touch sent a thrill through you, and any nervousness you had melted away under the heat of his attention. You opened your mouth to him, letting him in, and his tongue slipped past your lips, exploring you with deliberate slowness that made your body shiver.

Logan’s kisses were deep, demanding, but there was a tenderness behind them—a quiet intensity that made you feel like you was the only thing that mattered to him in that moment. His hands roamed your body, his fingers tracing the line of your waist, skimming over your hips and dipping to the small of your back, pulling you closer with every touch. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of you, like he was savoring every inch of your skin.

Your body responded instinctively to his touch, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. With a soft, breathless moan, you tugged at the buttons, wanting to feel him fully, skin against skin. Logan obliged, pulling away just long enough to shrug off his shirt, revealing the broad, scarred planes of his chest. Your breath caught at the sight of him, the sharp lines of muscle, the dark smattering of hair across his chest, and the scars that marked his skin—each one telling a story of battles fought and survived.

Your fingers traced the scars lightly, almost reverently, and Logan let out a low growl of appreciation, his eyes darkening as he watched you. His hands moved to your waist, his knuckles grazing the soft skin of your thighs. The feel of his hands on your bare skin made your heart race, your breath quickening as the heat between you two flared even hotter.

Logan paused, his gaze once again sweeping over your body with an intensity that made you blush. His eyes lingered on your breasts this time, barely covered by the thin lace of your bra, and then trailed down to your hips, his hand brushing lightly over your thigh. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he repeated, his voice rough with need. His fingers slipped beneath the strap of your bra, pulling it down just enough to expose one breast to his hungry gaze. He leaned in, his lips brushing over the soft swell of your skin before his mouth closed over your nipple, his tongue flicking against the hardened peak.

You gasped, your back arching as a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through you. Logan’s hand slid behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside, leaving you fully exposed to him. His mouth moved to your other breast, sucking gently, his tongue swirling around your nipple while his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if he was trying to memorize you by touch alone.

Your breath came in shallow pants as his mouth continued its assault, alternating between soft kisses and sharp nips that sent sparks of pleasure through you. You felt his hands slide lower, tracing the line of your panties before tugging them down your legs. The cool air hit your bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of Logan’s touch as he spread your thighs apart, his fingers teasing your folds, exploring the wetness with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your whole body tremble.

“Logan,” you moaned, your hips rising to meet his hand, your body desperate for more of him. But he was in no hurry, his fingers moving in lazy circles, dipping into you just enough to make you gasp, but never fully giving what you craved.

He grinned against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you were falling apart under his touch. “Patience, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I want to take my time with you.”

But Logan’s control was slipping, and you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers tightened on your hips as he fought to keep his composure. His kisses grew more heated, more frantic, as he worked his way back up your body, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that was hot and desperate, full of need.

You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, straining against his boxers, and the thought of him—of all of him—made your head spin. Your hand moved down, fingers brushing over the bulge in his boxers, and Logan groaned into your mouth, his hips bucking slightly at the contact.

“Fuck, baby…” he rasped, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants as you rubbed him through the fabric, feeling the heat of him, the way his cock twitched in response to you touch. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

With a growl, Logan pulled back just long enough to shed the rest of his clothes, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood above you, fully exposed. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, his cock hard and thick, jutting towards you with a dark flush at the tip. 

And he was back on you. Logan’s kisses trailed lower, his lips moving from your neck to your collarbone, then down to the swell of your breasts. Each touch sent a new wave of heat through you, your body already humming with anticipation. He lingered there for a moment, his mouth closing over one hardened nipple, his tongue flicking across it as you gasped and arched into him. But it was clear from the way his hands gripped your hips, how his kisses continued to drift lower, that he had something else in mind.

Your breath caught in your throat as Logan shifted, his hands sliding down your sides, his lips now kissing a line along your stomach. The tension in the air thickened, and your heart pounded with both anticipation and nervous excitement. His hands reached your thighs, spreading them gently, and a flush of heat spread across your skin as you lay bare before him. You felt exposed—vulnerable in the most intimate way—but Logan’s gaze, dark and hungry, made you feel worshiped rather than nervous.

“You’re just perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire, his breath warm against your inner thigh. The words melted your last bit of hesitation, and your body relaxed under his touch, opening up to him.

Logan’s mouth hovered just over your center, his breath teasing your already slick folds, but he didn’t dive in right away. Instead, his lips brushed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, sending shivers up your spine, as he kissed his way closer. He was slow, deliberate, savoring every moment, every touch, as if he wanted to make sure you felt everything.

Then, without warning, his tongue flicked out, parting your folds and brushing against your clit with a gentle, teasing stroke. You gasped, your hips jolting up at the sudden jolt of pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly. Logan’s hands slid beneath you, holding you hips in place, his grip firm yet gentle, and he let out a low, appreciative growl.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, and the sound of it made your body pulse with need.

He dove back in, his tongue flicking over your clit again, this time with more pressure, more intent. The sensation was electric, pleasure shooting through you with every stroke. Logan’s mouth worked you over slowly at first, his tongue swirling around your clit, teasing with light, maddening flicks that had your hips lifting toward him, silently begging for more. He knew exactly how to make you squirm, how to drive you wild with the simplest of touches.

You moaned softly, your head falling back against the pillow as your body arched, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The pleasure was building, a slow, steady burn deep in your core, and Logan seemed determined to make it last. His tongue slid lower, dipping between your folds, tasting you, before returning to your clit, sucking gently. Every move he made was deliberate, calculated to push you closer to the edge without ever letting you tip over.

“Logan…,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hips bucked again, seeking more, and Logan let out another low groan as he tightened his grip on your thighs, holding them still.

“Patience, babygirl,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a mix of command and amusement. But there was a hunger in his tone too, a barely restrained urgency that matched the fire burning inside you.

His tongue pressed harder now, flicking and circling your clit in a rhythm that had you gasping and trembling beneath him. Every stroke of his tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you held him close, unable to stop the desperate little sounds spilling from your lips.

“Please, Logan…” you gasped, voice barely more than a breath. You were so close now, the tension inside you coiling tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue, every teasing suck. You could feel the edge coming, but you needed more—needed him to push you over.

Logan’s response was a deep, throaty growl that sent vibrations straight through your core. His tongue moved faster, his mouth working you with an intensity that had your whole body trembling. His lips closed over your clit, sucking hard now, while his fingers slipped down to your entrance, sliding inside you with ease, filling you with a deep, deliberate rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue.

“Oh God… Logan…!” you cried, your voice breaking as your body arched off the bed. The pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over in powerful, uncontrollable waves. Your orgasm tore through, your muscles clenching as your entire body trembled, your pussy pulsing around his fingers as he continued to work you through it.

Logan didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his mouth still sucking gently at your clit, his fingers still buried deep inside you, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body. He groaned against you, clearly enjoying the way you came undone beneath him, the way your body responded to his touch.

Your vision blurred, your breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps as the pleasure finally began to ebb, leaving you limp and trembling beneath him. Your hands slipped from his hair, falling to the bed as your body went slack, utterly spent.

Logan kissed his way back up your body, his lips trailing along your stomach, breasts, before finally reaching your mouth again. His kiss was soft this time, gentle, as if to soothe the lingering aftershocks of your release. You melted into him, your hands finding his shoulders, holding him close as you tried to catch your breath.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured against your lips, his hand brushing the hair from your face as he looked down at you, his eyes full of concern despite the heat still simmering between them.

You nodded, a small, blissful smile curving your lips as you gazed up at him. “More than okay,” you whispered, voice breathless but full of affection. Logan’s touch, his attention—everything about him—had left you feeling cherished, worshiped, and utterly satisfied.

You wanted to do the same for him, but you didn’t know how. When Logan sat down, he could feel the nervousness from you. 

Your heart raced as you sat on the bed, your eyes fixed on Logan, who sat shirtless in front of you, his broad, muscled chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. The room felt impossibly warm, and though you had been teasing and playful all night, nerves twisted in your stomach. You wanted to please him, wanted to make him feel as good as he always made you feel, but there was one thing you hadn’t done before.

Logan’s eyes were dark with desire, his lips curved into a small, amused smile as he watched you. “What is it, Princess?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You look nervous.”

You bit your lip, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks as you looked up at him, your voice coming out quieter than intended. “I… I’ve never… done that before.” You hesitated, glancing down at his hard and ready to go cock. “You know… going down on someone.”

Logan’s smile softened, and he crouched down in front of you, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, babygirl,” he said, his voice gentle but thick with heat. “It’s all up to you.”

You shook your head, determination sparking in your eyes despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I want to… I want to make you feel good. I just… I want you to show me. Teach me how.”

Logan’s eyes darkened even further at your words, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest. “Fuck, sweetgirl,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lip. “You have no idea how much I want that. And I’ll guide you through every second, baby, if that’s what you want.”

You nodded, heart racing as you leaned into his touch, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Logan stood up.Your eyes widened slightly as you looked up at him. He was big—thick, hard, and veined—and the thought of taking him into your mouth sent a thrill of nervous energy through you.

Logan moved closer, standing just in front of you as you sat on the edge of the bed. He stroked your cheek softly, his voice low and patient. “Just go slow, okay? Start by touching me. See what feels good for you.”

You nodded, your hand trembling slightly as you reached up, fingers wrapping around his cock for the first time. He was warm and firm, and the way he twitched in your hand made your heart race even faster. Logan let out a low groan as your fingers began to move along his length, stroking him slowly, your grip light at first, unsure but eager to learn.

“That’s good, baby,” Logan rasped, his voice thick with desire. “Just like that. Nice and slow.”

Your confidence grew a little with his encouragement, and you tightened the grip slightly, your strokes becoming more deliberate. Logan’s breath hitched, and his hand found the back of your neck, not pushing you but resting there, his fingers gently massaging the base of your skull.

You glanced up at him, eyes searching for guidance. “Is this okay?”

Logan’s dark gaze met yours, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your lower lip again. “You’re doing great. Now, if you’re ready… use your mouth. Just take your time.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned forward, lips parting slightly as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Logan groaned, his grip on your neck tightening just a little, and the sound sent a jolt of excitement through you. You could taste the salty bead of pre-cum on your lips as you kissed him again, this time allowing your tongue to flick out and swirl gently around the head.

Logan hissed softly, his head tilting back as his hand flexed against your neck. “Fuck, princess… that feels good.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you opened your mouth wider, taking the head of his cock between your lips. You sucked lightly, tongue swirling around the tip as you moved your hand along his length, stroking what you couldn’t yet fit in your mouth. Logan’s low groan spurred you on, and you took him deeper, lips wrapping around him as your tongue continued to explore.

“Just like that, baby,” Logan rasped, his voice strained as his hips twitched forward, though he held back, letting you set the pace. “Use your hand to stroke the rest, yeah? Keep going slow, and just… fuck, that feels so good.”

You did as he said, your hand working in time with your mouth as you moved up and down his length, taking him a little deeper with each bob of your head. Your nervousness started to fade as you focused on his reactions—the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath came out in short, ragged gasps, the way he groaned your name when you did something right.

You could feel him pulsing in your mouth, thick and heavy, and the way his cock twitched as your tongue swirled around the underside of the head made your thighs clench. Logan’s fingers tightened in your hair, but he was still careful, still letting you lead.

“God, sweetheart… you’re fucking amazing,” he groaned, his voice rough with pleasure. “Try taking me a little deeper now. If it’s too much, just pull back.”

You nodded slightly, your lips still wrapped around him, and took a deep breath as you pushed yourself further down his length, feeling the stretch of him against your tongue. He was big, but you wanted to take as much of him as you could. You relaxed your throat, letting him slip deeper, until you could feel him at the back of your throat.

Logan groaned louder, his hips twitching forward just slightly, but he pulled back immediately, not wanting to overwhelm you. “That’s it, baby,” he muttered, his voice tight with restraint. “You’re doing so fucking good.”

You bobbed your head slowly, sucking him in deeper with each movement, your hand stroking the base of his cock while your tongue worked the sensitive underside. The sound of Logan’s pleasure, the low groans and ragged breaths, spurred you on, and you began to pick up the pace, your confidence growing with every reaction you pulled from him.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” Logan rasped, his voice tight as his fingers tangled more firmly in your hair. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath as you took him even deeper, your lips stretching around his thick length. You felt a surge of pride at how you were making him fall apart, and the way his hips started to twitch forward with every stroke only encouraged you.

Logan’s breathing turned ragged, his hand tightening in your hair as he fought to keep control. “Shit, baby, I’m close… you want me to come in your mouth?”

You paused, your lips still wrapped around him, and looked up at him through your lashes, nodding slightly as best as you could. The look in his eyes darkened even further, and his grip on you tightened as he thrust gently into your mouth, his movements careful but desperate.

“Good girl,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just like that… fuck, I’m gonna come.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you worked him faster, hand stroking his length while your mouth sucked him in deeper, your tongue flicking against him with each bob of your head. Logan’s whole body tensed, his muscles going taut as he groaned your name, and with one final thrust, he came hard, spilling into your mouth.

You felt the hot rush of his release, his cock pulsing against your tongue as he filled her mouth. You swallowed as much as you could, his taste salty and thick, and you kept stroking him gently, milking every last drop from him as he trembled above you.

When it was over, Logan pulled back slowly, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and satisfaction. He reached down, pulling you up to your feet and kissing you deeply, his hand cupping your face as his lips lingered on yours.

“God, Princess,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice still breathless. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You smiled, cheeks flushed but your heart full of warmth. You had wanted to make him feel good, and the look in his eyes told you you had done more than that.

***

You didn’t know when you had fallen asleep, a warm haze of emotions and aftershocks from the night still lingering in your body. Apparently, that's what a mix of raw passion and orgasms can do to a person. As you started to stretch, a familiar touch stopped you — Logan's hand was resting possessively on your thigh. 

“You’re awake finally,” his voice, deep and husky from sleep, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. It was the kind of voice that could melt you with just a word. He pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. That sound alone made heat bloom low in your belly, reminding you of just how powerfully he affected you. You were still getting used to the intensity of it all, how he had this effortless way of making you feel like you could combust under his touch. It wasn’t just lust, but something deeper. The way his presence made you feel desired, seen.

His morning erection nudged against your ass as his mouth trailed down your shoulder, teasing the sensitive spot at your neck with soft bites. "Last night was incredible," you whispered, feeling the soft ache between your thighs from the passion you'd shared. His mouth found your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe, and a soft gasp escaped your lips. 

You could feel the smile in his voice as he replied, “You were amazing.”

You blushed at his praise, remembering how vulnerable you'd felt when you told him last night about your nervousness. He had a way of making you feel safe, even in your most insecure moments. But here he was now, his hands tracing your curves, cupping your breasts with a mix of gentleness and hunger. His thumb grazed over your nipples, making your breath hitch. "You're the one to talk," you murmured, barely able to focus as his hands roamed over you.

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the way your body responded to him, as if it were made to fit against his. His thigh slid between your legs, pressing just right against your clit, making you gasp and instinctively roll your hips. "Relax, princess," he purred, the nickname sending a fresh wave of heat through you. 

But as much as your body begged for more, a sudden urgency interrupted the moment. “I need to pee,” you said, almost breathlessly. You hated to stop him, but your body had its demands. 

Logan let out a playful growl of frustration, making you giggle as he rolled onto his back. “That was mean,” he grumbled. You leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose, unable to hide your smile. 

"I'll be quick. You go make coffee." 

His hand gave your ass a playful swat as you slipped out of bed, both of you laughing softly, the easy intimacy of the morning wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Even as you headed for the bathroom, you felt his eyes on you, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before his hands were back on your body.

***

And you were right. The coffee was nice, though Logan couldn’t help but tease, mentioning it would have tasted even better if you’d made it yourself. You smiled at his playful jab, both of you leaning into the easy conversation about the day ahead. You mentioned wanting to hit the pool on your day off, but Logan’s eyes narrowed playfully, letting you know he preferred the gym instead. You nearly made a joke about him being like a cat avoiding water, but you bit your tongue, enjoying the teasing exchange.

As you gathered the coffee mugs, the moment felt light and perfect. "What do you want for breakfast?" you asked over your shoulder. "I could make French toast if you'd—"

Before you could finish, you felt Logan’s strong hands slide onto your hips, pulling you gently back into him. His touch was warm, sending a shiver down your spine, and you gasped softly as his lips found your neck, trailing slow, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin. His breath was hot, and the deliberate, sensual way he kissed you had your pulse quickening in an instant.

“How about we take a shower first?” he suggested, his voice husky, each word laced with promise.

You smiled, leaning back into him, your body already reacting to his touch. "Somehow, I don’t think a shower is all you're thinking about, Logan," you teased, though your voice was softer now, betraying the way his closeness made your thoughts scatter.

He chuckled low, the sound rumbling through you as he turned you around to face him. His eyes were dark with desire, and before you could say another word, he kissed you, hard and full of need. His lips claimed yours in a way that made you melt against him, and as his tongue slipped into your mouth, teasing and tasting, a soft moan escaped you. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, pressing your body against his as the kiss deepened.

“We’ll shower…” he whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to press his lips to yours again, a series of quick, heated pecks that left you breathless. “Eventually.”

Before you could react, Logan’s arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor with ease and tossing you playfully over his shoulder. You squealed in surprise, laughing as he carried you effortlessly toward the bathroom.

“Logan!” you giggled, your voice a mix of surprise and excitement, heart racing as he walked with purpose.

“I’m going to take my time with you, princess,” he said, his voice low, teasing, and filled with all kinds of promises as he stepped into the bathroom. “I’ll wash every inch of you—thoroughly.”

The way he said it made heat bloom inside you, and as he set you down, you could feel his gaze trailing over your body, lingering with unspoken desire.

***

The steam in the bathroom thickened, swirling around you both as Logan's hands slid over your waist, guiding you gently back under the warm spray of the shower. Water cascaded down your skin, adding to the heat building between you, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your wet body. The room was filled with a mix of heat and the soft sounds of the water splashing, but it was his gaze that held you captive — intense, filled with hunger and something deeper that made your heart race.

His lips found yours again, softer this time, as though savoring the taste, but the kiss quickly deepened, his hands moving up to cup your face. Your body responded instinctively, leaning into him as the warmth from the water mingled with the growing heat between you. His hands were everywhere — sliding down your back, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together, the water making every touch more electric, more intimate.

The sensation of his skin against yours, the slick, wet heat between you, sent shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss intensified, becoming more urgent, more needy. Logan’s hands slipped lower, resting on your hips, and he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you gently against the cool tile of the shower wall. The contrast of the heat from his body and the coolness of the tiles behind you made you gasp softly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy as he gazed into your eyes. There was something raw in that look, an unspoken desire, as if he was making sure you were fully with him at that moment. You nodded slightly, your hands running through his damp hair, urging him on, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Logan’s lips trailed down your neck, hot and wet from the shower, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped as his mouth found your collarbone, biting gently before soothing the skin with soft kisses. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place, every touch deliberate, every kiss igniting a deeper sense of longing.

The rhythm between you was slow, teasing, as though he was taking his time exploring every inch of you, memorizing the way your body responded to him. The water poured over you both, heightening every sensation, and you could feel the tension building, the anticipation thick in the air.

“Logan…” you whispered, breathless, your voice barely above the sound of the shower. He responded with another deep kiss, his hands sliding down your back, holding you even closer, making it impossible to tell where his body ended and yours began. Each movement was fluid, natural, as if you were both made for this — for each other.

His lips returned to your neck, trailing fire down your skin, and the combination of the heat from the water and his touch had you lost in the moment. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered word between you was a promise, a building of tension that pulled you both deeper into the connection you shared.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath ragged. “I’ve wanted this for so long…” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You smiled softly, feeling the same way, your fingers brushing across his jawline as you leaned in for another kiss, softer this time, full of the unspoken feelings between you. The moment wasn’t just about the physical connection — it was something deeper, something that lingered in the way his touch made you feel cherished and wanted.

The shower continued to rain down around you, but in that moment, all you felt was him — the warmth of his body, the tenderness of his hands, and the growing intensity of your shared desire.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and thick with lust. His fingers trailed down your stomach, his touch teasing, deliberate, as he spread your legs with one of his own, positioning you just how he wanted. His rough hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding through your slick folds, and the instant he found your clit, your whole body jolted at the sharp, sudden pleasure.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Logan’s fingers started to work you, circling your clit with slow, firm strokes that had your hips rocking against his hand instinctively. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat radiating off his body, but it was nothing compared to the growing fire in your core as Logan’s touch sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as his fingers moved faster, pressing harder against your clit in a way that made your legs tremble. His lips were back at your neck, kissing you, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already so fucking wet for me,” Logan growled, his voice dark and filled with satisfaction as he teased you, his fingers slipping lower, finding your entrance and pushing inside you. His fingers curled deep, hitting that perfect spot that made your breath hitch, and your body tensed, the pressure inside you building rapidly.

“Logan…” you gasped, your hands bracing against the tile as you leaned into him, your hips grinding against his hand, desperate for more of the pleasure he was giving you. His touch was skilled, practiced, every movement pushing you closer to the edge, but he kept control, taking his time, making you feel every single stroke.

“You’re gonna come for me, baby,” he whispered, his voice hot against your ear, his fingers working faster now, his thumb brushing over your clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. “I want to feel you come all over my hand.”

Your breath came out in ragged pants, your body trembling as the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Logan’s fingers pressed harder, his pace relentless, and you could feel the orgasm building fast, the pleasure overwhelming as he drove you closer to the brink.

“Come for me,” Logan growled, his voice rough and commanding as his thumb circled your clit one last time, his fingers curling deep inside you. “Now.”

That was all it took. Your body tensed as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and intense, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as the pleasure exploded inside you. You cried out his name, your legs shaking as your body trembled under the force of your release, every wave crashing over you harder than the last.

Logan groaned low in his throat as he felt you come, his hand never stopping, his fingers stroking you through every last tremor of your orgasm. “Good girl,” he muttered, his voice thick with pride as he held you steady, his body pressed tight against yours. “That’s it, baby… just like that.”

When the last waves of your orgasm finally ebbed, you slumped back against him, breathless and trembling. But Logan wasn’t done with you yet. His lips brushed against your ear, sending another shiver through you as his fingers slipped from between your legs.

“Turn around,” he commanded softly, and you did, your legs still weak from your release, but your body aching for more of him.

Logan knelt in front of you, the water pouring over his broad, muscled shoulders as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes. “I want to taste you,” he growled, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread them apart. “And I’m going to make you come again.”

Your heart raced as he pressed his mouth against your already sensitive core, his tongue flicking over your clit with quick, teasing strokes that made you gasp and grab his shoulders for support. The pleasure hit you instantly, the aftershocks of your first orgasm still rippling through your body as Logan licked and sucked at your clit with a precision that left you trembling.

“Logan… oh my God…” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his wet hair as you rocked your hips against his mouth, already feeling the heat building inside you all over again. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue swirling around your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you with every movement.

He groaned against you, the vibration making your legs shake as he worked you over, his tongue relentless, his mouth hot and wet as the pleasure built faster this time, more intense. Your body was still buzzing from the first orgasm, your nerves already raw, and Logan seemed determined to push you even further.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasped against your core, his voice low and rough as he dove back in, his tongue flicking over your clit in a rhythm that had you gasping for breath, the edge of another orgasm already within reach. “I want you to come in my mouth, baby. I want to feel you fall apart again.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you could feel the tension coiling tight in your core, your body on the verge of breaking as Logan’s tongue worked you faster, harder. The pleasure was overwhelming, your hips bucking against his face as you chased the release that was already so close.

“Logan… please…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as the orgasm built inside you like a storm, the pressure too much, too intense. But Logan wasn’t letting up, his mouth relentless, his grip on your thighs bruising as he growled against your clit.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice dark and rough as his tongue flicked over your clit one last time, pushing you over the edge.

You shattered. The orgasm tore through you, harder than the first, your whole body trembling as the pleasure ripped you apart. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your legs shaking as you cried out his name, your pussy pulsing with every wave of your release.

Logan groaned into you, his mouth still moving, drawing out every last tremor of your orgasm until you were completely spent, your body weak and trembling from the intensity of it. When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with a satisfied grin.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he growled, standing up slowly, his hands sliding up your body as he pulled you against him.

You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your stomach, his cock thick and pulsing with need. But Logan wasn’t in a rush. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss, his hands roaming your body as the water poured over both of you.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough with desire. “But I’m not going to come until you do again. I want to feel you come around my cock.”

Your heart raced at his words, your body already aching for him, desperate for him to fill you. “Please, Logan,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as you rocked your hips against him. “I need you inside me.”

Logan groaned, lifting you effortlessly as he positioned himself at your entrance. The tip of his cock brushed against your slick folds, teasing you for a moment before he thrust inside, filling you completely with one slow, deliberate movement.

The sudden fullness made you gasp, your back arching against the tiles as Logan buried himself deep inside you, stretching you in a way that made your body tremble all over again. He didn’t move at first, just held you there, his forehead resting against yours as he groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck, you feel so tight,” he growled, his breath hot against your lips as he began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts that made you moan.

He set a slow, deliberate pace, each thrust deep and powerful, his cock dragging against your inner walls in a way that made you feel every inch of him. The pleasure built quickly, your body still sensitive from your previous orgasms, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge again as Logan’s thrusts grew harder, more desperate.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drove into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. “I’m not going to last much longer, baby… but I want you to come first. I need to feel you come around my cock before I fill you up.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your body responding instantly to the idea of him coming inside you, of him filling you completely. The tension inside you coiled tighter, the pressure building fast as Logan fucked you harder, his breath ragged as he chased his own release.

“Logan…” you gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders as the pleasure built inside you, your whole body trembling as the edge came rushing toward you. “I’m so close…”

"Come for me," Logan growled, his voice rough with need as his thrusts became more frantic, his cock driving into you harder and deeper with every stroke. "I want to feel you fall apart around me, baby. Then I’ll fill you up.”

His words sent you spiraling, the intensity of his movements pushing you closer to the edge with every thrust. The way he filled you so completely, the way his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, left you gasping for breath, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him.

“Logan… oh God, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as your body tensed, the orgasm building inside you like a tidal wave ready to break.

“That’s it,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as his pace quickened, his control slipping as he drove into you harder, faster. “Come for me, baby. I need to feel it.”

And then it hit you. The orgasm crashed through you like a storm, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure tore through you, your pussy clenching tight around his cock. Your head fell back against the tiles, a broken moan escaping your lips as you cried out his name, your whole body trembling violently with the force of your release.

Logan groaned deeply, his movements faltering for a moment as he felt you come around him, your pussy pulsing and squeezing his cock with every wave of your orgasm. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, his voice strained as he fought to hold on, his hips still thrusting into you, prolonging your pleasure.

He didn’t stop. Even as your body trembled with aftershocks, Logan kept going, his pace relentless as he chased his own release. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his forehead pressed against yours as he groaned, “I’m gonna come… I need to fill you up.”

His words, dark and laced with raw need, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. The thought of him coming inside you, of being filled completely, made your body pulse all over again, your hips instinctively bucking up against him.

“Please, Logan… I want it. I want you to come inside me,” you gasped, your voice thick with desire as you clung to him, your nails scraping down his back.

Logan groaned loudly, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate as he reached the edge. His grip on your hips tightened, his hands nearly bruising as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. With a low, guttural moan, he came hard, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled into you, filling you with his hot release.

“Fuck… Princess…” he groaned, his body trembling against yours as he rode out his orgasm, his hips twitching as he pumped every last drop into you.

You could feel the heat of him, thick and warm as it filled you completely, the sensation sending a final shiver of pleasure through your body. Logan’s breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours as the last waves of his release washed over him. For a moment, the world was silent, the only sound was the steady rush of water and your uneven breaths as you both held each other, trembling in the aftermath.

Logan kissed you softly, his lips brushing against yours as his hands moved to cradle your face. “You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with a deep satisfaction.

You smiled against his lips, your heart still racing as you whispered, “So are you, Logan.”

His cock softened inside you, but neither of you moved, the warmth of the water and the heat of the moment wrapping around you both like a cocoon. Logan held you close, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, “I’m never getting enough of you.”

The water continued to pour down over both of you, your bodies still intertwined, but now the intensity of the moment had softened into something warm and intimate. Logan held you close, his chest pressed against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with the steam swirling around you. He smiled down at you, the look in his eyes softened by the tenderness that followed the passion you had shared.

“I did promise to wash every inch of you, didn’t I?” he murmured, his voice low and playful, but there was a gentle sincerity beneath it. His hands glided down your sides, steadying you as he reached for the bar of soap resting on the shelf nearby.

You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his touch as his soapy hands returned to your body. “I thought you forgot about that,” you teased, but your voice was soft, content.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes dark but affectionate. “I never forget a promise,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours in a brief, tender kiss before he turned his attention to washing you, as he had promised.

With slow, deliberate movements, Logan’s hands traveled over your skin, spreading the lather of the soap along your shoulders, down your arms, and across your back. His touch was firm but soothing, almost reverent, as though he was savoring the simple act of caring for you. His fingers trailed down to your waist, his touch lingering as he washed your hips, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours with a gentle smile.

His hands continued lower, gliding over your thighs, every movement patient, unhurried. He made sure to wash every inch of you, taking his time as the soap mixed with the water, rinsing away the remnants of the passion you had shared. It wasn’t just about getting clean—it was a moment of connection, of closeness, that lingered between you both.

“You’re perfect,” Logan whispered, his eyes tracing the lines of your body as he knelt slightly to wash your legs. His voice was soft, almost like he was speaking to himself, but the words sent warmth blooming in your chest.

When he finished, he pulled you close again, his lips brushing your temple as the water poured over both of you. “Your turn,” he murmured, handing you the bar of soap.

With a smile, you took it, running the lather between your hands as you began to return the favor. You started at his broad shoulders, your hands gliding over his firm muscles as the soap spread across his skin. Logan let out a soft sigh of contentment, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, his body relaxing beneath your hands.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the scars that marked his skin, feeling the strength beneath your touch. Logan opened his eyes briefly, catching your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips as you moved your hands lower, over his abdomen, down his hips. You took your time, washing him just as thoroughly as he had done for you, the intimacy of the moment deepening as you cared for each other.

When you were done, Logan cupped your face in his hands, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice rough but full of affection.

You smiled against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back, the warmth of the water and the closeness of his body making you feel safe, cherished.

As the last of the soap washed away, Logan turned off the water, the sound of the shower replaced by the quiet hum of the world outside. He grabbed a towel and gently wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you close to him as he dried you off, his hands moving slowly, almost reverently.

Once you were dry, he toweled off himself quickly before pulling you into his arms again, his chest warm against your skin as he kissed the top of your head. “Let’s get out of here before we shrivel up,” he teased lightly, his voice still soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

With a smile, you let him lead you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, where the warmth and comfort of the soft sheets awaited you. Logan pulled you down onto the bed with him, his arms wrapping around you as he drew you close, holding you against his chest.

“You’re something else, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing your forehead as you snuggled into him, your body relaxing completely in his arms.

You smiled, feeling completely at peace as you whispered, “This was the best date I have ever been on, Logan.”

“Good,” he whispered back, his hand gently stroking your hair as you both settled into the quiet comfort of the moment. Wrapped in each other’s arms, the intensity of the night faded into a deep sense of contentment, leaving only the warmth of the connection you shared as you drifted off together, completely at ease in each other’s presence.

[arbitrarykiwi]

It's Just Business, Baby: Workplace Conflict 1/4

The Recruiter/The salesman x Recruiter!fem reader Smut series

Summary: he saw no reason why they would want to hire you. He did just fine at the job! The higher-ups were stupid for even bringing you onboard, you had to be a liability. You were a walking enigma, a witch! He hated every little thing you did. So when he tells himself he’s following you so he could always be a step ahead of you, he doesn’t understand why after each meeting he’s left wanting to see you more.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+), stalking, the recruiter’s a warning in himself, kidnapping (reader is insane and kidnaps some people for fun who did her wrong), blood mention, violence, slapping ((list will change based on chapter))

Other Chapters: Overtime 2/4 , After Hours 3/4 , Professional Provocation 4/4

(Additional chapters will be linked when they release)

He’d like to think of himself as a level headed guy (he’s not) who can take orders from his boss well and can adapt in the workplace without issue (he can’t).

But when the big guy in charge hired you to join him in this odd recruiting job- he fucking hated it. He hated you.

He was the only one recruiting those low lives into the games and he did a fantastic job, there’s never been an issue! So why did they have to hire you?! Surely you were a threat to the organization. You hardly looked like you could hurt a fly let alone do the things that the job requires.

You were much smaller than him, always wearing a suit similar to his- though he noticed pretty soon upon meeting you that your jacked you wore was much more cinched than his, accentuating your waist. And that made him dislike you even more- is that why they hired you? They figured sex appeal would bring more to the games?!

And then you always had this sick and twisted smile on your face. It’s sickly sweet, like you can tell the future and plan ahead knowing what he’d say before he said it. You were always one step ahead of him. The worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice, or if you did you didn’t care. You paid him little to no attention. Only speaking to him to belittle him or to say some snarky remark in response to him belittling you.

Your eyes always seemed to be narrowed, like you were trying to solve everyone like a puzzle that was presented to you. You seemed to be observant, more so than the average person. He’s tried multiple times to sneak up on you, to try and stalk you from the shadows- yet you always spot him. He’s convinced you’ve adapted some ability of echolocation or something, there was no way you should be able to notice him half the time you do.

You were too complex, too aware of your surroundings, too quick on your feet. He was in competition. And he did not like competition.

Although you knew he greatly disliked you, you really had no idea of this inner battle he had. You didn’t think you were in a race or a competition at all, it didn’t matter to you. What did matter to you were his reactions. That’s the whole reason you continued to mess with him.

The first year you worked with him and the people behind the annual games, you were a complete enigma. He literally couldn’t figure you out. He was good at tracking people and digging up information, but you? Nothing. He was sure you’d be dumb enough to let your name slip in passing or even get a glimpse into your personal life. But nothing.

He tried to follow you home once, sticking to the shadows and moving silently. He knew you didn’t see him, he was sure of it. He managed to follow you from behind for nearly 45 minutes. He figured that’s why you were able to be so secretive- you lived so far away from where you two were normally stationed.

But as you begin to make random twists and turns, he begins to feel like you’re playing him- but you can’t be, he’s sure you never saw him. But when you rounded a corner and head into an alley way, him following after you only a few feet behind, he rounds the corner- and you’re gone. It was then he gets it, you probably didn’t live anywhere near where he followed you out to, you were simply just trailing him along in a god awful game of cat and mouse.

He screams, he’s agitated. He throws his briefcase against the metal trash can, kicking the bags of trash erratically in the alley way. He’s so enraged he doesn’t even realize you’re peeking out of a window of the building you snuck into. Giggling silently to yourself as you watch him throw a temper tantrum.

The next two years you worked for the games- it was the same fucking thing. He knew nothing. The only extra bit of information he had as the years passed was that you were bringing in more recruits to the game than he was.

He never had to worry about a ‘quota’ or worry about how many people join the game because of him; because they all joined when he offered them the brown card and promised them a chance for more money. All 456 players were recruited by him.

Now? With you in the picture? He had to compete. He had to work harder- something he hated having to do- to make sure he got more people to call and secure their spots in the game than you did.

But somehow. Some-fucking-how in the three years you’ve worked for the games- you’ve gotten more people to call in.

The first year, he had 227 people enter and you had 229. He called it beginners luck, only two more people- nothing he wanted to bother himself over. He already had to put all his attention on hating you- he couldn’t focus on losing to you by such a small difference.

The second year? He had 205, you had 251. Yeah, he was getting pissed. There was no way you were better than him. Who would even trust a girl like you to offer them a chance of a life time? Maybe it was because they thought you were a hooker. It was a surprise they called the number and when a sex-hotline didn’t pick up they didn’t just hang the phone up.

You did not care about numbers- you never kept track. You only found out that a log is kept detailing which recruiter got how many players to join when he made a snide comment the past year about how you ‘somehow’ got more players to join the game than he did. Sure, you knew you were quick- working down the list of names given to you by the anonymous higher-ups in rapid succession, but that’s just how you worked.

When you found out about his little competition, the one he seemingly made up by himself, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. It was somewhat endearing to seem him so worked up over some internal issue he had with being second best. He would put more effort into his recruitments- working over time to try and get to more people than you.

So of course you do work a bit faster than normal for the next time you’re given a list of names of the people you two were to scout out.

The third year, he came to the full realization that he hated you completely. With his entire being he loathed you. Your effort to annoy him paid off, you had gotten a whopping 306 people to join. To say he was enraged was an understatement- he could swear he would kill you only…. if it wouldn’t put his job on the line.

And to top it all off, he sill knew nothing about you aside from the fact you irked him to his very core. He wanted to find your weakness, use them against you. As much as he tried to find one, to hunt you down when you left work in hopes of catching you doing something he could use against you.

But he didn’t, you were more closed off than he was. And he despised you for it. He was supposed to know everything. And now that the head people decided to add another recruiter, that he adamantly swore they didn’t even need, he knew significantly less than he wanted, no, needed to.

You were a walking enigma. You seemed to just vanish into thin air as soon as your shift is over, you didn’t look like you could hold your own but he figured you had to be able to if you were hired, and you always had that dumb fucking smirk on your face.

He remembered when the first time when he actually saw you working. He was carrying a bag full of bread, making his way to a little side quest he decided to give himself. He figured maybe the break from constantly working to have the one up on you, he’d do something he enjoyed doing. And if that just so happened to be offering bread or lottery tickets to homeless people in some crude choice game, then that’s what he’d do. Anything to get his mind off you.

But no, you just had to be a pesky little parasite and show up everywhere he went.

Admittedly, you didn’t know he’d be passing through the park you’d be in- you were directed to go here by your boss to begin the recruitment process so the park is where you dutifully found yourself. You genuinely didn’t try to run into him- hell you enjoy keeping far from him, you couldn’t stand his attitude.

But when he steps through the gates of the park, leisurely strolling excited to begin his daily itinerary, he hears someone gasp and begin to shout. That’s not the normal sounds you’d hear in this park, he thinks. He stops in his track tilting his head as he listens harder.

It’s a almost rhythmic beat of a few sounds, a couple ‘thwaps’- like something light and sturdy hitting the cobblestone trail of the park , then the same shouting as before, and finally a resounding ‘smack’, all before the rhythm repeats.

There’s no fucking way, he thinks. His normal seething anger that he’s had since you joined the job returning full throttle. He knew the sounds he was hearing could be none other than you playing ddakji with some down on their luck civilian. His head is whipping around the park. He needs to find you.

He tells himself that he needs to see you work so he knows you’re not making a fool out of the games and their integrity. He needs to know you’re actually doing what you’re supposed to be doing- you’re a new employee, of course he needs to shadow you and scrutinize every movement you make, it’s what a good senior employee would do.

He’s following the sounds with a fury, quickly coming upon you and the lowlife gambling with you down a hill at the edge of the park. He calmly walks behind a tree, shielding himself from view. His eyes are trained on you like a hawk about to kill its prey.

He wants to say you’re weak, that you’re an excuse of a recruiter but when he sees the civilian lose, failing to flip your paper square, you don’t hold back. The corner or your lip curls up ever so slightly, the movement unnoticeable to anyone else but him. It was simply because he was so observant to the world around him as a whole.

Not because he would spend every moment he got to stare at you, memorizing every feature of your face and how it naturally rests.

Then your arm winds back, your palm connecting in an open handed slap that echos throughout the part. It was hard enough to knock the baseball cap off of the poor mans head, his face forced sideways with the intensity of the slap.

And then you settle back into a resting position. Almost like you never slapped the man at all. You just stood there, the same grin on your face that he despises and nod towards the man. “Would you like to play again.” To be honest, this was the most he has heard you speak, the job didn’t require you two to interact much- in fact there was rules in place to make sure you and him didn’t get close.

He was strangely fascinated by your voice. It was light, had a specific cadence to particular syllables that made your voice a temptation in itself. No wonder the man you were playing with was quick to agree to go again- like the man was under some sort of trance. And that pissed him off more.

He watched on from behind the tree, eyes narrowing visualizing the idea of you struggling under his grasp, hands holding your throat. He quickly shook his head from the idea- finding that it made heat rush to his cock.

He turns quickly on his heels, not wanting to look at you further. He was mad that you made him feel this way. It made him hate you more. You were a twisted little witch who was casting spells to make his dick hard- at least that’s what he told himself.

He also remembers a time when you had gotten off a train at his stop, catching him right as he handed the signature brown paper card to another unsuspecting victim. You’re walking tall, your eyes rimmed by smokey eyeshadow, and when you notice him- your brow quirked up.

He keeps his composure, the same smile he always has when interacting with ‘clients’ on his face though you can see the corner of his lip twitching, like he’s fighting himself not to scowl.

You hold up one of your hands in a move of mock defense, “No need for theatrics, just passing by to go to my station.” You hum with a grin that makes him want to choke you. Again, it’s the most he’s heard out of you in three years. You and your witch tactics. And then suddenly, all he can think about is fucking you until the cocky lilt to your voice is replaced by broken sobs.

To suppress these thoughts, he just becomes enraged. You can see the way his eye twitches, the way his smile that’s always plastered on his face falters into a scowl. And before he can even speak, you’re walking past him and down the subway-practically disappearing into the crowd.

The whole interaction pisses him off more when he manages to get a hold of your work itinerary, finding that your station for that day was no where near the stop you got off at. In fact, it was on the total opposite side of town. You genuinely just wanted to piss him off.

And it was working.

Every day he woke up his thoughts were plauged by his hatred of you. The way you smiled, the way you’d tilt your head when someone would talk to you- he knew you only did it to make people think like you cared to listen to their troubles. He knew you didn’t, you didn’t care at all- you just wanted to slip that card into their hands and have them call. Securing you another point in the imaginary game he was playing against you.

What made it even worse- the job you both had didn’t ride on how many people you called in. The people above you two simply kept track to make sure you were doing a decent enough job to stay working for them, there was no prize for getting more people and there was no punishment.

Yet he felt like he was being punished. Every day he would have to pass by you somehow. It was like the higher ups wanted to fuck with him. He would see you walking through the park on your way to the next subway station, catching you just as you board a subway car, you pass by him even when he wasn’t working somehow.

One day when you were both at an abandoned warehouse waiting for the days orders, he figured he’d finally say something. “I find you annoying.” He’d grumble out, fingers tapping against the handle of his brief case. “I’m aware.” You responded, it was such a simple answer yet the corner of your lip curled up ever so slightly.

In a second he’s dropping his briefcase and lunging forward. His hand is on your neck, squeezing relentlessly as he shoves you back against the concrete wall. Your hands instinctively reach up to grasp at his wrist, he’s surprised that your grip hurts him. Maybe you weren’t as weak as he first thought.

He expects you to be scared, to be begging for your life-but you’re not. Despite your face begging to turn red and your lips beginning to turn a light hue of blue- you just look at him with that same shit-eating smirk you always wore. “I could kill you right fucking now.” He growls, shoving you harder into the wall for emphasis.

You laugh, the sound only fueling his anger, his fingers tightening. “You won’t.” You answer, your eyebrow raised mockingly, “You kill me. They kill you.” You choke out, your grin still wide as ever even as the breath is beginning to be squeezed out of you. “‘N you’re too much of a good lap dog to go against the wishes of your owner.”

You spit the words out with a weak and breathless laugh. He’s seething, his jaw clenching as he grinds his teeth. But you’re right- he kills you, he’s dead. One of the first things he was told when you were hired was under no circumstances was he to harm his co-worker, or as they labeled it ‘partner’.

However, he would rather shove the barrel of a gun into the back of his mouth before he referred to you as his partner. He is also a model employee so just when you think you’re about to pass out, he releases his grip from your throat.

You gasp for air a couple times before you settle again, simply looking back over to him with your normal wicked grin. Your neck is already beginning to turn red, and in places purple- the outline of his fingers now bruised into your skin.

He would never admit it but the image does things to him that he can’t describe. “A little over kill don’t you think?” You ask in a monotone voice. And the feeling is gone, you ruined it. That fucking smart mouth of yours.

“Far from it.” He growls out, leaning down to grab his briefcase from the dusty floor. And then both your watches are buzzing. You check them in an eerily similar manner, looking down to check the orders received at the exact same time.

And you’re both departing, going to the assigned location that was sent to you. Your steps echo on the gravel of the abandoned warehouse his eyes twitching as he can tell your skipping. You never cease to add to his deep loathing of you.

Yet he can’t stop trying to investigate you. Somehow he managed to intercept your itinerary. It was a tedious task that he’s sure he could never do again unless he wanted to risk getting fired (executed). One of the big rules that was put in place when you were hired was the two of you were to never share schedules or orders you were given.

But he managed to snatch a paper that looked to be your schedule for the day. He kept it tucked into his suit pocket until he was finished with business for the day. His eyes dart to the time block of the time it was. Between the normal locations for recruiting, you had a large ‘meeting’ blocked out.

He quirks his eyebrow up, this wasn’t normal. He looks closer at the paper and scoffs, you must be getting sloppy. You’re not hiding from his as well. He can make out the indentations of writing that was on written on a piece of paper that previously laid atop the paper he stole.

In the shadow of your handwriting- even your handwriting was perfect, fuck he hated you- was a the time it was now and an address. He knew the place, an apartment building that was currently being constructed.

He’s making his way down there quickly, hoping he would be able to catch you doing whatever you were doing. And when he makes it to the address and begins to hear humming he’s ducking into the construction site, beginning to weave between concrete following the sound.

He comes to a large opening, it’s lit by candles and lanterns, there’s a round table with three chairs set up. In one chair was you, the other two were occupied by two men, tied up and gagged. You’re giggling to yourself, waving a revolver around as you speak.

“You two really are something, cryin’ and acting all scared.” You hiss, leaning over the table and pressing the gun to one of the males head, only laughing louder when the male flinches and cries harder. “I haven’t even done anything to you two! If anything I should be the one crying!” You say pointing to yourself with the gun. “You two were the ones who spiked my drink the other week. You guys were much more fun then- talked back more, acted all big and bad, made me think I might have a challenge.” You pout, quickly sitting up from the chair and beginning to circle the table.

Now your black haired co-worker that hates you but can’t stay away from you is watching on from the shadows. He’s captivated by what he sees, you were fucking insane it seemed- much like him. You had a crazed look in your eyes, a drastic difference from the usual stoic smirk you wore.

“You guys ever play Russian roulette?” You chirp out, circling the table and dragging the end of the revolver on the wood. He watches from behind a pillar as you load a bullet into the chamber.

He tells himself he has to leave, not because he can’t watch- no he wants nothing more than to watch, but all he can think about is how delicious you looked in your crazed murderous frenzy. The twisted smile, the oddly innocent voice despite having two grown men bound and gagged, the evil game he could hear going on in the room- it all made him want you.

And he can’t have that. He’s supposed to hate you. He closes his eyes and runs both his hands through his hair, trying to collect himself. He guesses he spaced out because two loud gun shots sound off. His eyes are snapping open. He’s moving to turn around but he’s caught off guard by you walking past him.

“You missed the best part.” You hum out as you continue to walk, briefcase in one hand and the other straightening out your blazer. “Thought you may have joined, what a shame.” You say, turning around and looking at him over your shoulder.

His eyes widen ever so slightly as you turn and begin to walk off- you knew he would follow you, you knew he’d find the indentations of your writing and you allowed him to get a hold of your schedule.

You were always one step ahead of you and he needed to change that. He needed to be the one in charge. Not you.

Heyyyy pookies !! Ty for reading 🫶 I took a break from requests to finish this up because I’m literally vibrating thinking about this man. This is going to be a 4 part series that will eventually have full length smut at the last chapter.

These chapters will come slowly between requests. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you’d want to be added to the tag list for future parts of the fic- all love <3 kiwi

[reidrum]

let it once be me | the prophecy part 3

note: hey ,,, remember her ,,,,,,,,, ! feeling hashtag nervous to post this but pls tell me ur thoughts this went through !!! so many drafts !!! almost lost my mind like thirty times lol but thank u for reading <3 (reading prior parts may be helpful in having context for this part but im not really sure it's necessary, they're way shorter than this part either way)

summary: you and spencer are faced with yet another wedge in your relationship, and you're not sure if it'll survive this time

cw: heavy spoilers for everett lynch arc (15.10), we're ignoring the cm tl and time doesn't exist, maeve flashback, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending !

wc: 8k (wtf)

part 1 part 2 part 3

Spencer feels he’s lived many lives, and that his lived experiences have thoroughly prepared him to navigate novel situations with a small familiarity. A cushion really, to allow him the comfort of seeing the path before he has to walk it blind. It almost acts as a sense of pride for him, a testament to what he’s overcome and capable of facing.

There’s nothing prideful about how awful things have been going with you.

It’s been weeks since your talk with him. Weeks since he vowed to prove to you that you were it for him, and he’s made so little progress he finds it embarrassing for someone with his caliber of intellect.

He’s toeing a fine line between being in your presence enough for you to see that he’s trying, and giving you  space so that you don’t feel smothered. It was harder in the immediate days after your talk, when you couldn’t even stand to stay in the same room as him for more than five minutes. You had come home to his apartment the day after having decided Penelope had enough of your moping. Once you got in you immediately went to settle into the guest room.

It was near radio silent between you both those first few days. He didn’t want to force you, but it didn’t feel great when you would leave a room as soon as he’d enter. As the days went on, Spencer started getting resourceful. He’d make you breakfast in the morning and leave it on the table for you, your coffee next to it made exactly how you take it. Then it was little notes left in the most random places, all written with different things he loved about you. He never saw your reaction when you read them, but they’d always disappear from its spot the next day. Little things to remind you he’s there for you.

More days passed and it finally felt like the ice was starting to melt away. You’d started lingering longer in the living room if he was sat at the table still. One time you even made breakfast for the both of you, and although you weren’t there to eat it with him Spencer had never felt more hopeful.

In the field your dynamics changed even more. Normally, he would make sure to be paired up with you in the field to personally ensure that you were being safe. Since the fallout however, he didn’t want to be an unwelcome presence that only left you more tense in high stake situations. So he’d do things like privately tell Emily to double check your bulletproof vest, or make sure Luke was at your 6 if he couldn’t do it himself.

The last thing he wanted was for your current circumstance with each other, one that he knows he created, to distract you in the field and god forbid cause something to happen to you. He would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him, but Spencer remembers he’s already done the worst hurt he can fathom to you, and what he really means is that he can’t afford to hurt you any further. As much as it worried him to do so, he had reluctantly learned to place some trust in his teammates to keep you safe. It was a balance he’d learned to adapt to.

It worked fine until it didn’t.

The silent car ride from the jet back to your apartment was so thick with tension, but not the one you’ve both become accustomed to over the weeks. No this was a different strain of anger, one that descended down to the primal nature of your relationship—you endangering yourself.

Spencer opens the door, barely waiting for you to enter behind him before slamming it shut. “That, what you did today, was fucking reckless.”

The anger flares through your widened eyes, “Reckless? I saved the hostages, Spencer. He would have killed them!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me, I had it handled.” you huff.

He raises his hands in exasperation, “He had a gun to your head!” he yells, “You have no idea what it’s like to see that.”

“This isn’t the first time someone drew a weapon on me, and there’s definitely more times than I can count when they’ve drawn one on you,” you pause, “Or is it different right now because you got deja vu?”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Spencer’s face pales in recognition, “That’s not fair.”

“The hell do you mean it’s not fair? You expect me to believe otherwise?”

“He was going to shoot you!” he loudly repeats, “You don’t think I care about your safety?”

“I think you only give a shit right now because you thought another girl you loved was about to get her brains blown out in front of you. Again.”

He’s stunned into silence. Your words feel like a paralytic to Spencer. Like venom slowly traveling down his veins seizing any chance for his body to save himself. All the progress he thinks you both have made just unraveled itself into nothing. It’s paradoxical that his mind is quiet. You’re usually the reason his mind can relax, but somehow you’ve achieved the same outcome by metaphorically stabbing him square in the face.

He can’t understand when you developed the idea that he could care less about you. He can’t understand how you can even think he would be capable of 

of not being with you entirely. He can’t understand where along the line you started believing that he stopped loving you.

It may not be a sentiment you actually hold, but he prides himself on being a good profiler, and more so knowing you better than himself. He knows that’s what you’re thinking, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

He speaks under his breath after a couple of minutes,  “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Doing what—“

“This!” He gestures wildly with his hands. “This back and forth where you’ve convinced yourself you’re able to move past this but clearly can’t!”

You stare at him, “Look, I’m trying.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

The familiar sting burns the backs of your eyes, the first sign of your resolve crumbling. “That’s not fair.”

He sighs and moves closer, your head hanging low and finding the wooden floor patterns deeply interesting. “You won’t even look at me.” he whispers, “Do you still love me?”

You look up at him stunned, “Spencer…I—I do…It’s just…”

He feels his heart breaking in a new way, “That’s not convincing.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I guess I can't,” he shakes his head defeatedly. “I don’t know what else I can do, baby.”

“…I want to forgive you.”

Spencer’s eyes blur from tears, “But you can’t.”

“I don’t know how,” you whisper before a sardonic chuckle leaves you, “You know me, memory like an elephant.”

Spencer refrains from telling you that dolphins are actually the species with the longest memory capacity, and that the reason for possessing such a feature is to maintain the social dynamics and relationships that come with survival in the ocean. A dolphin’s memory is what keeps them rooted back to where they belong, being able to remember individuals and behaviors even after being apart for so long. That no matter how far they stray, they’ll always come home. 

He settles for a soft agreement, “Yeah, I do know you.”

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, equally and tragically as broken as yours, puffy and red rimmed.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whisper brokenly.

“I don’t either.”

The silence weighs heavy in the living room. The metronomic tick of the clock becomes louder, the birds and the wind outside whistle louder. You’re cornered, forced to come to face the results. And like a prey backed into the corner you do what the prey do best—You run.

“I have to go.” you grab the keys and put your shoes on.

“What?” he steps closer, “You can’t just leave, we just got home.”

“I can’t be here right now,” your voice cracks, “I just…need some time to think.”l

Spencer’s heart falls straight through the floor. Time to think about what? Is this when the foundation beneath you both finally buckles under the immense pressure it’s been on for weeks, and you’re left to scavenge the ruins?

As much as it pains him to let you walk out the door, he knows that nothing would be accomplished at home and it would only hurt you more to stay.

“Okay.” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“Be safe.” I love you.

You look back, “I will. You too.” I love you too.

The door shuts gentler this time, as if careful not to disturb the few pieces of Spencer still left standing behind the door. It doesn’t matter, they’ve already fallen over. Any resolve he had left is slipping away with every step you take further away, never feeling more defeated in his life than this moment.

He trudges over to the study, hoping he can at least bury himself in work to distract himself from the turmoil of his reality. The desk is strewn across with files and papers, mentally making a list of the tasks he has to do. At the top of his to-do list is the Everett Lynch case, having just closed the case a few days back meaning the paperwork would be due to the brass soon.

Spencer glances over the open file and reviews the details of the final moments of the case, recalling the stark change in Lynch’s MO that still left him puzzled. The victimology and the profile just didn’t add up to what actually happened, why he ended up dying with his mother in the house. That wasn’t supposed to happen, Spencer wasn’t supposed to send five SWAT agent in not knowing their fate only seconds later. How the case simply ended anticlimactically after nearly a year long chase. A dull ache begins to form in his head as he thinks, the bureau is going to have a field day processing this case.

He rubs his forehead with his hand to soothe the pain building up, making a note to get painkillers after he finishes. As he continues to read the file he starts to see his confusion take a basis as the initial profile doesn’t add up at all to what actually happened, in fact for as long as he evaded the FBI he really shouldn’t have just, died.

Spencer freezes. Did he die?

Lynch wouldn’t just commit suicide, that was too easy. He watched the house blow up with him and his mother inside, not even including the agents the explosion took out with it. The pain in his head is too much to bear at this point and he decides that getting Advil can’t wait until he’s done. He stands up and immediately wobbles as he grips the desk for support. Through the blurred vision and spinning room Spencer tries to makes sense of Lynch’s discrepancy. 

Everett Lynch wouldn’t commit suicide, because he didn’t. 

“He’s still alive.” he realizes gravely. Then it all goes black.

———

You get in your car and drive off to god knows where, just not there. It’s sheer autopilot driving you to the other side of town, which is more than welcomed as the tears threaten to blur your vision coming down in hot trails. You end up pulling into the parking lot of your favorite donut shop, one that you discovered with Spencer a little before you started dating. There was time to kill after being paired up to visit the unsub’s  dump site and you were so insistent about needing a sweet treat, Spencer thought it was clinical.

“You’re acting like you’ll die if we don’t stop for a, what did you call it? A sweet treat?”

“I will!” you whine, “Don’t you know that girls, specifically me, are mandated to have at least one sweet treat per day?”

He pulls into the parking lot of the donut shop he’d spotted on the way there. “Oh yeah? What happens if you don’t?” he teases.

“You’ll see me as the unsub in the next case.”

Spencer can’t help the laugh that leaves him, loud and earnest. “Alright, c’mon. We already have enough criminals to last us till retirement.”

You and Spencer are definitely not together at this moment in time, but the little old lady owner of the shop really can’t believe otherwise as she watches you both bicker about which flavors you’re getting for the half dozen box. She’s almost certain you’re together as she watches Spencer end up getting all the flavors you wanted despite putting up a fight for others. And she’s fully convinced, with no room for sway, that you are together as Spencer pulls his card out before you can even protest and watches as you miss the look he gives you as you dramatically sigh in content after the first bite.

Spencer would later tell you after a few months together, that the donut shop was the first time he realized he was in love with you. You recall how the same half dozen would appear on your desk every Friday since that first visit, with one chocolate sprinkled donut missing but placed on a napkin on Spencer’s desk. You would joke that he pavloved his way into your heart with donuts, but wouldn’t reveal your true cards that you fell in love with Spencer after a month on the job. The donut shop happened the week after.

“You alright, hon?” the little old lady owner breaks your thoughts.

You look around and realize you’ve walked yourself into the shop. You wipe at your eyes quickly, “I’m okay, Dolores. Can I just get the usual half dozen please?”

She’s not convinced but it seems she knows better than to ask and pry. She gathers the usual six donuts for the box, slipping in an extra one just for good measure, and rings you up at the register.

“Seven right?” you mumble as you file through your bag for the loose ten.

Dolores smiles, “It’s on the house today, hon. Don’t worry.”

You look up at her, knowing she’s only doing that because you showed up with tear streaks on your face, “Oh, no it’s okay you don’t have to do that let me just—“

She pushes the box towards you, “You both tip enough to cover the box anyway, please just take it. Hope you feel better soon, hon.”

Her kind gesture thaws your heart out a little and you give her a small smile. “Thanks, Dolores.”

You walk back to your car, locking the doors once you get in. You don’t move to turn the car on, opting to allow your emotions to overflow again in solitude with the comfort of a bavarian kreme donut. The tears prick your eyes on instinct thinking of the current state of your life, of your relationship.

Spencer was right, have you convinced yourself you’re capable of moving past this? You do still love Spencer, you knew that much. But you are hurt, you are tired, and you just want to stop feeling like you’ll always come in second place even when there’s no one to occupy first place. You’ve waited so long to feel chosen, like someone has waited all their life for someone like you to come around. Meeting Spencer felt like finding the little daisies that grew in between the cracks of concrete, proof that despite your stone hard exterior you were still worthy of being loved.

The sound of your phone ringing jolts you up, almost dropping your donut. With your free hand you look at the caller and press accept.

“Hi, Emily.” you try to make your voice sound even.

“Hey we’ve got a—wait are you okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, totally fine don’t worry. What’s up?”

It’s clear she doesn’t believe you but Emily really doesn’t have time right now, “Listen, Lynch is still alive.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“The casualty report doesn’t include Lynch and they couldn’t find his body anywhere. While they were searching the house they found tunnels. He escaped.”

“Fuck, okay what do you need me to do?”

“There’s a gas station clerk who thinks he saw him and his car, I need you and Matt to go check it out and see what he knows.”

You scramble to put your donut down and wipe your hands on the napkin, “Yeah, of course I’m on my way.”

“Okay, Matt will meet you there,” she pauses, “I…Is Spencer with you?”

Your heart clenched again, “No, he’s not. He’s at the apartment.”

Emily hums, “He didn’t pick up when I called, it’s okay I’ll send JJ and Penelope to go get him. Reconvene at the bureau in a couple hours?”

“Sounds good.” you hang up and immediately start driving over to the gas station. Something doesn’t feel right, you can feel it in your gut. You quickly check Spencer’s location just to be safe, and relax when you see he’s still at home. He’s probably just taking a nap.

What Emily decides you can’t ever know about is the call she gets twenty minutes later from a hysterically crying Penelope, who in between sobs tells her that they’re on the way to George Washington Hospital. That when JJ and Penelope opened the door to Spencer’s apartment he was passed out on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. How when JJ went to start CPR he entered a seizure and coded in the ambulance.

No, you can’t know this, because Emily knows that the call alone that she has to give you is going to shatter your broken pieces even further.

—

You pull out your phone to call Emily and see an incoming call from her, “Hey, I was just about to call you. The guy said he drove a red ford pickup, we were able to get the license plate from the security cameras but it came up as a stolen plate—“ 

Emily says your name in a tone you’ve never heard her use. It makes you stop in your tracks, an icy chill shooting down your spine, “What?”

“Something’s happened.”

You step outside of the gas station shop holding your breath, “What do you mean?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, “It’s about Spencer, he’s…”

She pauses for too long. The panic rises fast. “Emily.”

“They found him passed out on the floor of his apartment. Penelope called 911 and they’re on the way to the hospital right now.”

No. 

No, no, no.

The color drains from your face as fast as your heart plunges to the ground. “Wh—what?”

She’s lying, she has to be right? You just saw Spencer literally a few hours ago and he was fine. No signs of distress or anything, she has to be lying. She has to be lying.

“The EMT thinks he has a brain bleed, it um…caused him to have a seizure when JJ and Penelope found him.”

The nausea rises before you can anticipate it, scanning your surroundings for a trash can and immediately hurling up the contents of your stomach. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve you put the phone back to your ear, “Which hospital?”

“George Washington Memorial, they should already be there by now.”

“Okay, I’m on the way.” you sniffle.

Emily doesn’t know what other encouraging words she can provide you, she doesn’t think any words exist to comfort herself even let alone you. “Keep me updated please.”

The call ends and you have to steady yourself on the nearby wall, head reeling with mountainous emotions and unable to make sense of any of them. 

You look around through blurred eyes for Matt calling out to him, “Matt, Matt give me the keys I need to go to the hospital.” you hold a shaky hand out.

He looks at you confused and concerned, “What? Are you okay, why do you need to go—“

“Sp—“ you stutter, unable to even speak the words into existence, “Spencer’s in the hospital.”

Matt’s face pales, “I’ll drive you, come on.”

—

“They said it’s a brain bleed.” you mumble after a few minutes of silence in the car.

“A brain bleed? How could that have…” he trails off in realization.

“What?” you ask nervously.

He grips the steering wheel harder, “The bomb, at the Lynch house.”

Fuck. The EMTs who checked him out that day said he only had a mild concussion, nothing else to be concerned about. A few cuts and scratches but nothing that wouldn’t heal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

You sniffle and hastily wipe at your face again, your skin growing red with irritation with every contact.

Matt looks at you with a look he wouldn’t call pity, but certainly close, “It’s going to be okay, he’ll pull through. He always does.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as if it could prevent the fresh wave of tears from falling, “You don’t know that.”

He sighs deeply and turns into the hospital parking lot, stopping in front of the entrance, “Go in, I’ll park the car.”

You open the car door and rush inside the lobby, finding the receptionist immediately. She looks up at you and her face softens in empathy, “Who are you here for?”

“Um, Spencer Reid. He should have just gotten in.” you strain.

The receptionist clacks a few buttons on her keyboard before speaking again, “It looks like he’s in the ICU, are you blood related?”

“Are we…what?” you ask confused.

“Well honey, because he’s in the ICU we can only let in blood related family or spouses to stay with them.”

You outwardly deflate, “Oh…I—“

“She’s his fiancée!”

You look to the source of the new voice and are met with Penelope, donning matching red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. Her eyes look at you in silent communication and you turn back to the desk, “Y—Yeah, I’m his fiancée.”

If the receptionist isn’t convinced she doesn’t show it, willing to turn a blind eye in pure understanding of the situation. “Room 204.”

“Thank you.” You duck down the hall scanning the numbers before coming up on 204, the door cracked open slightly. Your hand hovers over the handle in hesitation, scared of what you’ll find on the other side. Penelope comes up behind you and rests her hand on yours and helps you open the door.

The sight hits you like a truck. All the wires hooked up to his limbs pumping IV fluids and the heart monitor beeping steadily. He’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. His skin is clammy, the hair sticking to his forehead. You can see that from across the room and all you can think about is how uncomfortable he must feel from the sweat coating him. You used to tease him once upon a time when he’d sometimes take multiple showers a day because of how much it bothered him.

“Another shower? Spence, our water bill is about to be crazy.”

He laughs and waves you off, “Don’t worry about that, I can charge the water bill as bureau compensation.”

“Okay, one that sounds illegal. Two, the more time you spend in the shower, the less time you spend with me.” you moan with fake petulance.

You yelp as he suddenly sneaks up behind you, caging you to his chest with his arms, “So join me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of getting clean?” you giggle, leaning your head back into the crevice of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “You do know what showers are for, right?”

You nod, “To get clean! It would get even dirtier before it got cleaner.”

“I think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

The smile on your face grows the widest it can before you break off into a sprint down the hallway towards the bathroom, Spencer trailing behind with your laughs mixing in the light air.

You don’t know why you’re thinking so deeply about the state of his perspiration, maybe a convoluted defense mechanism your brain conjured up so you don’t have to come to terms with Spencer lying near comatose a few feet away.

Your feet hesitantly carry you closer to the bed, feeling somewhat calmed by the slow rise and fall of his chest. You lean down and look him over, as if you could see the damaged inflicted on him even though it’s nestled deep in his brain. Spencer always said his brain would lead to his demise, and you hope all those times you played it off as a joke that it cemented itself as one, a joke. That you would be able to see his hazel eyes open again and they’d fill you with reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, that all he needed in this world was you, and that he loved you.

You will and wish and hope to have his eyes open. You try not to think about if you’ll ever get to see them again.

A choked sob escapes your throat before you can help it, your hand coming over your mouth to muffle the impact. Spencer is hurt. Spencer is fighting for his life, and you were fighting him not even a few hours ago.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope reaches for your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, “He’s gonna be okay, the doctors said the surgery went well. Just waiting for him to wake up now.”

You cry even harder and Penelope tightens her grip on you, determined to not let you fall further down the slope.

“W—We got into a fight,” you sniffle, “before I left. It was bad, Penny. He was so mad, and then I was so mad. And then I just left.”

“You didn’t know this would happen, honey. None of us did.”

“I didn’t even say I love you. Th—The last conversation we had was a fucking fight a—and now…” you cry, “He can’t die, Pen. He can’t die I didn’t even get to tell him—“

Penelope grabs your face with both of her hands, “Hey. No, we’re not doing that. We are not spiraling, not when there’s no reason to. Okay?”

Whatever response you had falls dead on your lips when you take another look at Spencer’s motionless body on the bed. The calmness on his face is a stark difference from the Spencer you saw only a few hours ago.

She was right, there’s nothing you can do right now but wait. You’d just have to trust that Spencer would pull through.

You almost chuckle dryly through the tears. Trust and Spencer? The irony of it all laughs in your face.

—

Spencer’s eyes blink open and adjust to the bright light blinding him. He takes in his surroundings and realizes he’s standing in the middle of the bullpen. That’s weird, he thinks, I thought I was in the study.

“Reid, you sure you don’t want to join me and Elle in Jamaica?” Derek sings, “My guy can swing you a great deal.”

Derek? Elle?

He snaps his head in the direction of the voice, seeing Derek not even looking in his direction but still looking towards Spencer. Just, a different and much younger Spencer.

“Have a great two weeks off everyone, you all deserve it. Don’t call me at my cabin.” Gideon rushes out as he beelines to the door right past Spencer. “Seriously, don’t call me.”

Gideon? But Gideon…died. Where is he?

The scene changes with a snap and suddenly he’s back in his apartment, his old apartment. The one he lived in before he moved in with you. He is definitely in a dream, though with the vividity and theme of important people in his past he’s not entirely sure he’s only sleeping. A head of blonde hair on his couch catches his eye. He slowly walks around and his breath hitches at who he sees.

“Maeve?”

She smiles softly, “Hi Spencer.”

He slowly walks around the couch and kneels in front of her. The tears prick his eyes before he can help it, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. I—I’m so sorry for—“

Maeve holds a hand up, “What happened to me wasn’t your fault, I promise. You did what you could. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

She shakes her head. “You’re dying, Spence.”

His face falls, “I am?”

“Collateral from the explosion, you have a brain bleed.”

It takes a few minutes for him to comprehend what she said, and he can feel his head spinning fast in his head. He can’t actually be dying right? The explosion happened days ago and yet now is when his brain decides to tap out, that can’t be right.

It simply cannot be right because that’s when he remembers you and the last conversation he had with you, and he has to clutch his heart at the prospect of his fate.

He won’t know if you’ll ever forgive him, if you’ll ever learn to trust him again, if you even still love him. He won’t know anything if he dies. He cannot die.

“M—Maeve, I can’t be here I—“

She places her hand atop of his own and he feels her. He can feel her hand on his, like she’s real and here.  It’s alarming, and warm. “I know, it’s okay. C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

Maeve gestures for him to follow her and before his eyes the scene changes again to a nearby park, one that looks a little too familiar to him.

She starts walking through the park, “We’re all okay up here you know? I get to read a lot more now, there’s so much time to read and postulate. Sometimes I get lucky and I can meet the authors. I got to meet Kant and Dostoevsky a while ago, very interesting people. Gideon plays with this nice little octopus friend. I know he’s having the best time.” she laughs, “But you, Spencer Reid, are not okay down there.”

He looks up at her and swallows, “I know.”

She turns onto the fork in the trail, “What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I think you do know.”

A few silent minutes pass. “I…I’m scared to let myself be happy again,” he admits.

Maeve looks at him with a saddened smile, “And why’s that?”

Because everything he loves leaves him. Because when he laughs just a little too hard, he’s already scanning the surroundings waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because when Spencer feels he’s trekked up the mountain with long and winding breaths, something always seems to be waiting at the top ready to knock him down.

“Don’t think I deserve it, to be honest.” he admits, “I keep…messing up everytime.”

Maeve stops walking, “You love so deeply, Spencer. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Emphasis on the curse.” he deprecates.

“It’s only a curse because you don’t let yourself feel wholly. I know given everything that’s happened it’s hard but,” she pauses, “You’re not a clipped bird, Spence. You just…lost a few feathers. Nothing you can’t get back.”

It’s easier said than done when it feels like his mere existence causes you pain as of late.

“I feel like I have to hold parts of me back so I can protect her…from myself.”

Maeve turns to him, “She deserves all of you, Spence. It is a privilege to be loved by you, but it’s a greater privilege to be loved. And you deserve to feel loved.”

“What if I ruin it?” More accurately, what if he’s already ruined it, is what he means.

“You are not destined for sorrow and misery, despite what your life has made you think. She loves you. She would not have stayed this long if she didn’t. But there is one thing I think she could use from you.”

Spencer looks at her expectantly waiting for her to continue.

“She wants to feel chosen, Spencer. And I know you think you choose her everyday just by loving her. But the reality is, you can’t fully choose her without choosing yourself first. That means allowing yourself to be happy.”

A few stray tears streak down his face and he haphazardly wipes them away. For the entirety of Spencer’s life his purpose was to be of service to others. With his intelligence, his kindness, his courage. His needs always came second because the few times he thought to put himself first, disaster struck. 

When he met you this notion only reinforced itself, wanting to ensure he could make you as happy as he could. You became his priority and he didn’t mind that at all. It was easy being with you, you made life feel easy. So when Spencer started to let his guard down piece by piece, allowing himself the little bits of your happiness to seep into his being, he wasn’t thinking about the abyss that had always loomed over him his whole life.

He couldn’t, not when you managed to infiltrate his entire existence by wrapping and tethering yourself to him with strings of gold. How could he? You made things so easy.

But then prison happened. Then Cat, again. Then Maeve, again. Three strikes. It should have been game over by now. He broke your trust, betrayed your love and he wasn’t sure if you would even stay long enough to see the damage unfold. But you did, and he still can’t really figure out why.

So here he is in limbo? Purgatory? Some figment of his mind in the wake of near death that is giving him the opportunity to make amends. Not with Maeve or Gideon or you or any other grudge he has yet to settle in his life. No, he has the chance to make amends with himself and forgive himself for standing in the way of what he really deserves.

A faint beeping in the distance reels him back to the present moment, Maeve’s face coming into focus again. The dull ache in his eyes coming forward again with how many tears are falling.

“Love is our true destiny, we do not find the meaning of it alone, we find it with another.”

He smiles with a watery chuckle, “Thomas Merton.”

“Spencer, I promise you, you will be happy again. And forever. Just keep the door open when it comes knocking.”

The beeping starts to get louder, like it’s approaching him fast. A warm glow begins to build around him, then light. He looks around the park again and sees the trees and benches begin to blur. He looks at Maeve as she stands with a fond smile, her figure slowly fading as well.

“Take care, Spencer.” and with a blink Maeve is gone.

In the silence he is left in, he looks to the epitaph of Jason Gideon in front of him and back to the spot where Maeve was standing, whispering a soft, “You too.” before closing his eyes and succumbing to the beeping.

—

It’s been 4 hours since you’ve been sat next to his bed. You’d be a lot more concerned than you were, which is already a lot, if it wasn’t for his heartbeat monitor beeping steadily throughout the hours. A sign of life, as morbid as it sounds, but it’s hard to be rational given the circumstances.

It had taken all of 3.5 hours for you to braven up and hold his hand in comfort. Hour one you simply stared at his hand, as if it would regain mobility and reach out for you. Hour two you were able to place your hand on the bed, not anywhere near his obviously. But enough to feel close, satiated. By hour three you had your fingers mere millimeters from his own, feeling like a magnetic force of the same poles was repelling you.

The 3.5 hour mark is when the exhaustion of the day caught up to you, and finally allowed yourself to relax in his hand.

At hour 4.5 is when you felt the twitch.

You look up and whisper, “Spencer?”

He slowly opens his eyes, revealing his hazel brown irises with gold flecks on the insides that meet yours sitting right beside him. You can see the recognition begin to flood his face, but is stopped momentarily when he starts to panic realizing the breathing tube is still in his throat. You hit the call button besides his bed and watch the doctors rush in to help stabilize him back down.

It’s another two hours of testing and scans before the three of you are left alone again, with the nurse promising to check on him in a few hours.

You’re stiff next to him, unsure what to do now that he’s awake and perceiving you again. With a small voice you speak, “They said they found you in the study.”

Spencer racks his brain for memories of before his fall, only able to remember bits and pieces. He remembers fighting with you and when you left. He remembers walking to the study. And he remembers reading…”Lynch! Did you get him? He’s still alive, you have to call Emily—“

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you shush. “We know he’s still alive, they’ve almost got him right now. It’s okay.”

That seems to make him visibly relax knowing the immediate stressor was almost resolved. Now there’s just the matter of the other elephant in the room.

“You’re here.”

Your eyes soften as your brows raise in shock, “Of course I’m here, Spence.”

He stares at you and takes in your features—your puffy cheeks and red eyes, the skin around your nails picked to death, your lip nearly split in half from the bites and bleeding. He needs to apologize again, he knows that. But the second he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“Penny, can you give us a minute please?”

She smiles and stands, “Sure hon, I’ll be right outside.”

Once she leaves you turn back to Spencer, “We don’t have to talk about all of that anymore, it’s okay. You’re hurt and that’s more important right now.”

He should have expected that you would do this, selflessly push your discomfort and feelings down because someone you cared about was hurting. It was one of the few things he didn’t like that you did, and he’s not going to let it go again.

“Angel, you can’t forgive me just because you thought I was going to die.” he says sadly.

You’re taken aback. “I—I know.”

He swallows, “I really want you to.”

Your eyes blur again, “I know.” Another pause. “I’m trying really hard.”

A gentle squeeze, “I know.”

“I…I still love you, Spence. I don’t think that will ever change, but I’m nervous if one day it won’t be enough…that I won’t be enough.” you trail off.

Again, he shouldn’t be surprised that’s what you’re thinking. He hasn’t done a very good job at convincing you yet. It still hurts knowing that you feel that way.

“Do you know what I thought about everyday when I was in Millburn?”

You shake your head as he continues, “I thought about how when you eat cupcakes you tear the bottom half and stick it on top to make a cupcake sandwich. When we’re watching Doctor Who and you’re singing along to the theme song with only syllables. How you let me eat the olives on your plate and I give you the pickles on mine.”

“Why would you be thinking about that?” you ask confused.

“Because I don’t think I would have survived if I didn’t.”

The lump forms in your throat, “But…you took me off the visiting list after the first time I came to see you.”

“I couldn’t let you keep seeing me like that, honey.” he strains, “The way they were looking at you, what they did to me. I had to protect you.”a

You swallow hard, a few tears falling down your face, “Th—That’s not fair, Spence. I understand why you did it, but then when all the other shit happened… I don’t know what I was supposed to believe. I couldn’t stop wondering if I ever was enough for you.”

Spencer can feel his heart splintering.

“You will always be enough, because it is always you. God, sweetheart it’s not even a question of how much, it just is. I see you in everything I do—you’re the tangled headphones we use to listen to music flying back on the jet. You’re the annotations I make when I read something that reminds me of you, or if I think you’d enjoy it. You’re the smell of bavarian kreme donuts from Dolores’ even though the chocolate sprinkle ones are far superior.”

His heart blooms hearing a soft giggle from you, an earnest smile forming on your face.

“You are entangled in the things that make me happy, and you make them too good to be true. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I meant it when I said I would spend all of time making it up to you. You are my Catalina comet, and I love you.”

You can’t help the sob that leaves you as you remember the memory.

“I’m cold Spence, are you sure we’ll be able to see it?”

He tugs you closer under his arm as he keeps trekking to find the perfect spot, a chaste kiss to your temple, “I promise it’ll be worth it. Come on, I think it's a good spot over there.”

You help Spencer set out the blanket on the ground and use the extra one to wrap around you both, huddling closer together as you wait for the celestial body to make its appearance.

“The first time they did the calculations they used old observational data that led to some incorrect results, and they thought the orbit was only four years.”

“They just got it wrong?”

“Not everyone gets it right on the first try, sweet girl.” he says softly, “But then they did the math again, made sure all the factors and numbers were correct. And you know what they found?”

You ponder for a moment, “Did they realize the orbit was longer?”

Spencer beams down at you, “My smart girl. That’s exactly what they found. So when they did the calculations again, they found out that the Catalina comet is even more special than anyone thought. It’s even more of a rare sighting to get to see it, once in a lifetime really.”

You hang onto his every word, captivated by the story, “Do people wish on comets?” you ask doe eyed.

His hand smooths your hair back, “They do, some say the rarer comets have extra special energy to aid their wishes.”

You look at him skeptically, “Do you really believe that?”

“Do you?”

You look back to the sky, “I think I do.”

Spencer doesn’t look away from you, “Then I do too.”

You giggle and lightly shove him, “Cheesy…” He smiles fondly and pulls you closer into his chest, his arms warming you up before you gasp, “Look!”

There across the night sky streaks the Catalina Comet in all her glory, Spencer watches the comet track through Ursa Major and before he can start telling you about why it goes that path, you’ve already clamped your eyes shut and squeezed his hand, silently gesturing for him to do the same.

He complies, obviously. You open your eyes again after making your wish, “Did you make yours?”

Spencer opens his eyes and admiringly looks at you, “Yeah, I did angel.” 

He didn’t need to make any wishes.

“Spence…” you whine through sobs.

His hand comes up shakily to wipe the tears from your cheeks, “Didn’t mean to make you cry, honey.”

“Well, what did you expect by bringing that story up?” you laugh with fake anger.

“To be fair, you were already crying.” he chuckles.

You scoff, “Mean.” You look at his eyes, and really look at him and see nothing but love and adoration staring back at you. You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.” his eyes soften, you continue, “I love you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and gently kisses it, “I love you so much. I’m sorry again, sweet girl.”

You lean up to him on the bed and press a soft kiss to his lips, and Spencer can feel his wounds start to hurt less and less. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You make yourself as comfy as you can whilst sat on the armchair, bent over to be able to rest your head next to Spencer. It feels okay for a bit, and then he tangles his hand in your hair gently moving back and forth and suddenly you’re satisfied with never moving ever again.

The quiet air between you both is enough to lull you to sleep, before a thought runs through your mind.

“You know something funny,” you mumble, “Pen told the receptionist I was your fiancée so they’d let me see you.”

And poor Spencer, in between his sleepy haze and the dull ache of pain from his injuries, only hears the word fiancée.

“You found the ring?” he sighs, “I thought I hid it well.”

You still under his hand.

“…There’s a ring?”

His eyes shoot open, realizing he misheard you and tries to play it off, “So…Penelope lied to staff. Tsk Tsk.”

“There’s a ring.” you say pointedly, the corners of your lips upturned to reach a smile.

Spencer thinks he can try and get out of this but decides it’s better to come clean, “Fine, okay. Of course there’s a ring.”

“Of course?”

The surprise on your face honestly stuns Spencer, and he feels a little saddened that you were in disbelief of the possibility.

“Yeah baby, of course.”

Your bottom lip wobbles with a creeping suspicion of his answer, “How long have you had it?”

“Got it after our six month.”

You shakily exhale. There is no ounce of doubt in your body that he loves you, and that you really are all he needs. “ ‘M sorry I ruined the surprise.”

He grins, “It’s okay, you won’t know when I’m going to do it. It’ll knock you off your feet, I promise.”

You definitely aren’t expecting it during a Planetarium date months later where he got the museum people to show the Catalina Comet passing over you both as he got down on one knee. You are expecting the endless stream of tears from the both of you, the aching cheeks from smiling too much, and the multiple missed attempts at sliding the ring on from how much you both were shaking.

[fangdokja]

How about a yandere boyfriend on Valentine's Day? Where he wraps a gift to give to his sweetheart himself.

The perfect Valentine’s present: something personal, thoughtful, and won’t scream anymore.

♡ Yan-Apocalypse x Fem. Reader. Boss, Neighbor, Torture Professional, Loner

♡ Word Count. 3,155

♡ Yandere! Boss who has been a pain in your ass since childhood. You hated him back then, and you hate him now, except now he owns your ass as your boss in this wretched hellscape called the apocalypse. A born leader, an absolute slave driver, and the only man who could turn the end of the world into a business opportunity. He should've died with the rest of humanity, but no, he somehow made it out alive—alongside you. Lucky you.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who never let you live in peace even before the world went to shit. The kind of guy who would slip notes under your door just to remind you he existed. The guy who had the audacity to work in a cafe with a sickeningly charming smile despite making your life a waking nightmare. And now, even with society collapsed, he still finds ways to piss you off. He calls it love. You call it suffering. Turns out he was also a serial killer before all this. Should've seen that one coming.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you used to think was just a weird but tolerable coworker. You considered him an older brother. He considered you his most entertaining toy. Now that the world has no laws, he's free to indulge in whatever twisted desires he kept hidden before. The worst part? He still acts like he's just your friendly workplace senior. Smiles and all.

♡ Yandere! Loner who is the only reason you haven't starved to death yet. Pays the rent. Handles all the outside world bullshit. Does all the talking for you because you'd rather die than interact with people. A true blessing in your hermit lifestyle, except for the small problem that he's hopelessly obsessed with you. A punk goth with a brooding air and a quiet intensity that makes your skin crawl. But if you had to pick a single tolerable person on the planet, it’d probably be him. That’s a low bar.

────────────

You, unfortunate recluse and apocalypse prepper, who told everyone this shit would happen.

They laughed at you. Laughed.

"A zombie apocalypse? Aliens? Nuclear fallout? Society crumbling overnight? Sure thing, basement dweller. Maybe you should go touch some grass."

Well, guess who's laughing now? Not them. Because they're dead.

The world didn't end in the way you expected. No rotting undead. No UFOs in the sky. No nuclear war or artificial intelligence takeover. No, what came was far worse. A virus, slow-acting, like a whisper through the bloodstream. It didn't kill outright. It awakened.

People started changing. Not into monsters, not physically. But mentally? The virus stripped them of the one thing keeping them from turning into beasts: morality. Empathy. Restraint. The very things that made human beings function in a civilized society.

Because love? Love was a sickness.

No, literally. Scientists called it the Eros Virus, but people online had a better name for it: the Yandere Plague. Something about brain chemistry short-circuiting. Something about possessiveness going haywire, loyalty turning to violence, and rational thought being replaced with "If I can’t have you, no one can."

Anyone infected didn’t just crave affection—they needed it, like oxygen, like water, like a reason to live. Love wasn’t an emotion anymore; it was hunger. A sickness that turned even the kindest souls into unrecognizable demons with one singular goal: claim, possess, devour.

They became killers for love.

Murderers in the name of devotion.

And you, the reclusive scientist, the unfeeling shut-in, the paranoid "loser" who had wasted her life avoiding people—

You were, somehow, the most normal person left.

Wasn't that hilarious?

It wasn’t the apocalypse you prepared for, but you adapted fast.

Because you had already prepared for everything.

Society? A joke. Socializing? A waste of time. Going outside? You’d rather gouge out your own eyes. What was the point? Every moment spent dealing with another human being was a moment spent losing brain cells.

So you did what any sane, logical, perfectly rational person would do. You locked yourself in your basement, poured your life into scientific research, and became a competitive hardcore gamer on the side—because who needed real friends when you had anonymous usernames to destroy in ranked matches?

Your bunker was stocked. Your defenses were up. A lifetime of being dismissed as a socially inept loser had finally paid off. You were immune, too, but not because of genetics or luck—you were just dead inside. No feelings? No infection. A win for your emotional stuntedness.

You should’ve been safe.

And then they came.

Great. Another reason to hate Valentine’s Day.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Boss who still forces you to clock in despite the apocalypse. Who calls you at ungodly hours with urgent demands, despite there being no more laws, no more corporations, no more hierarchy—just the last vestiges of his god complex refusing to die.

♡ Yandere! Boss who never celebrated Valentine's Day. Too busy grinding, too busy winning, too busy treating human relationships like expendable stock options.

♡ Yandere! Boss who always thought the holiday was pathetic, a weak man’s excuse to grovel for attention. That was, of course, until the virus. Now, Valentine’s Day is a state-mandated holiday. Forced festivities, sickly sweet declarations, and the absolute worst part—he has to participate.

♡ Yandere! Boss who takes it as seriously as a business merger. If he’s going to be forced into this, then he’s going to win Valentine’s Day.

You’re barely paying attention when he slides a box across the desk. You don’t even look up. “I don’t want it.”

He smiles. “You’ll want this one.”

You don’t. You really don’t. But you open it anyway.

Inside is a ring box.

You stare at it. Then at him. Then at it again.

♡ Yandere! Boss raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to try it on?”

You pick up the ring delicately. Turn it over. Squint at the inscription inside.

“Oh,” you say flatly. “My name’s on this.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean—it’s made of my name. Like, in bone.”

He folds his hands, smirking. “I figured you wouldn’t accept an engagement ring, so I made it special.”

You roll the ring between your fingers. It’s light. Suspiciously so. “And whose bones exactly did you use?”

“Whose do you want me to have used?”

You drop it immediately.

♡ Yandere! Boss laughs, plucking it up and slipping it onto your finger before you can protest. “Don’t lose it,” he says, voice like velvet. “It cost me quite a bit.”

And when you rip it off and throw it at his face, he catches it effortlessly.

“Now, now,” he chides. “If you keep rejecting me like this, I’ll have to find more ways to show you how much I care.”

Great. Fantastic. You were going to need more coffee.

♡ Yandere! Boss who believes this is the height of romance, who looks at you like he's waiting for praise, like he expects you to clasp the ring around your delicate finger and thank him for such a thoughtful gift.

"You will wear it," he informs you, adjusting his cuffs. "Consider it an accessory to your uniform."

"My... uniform?" you echo, bluntly.

"Your contract states that all employees must adhere to a strict dress code. That hasn't changed."

You stare deadpan at him. "What contract?"

"The one that legally binds you to me."

"...You mean the one that burned with the rest of the city?"

"The one I memorized, re-wrote by hand, and had laminated."

———

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who’s the kind of menace that thrives in a post-apocalyptic hellscape because it justifies all his worst behaviors. You were already suffering pre-virus—imagine living next door to a man who rings your doorbell at 3 AM because he 'forgot his keys' and needs to 'crash at your place' when you both know damn well he lives alone.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who worked at a café with peak customer service skills, all sunshine and charm, as if he wasn’t the same bastard who stole your mail and laughed when you had to fight a rabid raccoon over your own packages. Turns out, he was also a serial killer. Ah, that explains why he was so good at making latte art. Steady hands.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who still acts like life is just a quirky slice-of-life anime, despite the blood-soaked streets outside.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who doesn’t just run the only functional café left—he practically owns it, like some twisted romance game NPC who refuses to acknowledge reality.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who actually loves Valentine’s Day. Always has. Loves the chocolates, the flowers, the corny messages—but most of all, he loves the hunt.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who goes all out with the decorations. Pink hearts, tacky cupids, streamers. He makes his cafe look like a Pinterest nightmare. And you, his most reluctant customer, get the special treatment.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor knocks on your door on Valentine’s Day. You consider not answering, but then he kicks the door in.

“Delivery!” he sings, shoving a massive, suspiciously leaking gift box into your arms.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who doesn’t understand why you look at him like that. You always give him that look—like you’re two seconds away from dropkicking him into the abyss.

You look down. Then up. “I’m not touching this.”

“But I wrapped it myself,” he whines.

“That’s what makes it worse.”

He pouts. “At least open it before you reject me so coldly.”

You sigh. The world is already a nightmare, and you might as well see what fresh horror awaits.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who grins as he gestures to the heart-shaped box, red and gaudy, the kind of thing you’d find at a dollar store—except when you open it, the “chocolates” are… not chocolates. They’re actual, physical human teeth. A variety of them. Some still have bits of gum attached.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who bursts out laughing when you glare down at the "chocolates", like you’re the weird one. “What? I collected them myself! It’s personal! Romantic!”

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You wanna know which ones are mine?”

You slam the box shut and push it back toward him. “I hope you choke.”

He laughs, leaning in closer. “On your love?”

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who laughs when you glare, toss the box onto the bunker floor, and stomp over it like roadkill.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who opts to present you with one more gift, a heart-shaped cake, homemade with love. You eye it suspiciously. He grins.

"Try it, sweetheart. You’re my taste tester, after all."

You stare at him. Then at the cake. Then back at him.

"Who did you kill for this?"

He just laughs.

You stare at him, unimpressed. He stares back, beaming.

“Eat up! It’s fresh.”

You’re so fucking tired.

———

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you consider an older brother, but he considers you his future wife. Who was weirdly doting, oddly protective, and just a little too interested in your well-being.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you think is just a little too eccentric, but harmless. Who used to send you the occasional unsettling text—things like “Ever wonder how long someone can scream before they pass out?”—but you always wrote it off as him being quirky.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who, in hindsight, should have been more of a red flag than he was. Who got way too much enjoyment out of cutting people open. Who told you, once upon a time, that he "studied anatomy for fun" and you just thought he was a medical student.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who worked in interrogation before the world went to hell. Who still carries scalpels in his coat because old habits die hard.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who doesn’t really get the “boyfriend” part of “yandere boyfriend” and just assumes it means he gets to be creative.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who’s technically been your co-worker for years, but only in the loosest sense—he’s not really part of the science department, just the clean-up crew.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who actually considers you his greatest weakness. His one fatal flaw. His "little sister"—if, of course, little sisters were meant to be dissected with love and put back together with slightly modified parts.

His Valentine’s gift arrives in a steel box.

With a lock.

"If this is actually chocolate," you say, voice flat, "I'll be shocked."

"Oh, sweetheart," he hums, tilting his head, "you should know me better by now."

You don’t even want to open it, but he’s sitting there, waiting.

You crack it open.

It’s a spine. A full human spine, polished and arranged in the shape of a bow, like a demented art piece.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who watches you closely as you stare at the ‘gift’ with the deadest expression known to man. He wants to see if you’ll faint. You don’t. You never do. And he loves that about you.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who chuckles, resting his chin on his hand. "A shame," he muses. "I wanted to carve your name into it, but I thought I'd let you do the honors."

"Do you like it?" he asks, voice laced with amusement.

"No," you say flatly, dropping the gift onto the table like it personally offended you.

“C’mon, doll,” he says, voice all honey-sweet persuasion. “I put a lot of effort into it. Had to find the perfect one. Strong. Flexible. A real good match for you.”

You slam the box shut.

He tilts his head, considering. “Oh, wait. I forgot the bow.”

He pulls out a severed head from his duffel bag.

You try to leave the room.

He doesn't let you.

He decides to go for Attempt #2.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional grabs and drags you inside another room, forcing you to sit on a chair, and claps his hands together like a magician unveiling his latest trick.

"Tada!"

You stare at the body strapped to the chair in front of you, gagged, trembling, eyes darting between you and him in terror.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who leans down and whispers, "You’ve been so stressed lately. So, I figured, why not give you something relaxing? Torture is incredibly cathartic, you know."

He presses a scalpel into your hand like an eager child handing over a crayon.

You look at the bound man, then at him, then at the scalpel.

You glance back at him. He grins back. “Isn’t it thoughtful? You can practice your anatomy studies on him! I even left his nerves intact, just for you.”

"I’m not participating in your therapy," you deadpan.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who pouts. "But it’s for you!"

"Return it."

He blinks. "Return him?"

"Yeah."

"That’s not really an option."

You blink at him. Slowly. "I'm reconsidering my stance on homicide."

"You always say that."

"And one day, I might actually follow through."

He beams. "That’s the spirit!"

———

♡ Yandere! Loner who is your roommate and unofficial apocalypse landlord.

♡ Yandere! Loner who barely speaks, barely interacts, and communicates mostly through nods, shrugs, and the occasional annoyed grunt.

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t talk much but somehow always gets his point across. He used to be a punk goth who smoked on the fire escape and ignored the world, but now he’s the guy who handles all communication while you rot in the bunker like a gremlin.

♡ Yandere! Loner who never cared about the world even before the apocalypse. Who was content to stay inside, hacking security systems and wiping digital footprints while you made ramen for two and tried not to acknowledge how much you depended on him.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, after dealing with your other admirers, is honestly the most tolerable one. This should concern you.

♡ Yandere! Loner who does not care about the virus, does not care about the world ending, does not even care about you.

(Except for when you leave the bunker without telling him. Or talk to the neighbor too much. Or look at anyone but him. Then it’s a problem.)

♡ Yandere! Loner who acts like he doesn’t give a shit about you, but your supplies never run low, your weapons always have ammo, and if anyone ever gets too close? Well. They stop existing.

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t do Valentine’s Day. Valentine's Day is a scam, a joke, a consumerist hellhole of forced sentimentality. He doesn’t do holidays. He doesn’t even acknowledge his own birthday.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, despite being the least expressive of them all, still participates in Valentine’s Day. Not because he cares about the holiday, but because everyone else is doing it and he refuses to be outdone.

♡ Yandere! Loner who somehow managed to get his hands on a plushie. In this hellscape. This absolute nightmare of a world.

♡ Yandere! Loner who shoves it at you, grumbling, "Took forever to find one that wasn’t covered in blood."

♡ Yandere! Loner who shifts uncomfortably as you hold the cute kitten plushie. It’s actually… normal? Soft?

Too good to be true.

You squeeze it. It beeps.

You glance at him. He avoids eye contact.

You unzip the plushie, revealing—

A grenade.

And human skin holding it together.

♡ Yandere! Loner who clears his throat. "…Ignore that."

You stare deadpan.

"What part of 'gift' involves explosives?"

You're not even going to question the stitched human skin. You didn't even want to know why the plushie still felt oddly soft and warm in your hands.

♡ Yandere! Loner who crosses his arms. "It’s multifunctional."

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn't even react when you chuck the plushie across the room, watching it land face-first on the floor with a sickening thud.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, after a long silence, mutters, "Rude."

He decides to try his next attempt at impressing you.

♡ Yandere! Loner who throws a bag at you. No wrapping, no note, just a body bag.

You blink. Look at him. Look at the bag. Look at him again.

"…What the fuck."

"You said you had a problem with that guy, right?" He shrugs, crossing his arms nonchalantly. "Problem solved."

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t even care if you appreciate the gesture. He’s not looking for a thank-you. Just confirmation that you understand.

You do. Unfortunately.

You put your head in your hands.

You need a new roommate.

────────────

Valentine's Day, in the apocalypse, is an absolute nightmare.

Normal people—if any still exist—would probably spend the day reminiscing about the past. Thinking about flowers, chocolates, candlelit dinners.

You, on the other hand, get body parts delivered to your doorstep like some kind of fucked-up Amazon Prime service.

Your stalkers—because, let’s be real, that’s what they are—seem to think this is perfectly normal. That nothing says "romance" like dismemberment, exsanguination, and ethically questionable corpse handling.

You, however, are beyond exhausted.

Maybe next year you’ll just dig a hole and die in it.

♡ A/N. I already have a Valentine's Day part scheduled. ... and my requests are closed. But fine, since it's a "holiday". A short drabble at least....

Yandere! Valentines Special

Novella : Red Roses, Black Hearts

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[star-lights-up]

"Camping. Noun. A recreational activity in which participants take up temporary residence in the outdoors, usually using tents or specially designed or adapted vehicles for shelter."

(Click for better quality)

⬇️ details and ramblings ⬇️

Back on my shit again 😂 you guys should've seen me when i found out there was a sequel to a million miles ahead of us. It was like 12am one night and i read the whole thing in one sitting. I laughed, I cried, as seems to be the usual with this au.

I love kurt if you can't tell. He is the silliest little guy, and comes with a mothman onesie, upbeat attitude and jelly shoes.

Also i am living for PE teacher peter who has not gotten a haircut in far too long. I was fully intending to draw his little man bun. Don't know what happened, but it will probably make an appearance at some point.

Yes i specifically made a duck version of the "peace was never an option" meme for this.

ALSO about the bucket hats. I am pretty sure they are not what was described. But, story time, when i was little and I went to sleep away camp, I had this AWFUL fanny pack. It was the ugliest thing you've ever seen, multicolored with like, the WORST color combos. I tried to find it and take a picture to prove it, but it has dissapeared so y'all are gonna have to take my word on this. But that's what I associate with camping gear, so that is what their hats looked like to me while I was reading this. 😂😂

oh and kyle my beloved <3 conspiracy theory: he is a mutant in disguise. No, wait, he's mothman.

maybe mothman is a mutant.

ignore me. 😂

@nathanbellamy

[katerinaaqu]

The Humanity of Odysseus and the Importance of the Curse of Polyphemus (an Odyssey Analysis on Fate and Destiny)

I believe there is one thig that needs to be said about the Odyssey and Odysseus in particular and something I have rarely seen properly adapted. It is the importance of the unchangable fate in antiquity in general and homeric poems in particular. One can say this starts from the character itself; Odysseus name meaning "Anger Bringer" or "Furious" is an indicator that not only the character will be dusliked by many but that he would also cause anger which one can expect would lead to terrible consequences. However I believe the moment Odysseus was truly deprived of all his choices was the infamous Curse of Polyphemus:

In Rhapsody/Book 9 of the Odyssey, Odysseus describes his misadventure with the cyclops Polyphemus and when he revealed himself to him, Polyphemus prays to his father, Poseidon, giving Odysseus a double-curse (as it happens to most predictions that have at least two ways they can go) which goes like this:

"I call upon you, Poseidon, Earth-bearer with cyan/black/dark hair, if I am your son and you wish to be my father (you wish to be called my father), do it for me so that Odysseus the Sacker of Cities will never reach his home, the son of Laertes who calls Ithaca his home, but if fate calls for him to see his friends and reach his well-built home and his ancestral land, make it so it will be terrible (here return), that he will lose all his companions and in a foreign ship and find misery waiting for him at his home!"

(Translation by me)

So as you can see the curse has two different outcomes

He will never see his home again

If he does, it will be without his companions brought by a foreign ship and he will find misery at his own home when he arrives

At this point, given that the story is "in media res" aka "told from the middle", we know now that the second part is fulfilled, or almost fulfilled. Odysseus is in Scheria, he is alone, he is shipwrecked, there is no sign of any of his companions anywhere so we expect him to return at this foreign ship, aka a Phaeacaean ship to his home at any moment. However by the moment the curse is placed, Odysseus doesn't know which outcome is to befall upon him. And while the second part is weirdly specific (and in a way preparing us for the outcome) the first one is not nearly speficic enough!

Make it so he never sees his land again.

This could mean anything; does he get killed in the ardous trip? Does he get straddled to a place for the rest of his life? Does he somehow lose his...memory and never return home again (similarly to how his men ate the Lotuses at the Lotophagi land)? What is more, nowhere in this part does it say his comrades will survive the ordeal. Although the curse means specifically for Odysseus not reaching his home and one could assume his men would but not Odysseus, that is not guaranteed.

Both of these scenarios are terribly gloom for both Odysseus and his men. So what does Odysseus do? He does what every human being would have done;

He tries to change fate!

He tries constantly to lift the curse:

Even if he knows deep down is pointless, even if he more or less has realized they are off for an arduous trip that will cost them probably all of them their lives, Odysseus STILL TRIES to change the fate! He sails off to find help. He goes to Aiolus and asks for help. He gets the bag. At this point Odysseus is at the end of his wits. He has a chance, he thinks, to change fate, to change the curse. He remains awake for 9 days to make sure he will (see also my other analysis in regards to that) and yet it is all in vain. His men open the bag JUST A LITTLE BEFORE they reach Ithaca and pushed back.

At this point it becomes all the more clear that they are up for an endless journey or a settlement away from home at best case scenario and all to die at worst case scenario. Odysseus doesn't give up! He asks AGAIN, this time he is denied.

And then comes destruction...

They reach the idland of the giant Laistrygonians and here Odysseus suffers the worst loss he has suffered so far; he loses 11 out of his 12 ships in a single raid and barely manages to escape with the rest of his comrades resting on his ship. Right now is clearer than ever that the curse is taking place so the real question is; which of the parts shall it be fulfulled? And they reach the land of Circe. Plenty of his men turn into pigs. Eurylochus barely escapes doom and runs at him to tell him "LEAVE THEM AND GO". Odysseus knows in his bones they are doomed! He knows he either leaves them and fulfulles the second prophecy (for his men already perish little by little) or either way the first part of the prophecy is fulfilled. What does Odysseus do?

He tries AGAIN!

He sells himself to Circe, he requests his men's freedom. He ASKS Circe for advice, he descends the Underworld, asks Tiresias for a course; how he can reach his home, how he can save his men, how he can REVERSE THE CURSE. Even if he knows it is impossible to challenge fate (not even Zeus could transcend fate). In a way he comits a form of hubris hoping to change fate. And yet he is HUMAN! He cannot accept that his men would die that he cannot go home. He wants to TRY! So sure enough he gets a possible way out...

Tiresias gives him hope...

The prophet tells him he can save his men AND reach Ithaca IF they do not eat the cattle of Helios Hyperion. What is more Circe gives him advice for the trip; the course they can follow, the steps they can take and again the warning of NOT eating the cattle of Helios. Odysseus takes heart to those, he DESPERATELY GRABS on them! He thinks he has a chance. Maybe...JUST MAYBE he can reverse this terrible curse! He can MAKE IT RIGHT! He has a chance to change fate! He has a chance to reverse it!

Self-Fulfilled Prophecy

Little does he know though that the trip is already set for failiure. Skylla claims 6 of his best men (his men CONTINUE TO PERISH) and yet Odysseus thinks that this is a sign that he can make it, that the terrible sacrifices will pay off and that he is on his way to break the curse. He is following the instructions therefore it must go well. And come the Cattle Of Helios Hyperion.

An attempt to dodge fate...

Odysseus tells to his men that they should not stop at the island now. He is not ready to take another risk. He will not do the same as the sack of Aiolus. He wants to AVOID THE ISLE ALTOGETHER. If his men are not tepted, they will not break. He intends to keep going and it could have worked...but...

Sure enough his men are tired they need to stop

Odysseus has no choice. At this point he probably realizes there is no way to change fate. He sees it now that everything is up for destruction and he still doesn't know WHICH VERSION will be fulfulled! And even if every part of his brain tells him everything is lost Odysseus REFUSES TO GIVE UP! No, this cannot be the end! There must still be time and space to reverse it!

He makes them promise

Odysseus makes his men swear to everything sacred that no matter what they shall not touch the cattle. That they would survive only with the provisions given by Circe, that they will not be tempted no matter what. Sure enough he extracts the promise from them but of course the prophecy is now moving. Wind is opposite. There is no way they can go. They get straddled for WEEKS. Food is over. Odysseus sees the path is for destruction and yet...

HE TRIES AGAIN!

He goes to the island to pray! There MUST be another way! The gods can hear him...maybe pity him and release them from this! And yet he falls asleep from fatigue, stress and godly intervention. Now the clock is ticking! His men cannot withstand hunger anymore and slay the cattle. Now their fate is shielded. We now know they will die. We know also which part of the prophecy will be fulfulled; Odysseus will come home ALONE, just like we see him narrating alone (even if we might as well wonder whether Odysseus would remain in Scheria, it is pretty much settled that Odysseus returns to Ithaca). However Odysseus doesn't know...but what he fears the most has happened

One last desperate attempt.

Odysseus is human above all. He sees the slain animals, he KNOWS his men will die and even that time he REFUSES to accept it! He REFUSES to give up! He sets sail again, hoping to save them, to save them all (himself included) as they roam for 7 days in the sea

And doom strikes...

His men all perish, his ship is gone! Odysseus is left alone in the sea, fighting for 10 days to the brief of death. Right now Odysseus is no longer struggling to change fate...he is no longer struggling to save anyone but himself...he is struggling

...SO THAT AT LEAST THE FATE IN STORE FOR HIM IS HIS RETURN...

He now has suffered the ultimate loss. He needs to at least make it home! Even if that means without companions, even if that means to be home in misery...he just HAS TO GO HOME! He cannot just perish in the sea or be forever straddled outside Ithaca! And then Calypso happens. Odysseus is left in her isle for 7 years.

He now fears he will never see his home again

He cries every day on the beach. His rape every night is strong enough reason for him to do so but also the fact that he now FEARS that the first section of the prophecy is fullfilled; that he is never to see his home and friends and family again. That his fate was not to perish in the sea but to be forever held against his will away from his beloved home and family. And he is filled with despair. When he has lost all hope that he will ever roam about the sea again; with at least SOME HOPE that the second part of the curse would be fulfilled, he is ready to throw himself in the sea; give an end to his life since there is no point in hoping anymore. The worst scenario has happened for him. He has nothing else to expect...

And it is so...till Hermes brings the order to release him. Now Odysseus finds hope anew that he will return. And he struggles with all his might to survive! Even if he is days out in the sea in a small raft. Even when his raft is destroyed and he has to literally swim to Scheria. his mind goes "NO! I WILL NOT PERISH! I WILL GO HOME!" and sure enough he does and he does meet his friends again and he does find this misery at his home and yet now Odysseus can endure this misery, because he knows he managed to get home and he knows that he has left but ONE TASK according to Tiresias.

He tried to beat fate and he failed...but now he has hope...

So as you see, and forgive me for the long analysis, Odysseus is more human than anyone can imagine and always relatable character. Despite his flaws and mistakes one of the noblest mistakes he made was to think he could change fate and dedicate a large part of his trip trying to do just that; change the curse and save his companions which only ends up to a self-fulfilled prophecy but I doubt anyone can deny that we would all have done the same. I doubt any of us would just abandon all hope and sit tight waiting for the prophecy to be filled either way. He would all have tried to change such a grim outcome!

Because we are human. And so was Odysseus.

[thankskenpenders]

The Knuckles show

The announcement of a live action Knuckles streaming miniseries was surprising, to say the least. I mean, what would such a show even be about in a version of the Sonic universe with no Angel Island and barely any characters from the games around? Is he gonna go treasure hunting with the gang from Montana or something? Would a streaming miniseries have the CGI budget to squeeze in any new game characters, even briefly? Rouge? Amy? At least one member of Team Chaotix? Anyone?

Now the show is finally out, and it turns out what they actually made was a comedy show about bumbling deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, the minor comic relief character played by Adam Pally who you might not even remember all that well from the first two movies, with Knuckles as his sidekick. While, yes, Knuckles does get a decent amount of screentime and opportunities to punch bad guys and do cool moves from the games, large stretches of this show focus on Wade's personal life, to the point that a couple times I almost forgot I was watching a Sonic-related show. If you're judging it purely by the metric of how well it adapts and engages with its source material, this surely must be one of the worst adaptations the Sonic franchise has ever seen.

So then, despite some huge complaints... why do I kinda like it?

(This will contain full spoilers for the Knuckles show.)

A brief summary of what the show is actually about because I know half of you aren't going to watch it

The show picks up not too long after the end of the second movie. Knuckles is now living in Montana with Sonic, Tails, and the Wachowskis out of a sense of debt to them, though he doesn't really see it as his home. He doesn't feel like he belongs on Earth, and his life currently lacks direction. After communing with the ghost of Pachacamac, though, Knuckles is instructed to keep his culture alive by teaching "the ways of the echidna warrior" to a new apprentice: deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, who's currently more concerned about winning a bowling tournament in Reno than anything else.

Things are complicated by the interference of two rogue GUN agents - Agent Willoughby, played by Ellie Taylor in a bad wig, and Agent Mason, played by Kid Cudi. (Yes, the artist behind the second movie's credits song is one of the bad guys in this.) They want to steal Knuckles' power and sell it to a former associate of Robotnik's played by Rory McCann (The Hound from Game of Thrones), who now works as a black market arms dealer. Yes, they're still doing the thing where Sonic and friends' quills radiate some kind of super-energy that the bad guys all want. No, I don't particularly love this element of the Paramount Sonic continuity. Anyway, they go after Knuckles and Wade, complicating their straightforward road trip to Reno. Antics ensue.

The Wade show

So here's the thing. While the first episode focuses largely on Knuckles, the entire rest of the show is very much the story of Wade, and by extension the other original human characters invented for this miniseries.

Episode 2 is about Wade having to rescue Knuckles from captivity after the GUN agents get him. Knuckles spends most of the episode in a cage.

Episode 3 is about introducing Wade's Jewish family, including his slightly overbearing mother and weird sister, so that Knuckles can learn about their family traditions and have Shabbat dinner with them (and then save them from bounty hunters that the GUN agents hired).

Episode 4 only features Knuckles at the very beginning and very end of the episode, probably for less than a minute total. Wade is captured by a bounty hunter he personally knows, and Knuckles decides to let that be a trial for Wade to overcome on his own.

The last two episodes feature the climactic showdowns with the GUN agents and their arms-dealing ally, who comes in with a mech for the obligatory final boss fight. You'd think this would be Knuckles' time to shine, but really, these episodes are mostly about the bowling tournament in Reno where Wade encounters his estranged father, wrapping up his own personal arc. While Knuckles does get some fights, a lot of the finale is spent on lengthy bowling scenes where Knuckles isn't in the room or even mentioned. It frequently feels more like a spiritual successor to '00s sports comedy movies like Dodgeball, Talladega Nights, or Blades of Glory than it does a part of the Sonic franchise, and the presence of ESPN 8: The Ocho commentary in the finale only drives those Dodgeball comparisons home. They get so immersed in the bowling stuff that it's genuinely hilarious when the show suddenly pivots and remembers "oh shit we still need to do the final boss fight"

Throughout all this, Wade is the protagonist. He's the character we spend more time with, he's the character who drives most of the major events, he's the character who gets more of an arc. The emotional core is Wade's journey. Knuckles is still present - sometimes, at least - but he's there as Wade's wingman, and also just as the excuse for there to be some fight scenes.

How much Sonic stuff is actually in this show?

Honestly? Not much.

Sonic and Tails are only in the first episode. Sonic gets some good scenes, but Tails gets a grand total of five lines. I counted. Unsurprisingly, Jim Carrey is absent as Robotnik, though he does get mentioned a fair bit. (For that matter, basically the entire established human cast beyond Wade is absent, even including Tom, though Maddie is there in episode one.)

GUN is involved in the story, which helps it feel slightly more connected to Sonic, but it kind of feels like it's GUN in name only. They don't use any recognizable GUN tech, and they don't call in the military. It's just two agents in suits. They might as well be the Men in Black.

The Master Emerald is mentioned as something Knuckles has to guard, but it's never seen. Angel Island is pictured as a drawing during the show's intro, appearing exactly how it does in Sonic 3, but it's never referenced at all beyond that.

I guess the climax taking place in and around a Reno casino is a reference to Sonic's many casino-themed levels. That's something. I'll give them that.

Oh, and if you're wondering if this is the point where we finally start to get actual music from the games: no, it's not. The soundtrack consists of a lot of '80s needle drops, many of which are generic Hollywood picks like "Holding Out for a Hero" for the billionth time, thought it at least has some slightly less obvious picks than the Mario movie. The theme song is '80s rock song "The Warrior" by Scandal. You'll hear it many times. You'll hear the Adventure era Knuckles raps zero times in this. You'll briefly hear classic A Tribe Called Quest song "Can I Kick It?" before Knuckles takes the question too literally and breaks the radio in Wade's car.

Beyond a handful of surface level references for nerds (one of which is admittedly wild - we'll get to that), this is probably the least an officially licensed adaptation of Sonic the Hedgehog has ever tried to actually engage with its source material. I struggle to think of another Sonic adaptation that has less to do with Sonic. For as much shit as I and countless others have given Penders for seemingly ignoring the content of the games in favor of building his own convoluted mythos, his Knuckles comics honestly included way more elements from the games than this show does.

Somehow, the one new(-ish) Sonic character introduced in this is the ghost of Pachacamac of all characters. Not even Tikal! Pachacamac! A very minor character nobody has particularly strong feelings about! You can't even use the excuse that they already had the character model, because they completely redesigned him compared to his cameo in the first movie to better match his Sonic Adventure design. And he's voiced by Christopher Lloyd! Honestly, so many of his lines are strained that it sounds like he's on death's door here, but then he'll surprise you with a more casual line like "just do it, man" and it catches me so off guard that I can't help but laugh.

Pachacamac here has basically nothing to do with the game character he takes his name and appearance from. Where the game character was a cruel warlord who kicked off a 3000 year cycle of violence, Paramount Pachacamac is now just this chill old man who gives Knuckles (and later Wade) advice in two episodes of the show. Hell, he also feels completely disconnected from his established role in the movies, where he's literally the guy who shot Longclaw. The show will not grapple with this contradiction at all. He's just here to be a thing fans like me will recognize from the games. Again, if that's all they wanted, it's kind of baffling that they didn't just use Tikal.

I don't love Knuckles in this

But what about Knuckles himself? Well, he doesn't feel all that much like Knuckles to me. Ironically, he sometimes feels like one of the weaker elements in his own show.

Back when the second movie came out, I noted that Knuckles' characterization seemed to be pulling heavily from MCU Thor as a gallant warrior from an archaic alien culture who doesn't really understand modern day Earth stuff. That worked for me in that movie. It was just there for spice. Just a little extra flavor for the character in what was otherwise a very faithful adaptation of Knuckles' storyline in Sonic 3 & Knuckles. Without those familiar elements grounding him and with a much higher reliance on comedy, Idris Elba's Knuckles becomes a pretty one-note character in this.

In damn near every scene with Knuckles, he's going to say something about being a proud, honorable echidna warrior, or brag about his glorious feats of strength, or be confused about some Earth thing and call it sorcery, or act like every other character is also a member of some noble warrior clan. He still has his moments for sure, but this schtick kinda gets old fast, and it just doesn't feel like Knuckles to me. His entire character feels derived from the scene in the diner where Thor smashes the cup on the ground and goes "Another!" Sure, I can picture game Knuckles smashing a radio to turn it off and being a little too gung-ho about busting holes through walls. That's Knuckles behavior. But building a barbarian combat pit in the living room so the Wachowski family dog can fight the mailman? Nope. That's some other guy now. It really does just feel like them taking a broad character archetype from something popular that kinda sorta fits Knuckles and just running with that, rather than trying to actually adapt the character.

Oh, but don't worry, he wears the OVA hat for like two minutes! AND he loves grapes! See, Sonic nerds? We read the wiki! That's his favorite food! Grapes! This is gonna come up like five times!

Knuckles kind of gets an arc here, but not as much as Wade does. I think the stuff about him starting to feel at home on Earth thanks to Wade's mom and the way he connects with their Jewish family traditions is oddly sweet. This arc is kind of let down, though, by the fact that Knuckles' heritage is treated as a complete joke. He's a cartoonish pastiche of various historical warrior cultures stuck together in a blender and used mostly for comedic effect. When Pachacamac's ghost appears, he's reading a newspaper and bemoaning the fact that the Mets lost again. This is not the place for a serious examination of Knuckles' feelings on being the last of his kind.

This is far from the only time the show undercuts itself with its jokes and attempts at self-parody. In the first episode, for instance, Knuckles clashes with GUN Agent Mason and his tech-enhanced punches, leading to an extremely on-the-nose inversion of the "Do I look like I need your power?" scene showcased in the trailer for the second movie. Except this time, Agent Willoughby butts in and points out how stupid that line is in this new context, since they're literally trying to steal Knuckles' power. The fight can't just be cool, they have to get cute with it. A lot of stuff like that happens in this show.

Given all these complaints, the first two episodes left me thinking I'd be fairly negative on this show overall. This seemed like the version of the show from the fandom's collective nightmares, one that undoes all of the progress the movie series seemed to have been making towards faithfulness to the games. Like, just look at these cast posters. Is this what you want out of Sonic? Do these excite you?

But then, something strange happened. Over time, I just kind of let the jokes and shenanigans wash over me and basked in how fucking weird this show is.

And I started to actually enjoy it.

Look. The Wade & Knuckles Show was never going to be peak Sonic. But that sure as hell doesn't mean it can't be entertaining.

This show is so fucking goofy

Here's the thing.

The show is funny.

Unlike a lot of other people, I didn't hate all the wedding stuff in Hawaii in Sonic 2, because I thought a lot of it was funny, both in its actual jokes and in the ways in which they tied everything back to Sonic. Tom looking wistfully at some bodybuilders doing Top Gun shit and spraying each other with beer and being like "I wish Sonic had that" is weirdly funny. The twist that those muscle bros are all agents of the newly formed GUN, who orchestrated the wedding as an elaborate scheme to catch Sonic, is funny. Mr. Olive Garden becoming the fucking GUN Commander is VERY funny. Are any of these elements of my dream Sonic movie? No, of course not. But my dream Sonic movie was never gonna happen in live action.

The Knuckles show follows up on the comedy of the previous films by being probably the funniest live action Sonic release yet. Did every joke land for me? God no. There are some stinkers in there that made me roll my eyes. But enough of them landed that it worked out for me overall. A big part of this is the fact that they've got a good cast of actors and/or comedians here.

Adam Pally is funny as Wade, and I found myself liking him more and more as a character as the show went on. He becomes an oddly endearing loser, with some sweet moments in his personal arc that made me feel for the guy. I like Wade more than Tom now, thanks to this show. I will now be happier to see Wade in Sonic 3 than I would have been previously.

The supporting cast is frequently great, too, many of whom are playing completely cartoonish, over-the-top characters. They took a cue from how exaggerated Carrey's performance was as Robotnik and decided to just abandon all pretense that this is the real world. Stockard Channing as Wade's mom is funny, and carries some of the more sincere parts of the show. Cary Elwes as Wade's very British dad who abandoned him as a child to run off and be the world's most egotistical professional bowler is funny. Edi Patterson as Wade's sister Wanda is... well, she's kinda trying too hard, but she has her moments. The Mighty Boosh co-creator Julian Barratt(!!) as a scenery-chewing bounty hunter, who was also somehow Wade's former best friend and bowling partner, is VERY funny. I love this guy.

(Honestly, they should let more people who were on Garth Marenghi's Darkplace be in Sonic stuff. Where's Matt Berry)

This is kind of a stacked cast for a bunch of stupid side characters in a live action Knuckles show! And honestly, that just makes it funnier to me. Even when they're not funny, the fact that this exists makes it funny. They somehow convinced Paramount to give them a bunch of money to make a spiritual successor to Dodgeball about a schlubby guy who wants to beat his dad at a bowling tournament... except also Knuckles the fucking Echidna is there as his personal life coach. My life is richer for the fact that I can say that sentence. I think about all the little kids who are probably watching this show this weekend, going in expecting a show about Knuckles the Echidna and having to sit through extensive bowling scenes and lore about Wade's family, and sorry kids, but I just have to laugh. Wade isn't even on the poster! The poster is just a picture of Knuckles!! They punked those kids!!!

In a franchise where every single aspect is so carefully micromanaged these days, it feels truly special to get an adaptation this bonkers. It frequently appeals to the same part of me that enjoys the fact that there's an officially licensed Knuckles comic in which Charmy Bee's best friend (also a bee) dies of an accidental LSD overdose from a drug-laced chili dog. Or like, everything about the original 1993 Super Mario Bros. movie. Or the fact that they made seven direct-to-DVD sequels to Alpha and Omega, one of which is half a retread of the adventure from the first movie (with more annoying supporting characters in tow this time) and half a literal clip show of the first movie. The sheer absurdity of the fact that these things exist is charming to me. Except, with the Knuckles show, it has the added benefit of frequently being funny on purpose! This is why I'm not sure I'd call it "so bad it's good." Like, it's not amazing, but there were a lot of parts that I enjoyed in the exact way I was supposed to enjoy them.

Look. Here's a list of real lines of dialogue from the Sega-approved Knuckles the Echidna streaming show that they're billing as a pillar of the Paramount+ lineup, to drive this point home. Let these marinate for a minute:

"I only eat grapes, and Cool Ranch Doritos™."

"Annihilate this little girl, Wade. Crush her spirit. Humiliate her so badly her parents won't even look at her again." "Doesn't that seem like we're going a bit far?" "Not far enough."

"So is he Jewish?" "Half, I think."

"I had a friend who when he listened to Alien Ant Farm he could lift a Toyota Corolla over his head."

"I'm in dire financial straits. Due to my lawsuit against an unnamed rainforest-themed restaurant franchise, I don't have two pennies to my name."

"We're here in sunny Reno, Nevada, which is so close to Hell you can smell the sparks."

"You can't threaten me with your Jewish karate chops because I am a federal agent."

"I will say, regardless of how you feel about child abandonment - and I'm against it! - the deals at TJ Maxx can't be beat."

This is a Sonic show in which they got Paul Scheer and Rob Huebel to appear as ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators.

This is a show where Wade's mom insists upon pronouncing "Knuckles" with the throaty Hebrew "ch" sound, and declares that Knuckles is basically Jewish. Later, they watch Pretty Woman together while enjoying a nice slice of key lime pie. Knuckles comments: "I don't understand. This young streetwalker with a heart made of gold, why do the others treat her with such disdain? Is it so wrong to walk the streets?"

This is a show where the fourth episode is directed by one of the guys from The Lonely Island and features a hallucinatory low budget rock opera stage musical put on by the ghost of Pachacamac. It recounts Knuckles' life story, with Wade playing Knuckles and the "evil" Longclaw played by the bounty hunter guy who's played by the Mighty Boosh guy.

Look at this.

And also, Knuckles' singing voice is provided by Michael Bolton, which they proudly announce in the middle of the musical.

And also...

Also...???

IBLIS IS IN IT????????????

Yes, Iblis!

From Sonic '06!!

Knuckles is said to have looked for a mythical power called the "Flames of Disaster" to avenge his clan, which ended up being the power that was within him all along that lets him do fire punches yadda yadda yadda. As part of this, he apparently fought Iblis off-screen at some point, as conveyed with the giant singing papier-mâché Iblis in the musical.

...Then Iblis sings about hitting up Facebook Marketplace

How? How does any of this exist? Why reference '06 of all games? How did Iblis get into the live action Sonic movie universe before Amy and Metal Sonic? Why are they using Iblis and the term "Flames of Disaster" in such a goofy way that completely disregards their original context?

I don't know. I don't know how any of this happened. But I love it. We got a Knuckles miniseries in which Michael Bolton sings the phrase "the Flames of Disaster." The world is a beautiful place sometimes.

Some people will tell you to skip episode four. "Knuckles is barely even in it," they say. "It's dumb and pointless," they say. "They clearly just ran out of special effects budget," they say. These are people whose opinions you should disregard. The episode with the least Knuckles in it is somehow the most entertaining episode of the show. I would, in fact, go as far as to say that if you only decide to watch one episode of the Knuckles show to see what goofy bullshit they get up to, it should be this one.

I cannot be mad at this show. It's so dumb, but it completely owns the fact that it's a dumb and unnecessary spinoff. Inferiority is baked into its very DNA. It's very self-consciously redoing the premise of the first movie, but stupider. It's about The Other Cop from the movies, instead of the competent one. Instead of being into a "cooler" sport, his life revolves around professional bowling. Instead of going to Vegas, he goes to Reno. Even his tragic backstory that shaped his entire life sucks. He was abandoned by his pro bowler dad in a TJ Maxx. Not even a nicer department store. A fucking TJ Maxx. This whole show is a Dril tweet.

They put a ton of effort into making it dumb in an occasionally spectacular way. So much effort was put into that joke rock opera that fans will just write off as stupid filler. They put their whole pussies into it. This is not a poorly made show. This has better production values than half the shit made for Disney+. This was made with love. Maybe not as much love for the Sonic the Hedgehog series of video games as we'd like, but it's love nonetheless.

Maybe this show broke me and these are the ramblings of a madwoman. Maybe I'm just really nostalgic for the '90s and '00s comedy movies all the Wade stuff is modeled after. Maybe the Alan Wake fan in me just really loves it when a story pivots to a silly rock opera for no real reason. I won't discount any of these possibilities. This isn't high art. This isn't something I would recommend to anyone with zero interest in Sonic, and it also isn't going to sway Sonic fans who hate the Paramount universe. I really can't blame them for being bewildered by this show. But for a specific type of person, this is the absurd three-star Sonic-adjacent comedy miniseries of your dreams. It's a mid masterpiece.

Again, I just have to step back, realize the fact that this shouldn't exist, and smile. Sega's too afraid to do stupid bullshit with the franchise like this these days. And I can't blame them, after years of Sonic being a treated as a laughingstock. But part of me misses some of the goofy shit. No matter how much I tore some of the Archie comics apart as I was reading them for this blog, I just look back on stuff like Cal and Al or the Many Hands issues and laugh. And that same part of me looks at this show about Knuckles being the sidekick to this fucking guy, and just goes...

"We're so back."

In conclusion, I genuinely think this was a more enjoyable TV show than Sonic Prime.

I wouldn't go back and rewatch Sonic Prime anytime soon, aside from maybe, like, a couple of the Shadow-heavy episodes. Huge stretches of that show bored me to tears. The writers squandered all of that show's potential. But I would rewatch the Knuckles show, which takes a terrible premise and has a lot of fun with it, in a heartbeat. Even the bowling parts. The bowling scenes in the Knuckles show are more engaging than 70% of the fights in Sonic Prime. I am not trolling. I mean that sincerely, with all my heart. Don't @ me.

Stray observations

There is effectively zero meaningful setup for the third movie in this, unless Wade's family or the two GUN agents come back or something. Project Shadow is not mentioned in this. There is no secret post-credits scene with Gerald

The CGI in this is pretty good. Not quite on par with the movies, but pretty good. Sonic's weird forehead wrinkles are distracting in his scenes though. Please fix that

I wouldn't say I liked this as much as the second movie, which obviously gets a ton of points for, you know. The Cool Sonic Shit. But I had more fun with it than the first movie, which I still feel is a painfully generic family movie that was only saved by Tyson's redesign

"Grapes are an interesting choice for someone who doesn't use his individual fingers."

Agent Willoughby was apparently the one at GUN who had to buy the Olive Garden gift cards and set up the fake wedding. Her origin story is that she hated doing shit like that and wanted to go fight aliens

This miniseries contains another Keanu namedrop because Wade's childhood bedroom has a Speed poster on the wall. I swear, if Sonic doesn't say Shadow sounds just like Keanu...

Knuckles is familiar with Paul Blart Mall Cop

Near the end the ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators say that the 1974 Reno bowling championship was also interrupted by an extraterrestrial, and given that was exactly 50 years ago I can't write off the possibility that that was Shadow. Please for the love of god give us a sequel series after the third movie where Wade takes Shadow the Hedgehog bowling. I need this more than I need air

[writer-logbook]

5 tips for proofreading & their pros and cons

Define your objectives for each chapter. In my case, some of my chapters are better written than others. My objectives for them will differ. Before starting my proofreading, I list my needs and areas of improvements, and I write them down somewhere so I have them in front of me rather than in my head alone.

Pros : allows you to know which points you need to focus on ; provides a guideline adapted to your needs.

Cons : risk of losing homogeneity and fluidity + flaws may be shifted to other chapters that didn't have them before due to a sudden imbalance.

Plan several proofreading sessions, each one of them addressing ONE NEED AT A TIME. (E.g., one for grammar, another for style, and a final one for coherence. ) And I insist on the "one need at a time" part. Even for those who can multitask (unlike me), I really don't recommend settling for a single proofreading session. It could interfere with your concentration and let you skip some flaws. And please, always give your chapter a final read after your edits to ensure that the elements make sense as a whole, and are not repeated every two paragraphs (I plead guilty, your honor)

Pros: allows you to focus precisely on each point, and give it dedicated attention.

Cons: you can quickly get confused and risk multiple re-readings + significant time investment.

I make my corrections on a separate file. Whatever you do, it's always better to have a backup and therefore to save your files (don't blindly trust autosave) to create archives. I think it's a two-ways process : 1) you open two files simultaneously, one with your V1 and one, blank, where you'll rewrite your chapter as you make changes. Eventually, this new doc will become your V2 ; 2) you copy the parts to proofread into a new document and edit directly in there.

Pros: allows you to rewrite as you wish without being discouraged by the following paragraphs - especially in case of the first way.

Cons: requires multiple files (maybe multiple screens to be at ease) and better organization.

Change the typography. I don't know about you, but after a while, I'm struck by semantic satiation (click on the link - it's Wikipedia -, it's very interesting) and nothing makes sense anymore. After the 52,846th proofreading, I might as well read in another language. I've found a relatively effective trick - not as effective as a complete break, but sometimes you need to move forward - which consists of changing the typography. I can't remember who gave me this advice though, but be sure they've been thanked more than enough in my mind. In any case, seeing words change their shape significantly helps my brain to stay focused and attentive. (Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me but I only see the results.)

Pros: it's simple to implement.

Cons: I don't know if this trick works for everyone or if I'm the only weirdo (you can tell me in the comment section).

Take notes. This is a very personal tip but I keep a proofreading logbook. Like, I record in a few sentences the first time an element is mentioned, how it's describes, and most importantly… I MENTION THE DATES. The story I'm currently writing is heavily governed by a chronological system, so I have an absolute need to keep the day count up to date.

Pros: helps avoid inconsistencies and oversights.

Cons: very tedious to maintain and creates (a lot) of extra work.

I've started my prooreading journey yesterday and I already want to die. If I find in the edits something that is worth making a post, be sure that I will. Or let me know if you're simply curious.

Gentle reminder : Best is the worst enemy of good so, at some point, you'll have to let it go and let your chapter live its life to its fullest. Don't be hard on yourself and be proud of your work - or know that I am.