#knowing how it goes before I get into it is helpful though

[junkissed]

monster

member — incubus!cheol x f reader genre — smut, supernatural (demon), pwp word count — 2.2k synopsis — who said you aren't allowed to fuck your sleep paralysis demon? warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, monster cock!cheol, mean dom!cheol, masturbation (reader), messy blowjob, rough throat fucking, throat bulge kink, choking/breathplay, dacryphilia, some degredation and praise, a little humiliation, throat training (kinda), cum in mouth, sooooo much cum, cheol is a demon both metaphorically and literally, cheol has a tail and uses it for kinky purposes, objectification (of reader), nicknames (darling, sweetheart, slut, good girl, toy, etc.), implied established relationship ? (this is not their first time together) notes — thanks to @multi-kpop-fanfics @kwanisms for help brainstorming the demon part and @cheolism @onlymingyus @beomcoups for proofreading !! i really wanted to put out one more spooky fic before december hehe. if you enjoyed this fic, please remember to reblog!! it's super important for sharing my work and it lets me know this is something people wanna see more of :)

“darling, now what did i tell you about touching yourself without me?”

you startle at the sudden low voice whispering in your ear, and your cheeks grow hot as you sit up straighter on the bed. your skin prickles with the sudden feeling of being watched, tingling almost in excitement. 

you already know who it is even before his figure fades into visibility. his face still obscured in shadow and your room is dark, illuminated by nothing but the faint gleam of the moon shining in through your window. even so, you know his piercing eyes can see through the dark when yours can't. 

he looks different each time he arrives. sometimes it’s the long blond hair, slicked back with gel and a single strand falling across his forehead. sometimes it’s the black hair, shaved close on the sides with half of it tied back in a bun. but the red that he wears tonight has always been your favorite: a bright, unnaturally glowing shade that seems to match his fiery personality.

that’s how he appears to you now, dressed in his usual purple suit, the deep neckline showing off the muscles in his broad chest and his tail curled in a relaxed coil around his leg. a thick silver chain hangs around his neck and instinctively you shiver at the sight of it, the memory of it seared into your skin from all the times he's held you down rough and fast and let it drag across your back, just the way you like it.

“you were expecting me, weren’t you?” he murmurs. his voice is warm and deep like a pool of water, and each time you hear it, it only makes you want to jump deeper and deeper into him.

“m-maybe,” you manage breathlessly, though both of you know it’s so obviously a lie.

he laughs, but his tone isn’t humorous. you can practically see the smirk in his voice even without being able to see his face. “of course you were. or else you wouldn’t be sitting there, soaking through your panties and thinking about me like the depraved little slut you are. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

the bedroom suddenly brightens with a warm orange glow, as if lit by a candle, except there's nothing there. cheol finally steps out of the shadows, allowing you to see all of him. the look on his face radiates condescension, yet it only makes the heat between your legs burn hotter. 

you don't give him an answer to his question, and he doesn't pry for one. that's how this usually goes; you both know exactly what the other is here for anyway. once you're sure he's watching, you slowly pull your fingers from your cunt and keep your legs spread to reveal your glistening, sticky arousal that he loves so much, and that's enough of an answer to keep him satisfied for now. he doesn't react, but you can tell he's enjoying the sight from the way his eyes begin to glow a deep, hungry red.

you get up off the bed and start to move towards him, but he vanishes. a laugh sounds from behind you, and you whip around to see him sitting where you had been on the bed.

cheol spreads his thighs apart, leaning back against the headboard of your bed, and you take it as an invitation to move back towards him. you're already starting to feel the neediness returning, the empty feeling only heightened by his presence.

you try to sit down but his hand catches your arm, wrapped around your wrist to keep you at a distance.

“ah ah ah,” he scolds, holding back a laugh at your pout of confusion. “you already had your turn. if you behave for me, then i might consider giving you something in return.”

you nod quickly, and he smirks, directing you to kneel between his thighs instead. “mm… my good girl, always so eager.” 

he leans closer to you and fists his hand through your hair, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you up and force your head to be level with his. he whispers against your cheek and it raises goosebumps on your skin, his eyes dark and narrowed as he bares his teeth with a grin. “i think you might just be one of my favorites, you know? such a cute little thing you are.”

he lets go of your hair and you reposition yourself to lay as comfortably as you can, now face to face with his cock as he pushes away his pants. you may be one of his favorites, but he's also one of yours. the first time he appeared was the last time you slept with a human man, and as long as you have him you'll never want to again. there's no desire for the mediocre hookups of the past when you have the devil's right hand man using his hands on you. seungcheol fits in all the right places, in all the right ways, and each time with him is even more satisfying than the last.

you tentatively wrap your hand around the base of his cock, trying to guide him into your mouth. this part never gets easier on you, but it's well worth it for the pleasure he gives you in return. 

“relax, sweetheart,” he coos as you slide your lips further down. “you're so tense. you want to take it all, don't you? breathe through your nose, you know the drill.”

to anyone else his words might sound kind, but you know the way he's teasing you is anything but kind. you whimper and try to follow his direction, forcing your jaw to go slack as you try to fit more down your throat. slowly but surely you manage to take him into your mouth, but your lips still only reach halfway down his length.

he pushes his hips up into your mouth once he's given you a moment to adjust, an experimental thrust to see if you're ready. you choke a little and let out a gagging sound, your eyes instantly starting to water as he hits the back of your throat. but you don't tell him to stop, and he doesn't stop.

you keep trying to relax your jaw, letting the length of his cock slide against your tongue with wet, messy noises.

cheol's tail wraps itself around your neck and you stifle a strangled gasp in surprise. his cock is so far down your throat it’s already almost hard to breathe, but the added pressure as he chokes you makes it even harder. you're lightheaded from the feeling but not enough to hurt, teetering on the line between pleasure and pain. 

“you look absolutely pathetic, darling,” he says, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest. “so gorgeous.”

your arms are shaking from holding yourself up on your elbows, but his praise is what keeps you going, choking back a whimper as you take his cock further down your throat. your vision blurs around the edges, but you can feel the spit dribbling from your mouth as it runs down his length. he makes it impossible to focus on anything besides the bruising pace of his cock.

cheol coos in fake sympathy, his tail coiling just a little tighter around your neck. “aw, poor thing. is it too difficult for you, sweetheart? you're trying so hard to be good for me. just relax.”

at this angle he can't see it, but he can feel the way your throat bulges around his length. he can feel the ridges of your throat tightening around his cock with each labored breath you take, barely enough room to allow air into your lungs. if you were in a different position he'd be able to see the faint outline of his cock stretching your throat, expanding and contracting as you struggle to meet his thrusts.

“you're loving this, aren't you? i can tell. i can smell it.” he inhales deeply through his nostrils, as if to prove his point. “ahh. like cinnamon, and… peaches. i can practically taste you from here, my darling. so sweet…”

if your mouth weren't so full and you could speak properly right now, you'd probably be whining seungcheol's name and begging for more. no matter how many times he tells you to forget him, he always ends up back in your bed like this. maybe he really does have a favorite.

he groans and rolls his neck back, his skin flushed red as he looks down at you. fuck, what a sight: your pretty little ass up in the air and your lips stretched around him, looking up at him with pleading eyes filled with tears.

cheol lets out another laugh, his voice just a little strained as he teases you. “if you hadn't already soaked through your cute little panties before i got here, then i'd bet they definitely are by now.”

you choke a little around him, caught off guard by his words, but he's not wrong. you wiggle your hips involuntarily, trying your best to hold still but it's hard to stay focused. your head is fuzzy and your senses are overwhelmed, your throat burning with friction both inside and out.

your grip starts to loosen around the base of his cock but seungcheol just tsks and repeats your name, his tail squeezing once to get your attention. “use your hands, darling, you have them for a reason. now just stay still, relax for me.” he flashes you a grin. “don't want to hurt my favorite toy, of course.”

his thrusts into your mouth grow more hurried, shoving his cock down your throat faster and sloppier with each snap of his hips. the force of his movements is unnaturally strong, and although you know by now that he's right on the edge, he barely looks like he's breaking a sweat. 

he finally releases with a deep groan, spilling down your throat and flooding your mouth. his thrusts don't stop, only slowing down a fraction as he tilts his head back, letting out another satisfied moan.

you know better than to stop without cheol's permission, so you hold your head in place and try to keep up with him. your eyes are brimming with tears as you struggle not to choke, and finally the hot, wet drops spill over and roll down your cheeks from the intense amount of energy it's taking to stay still.

all you can do is focus again on breathing through your nose and swallowing all of his cum that you can. unlike other men you've been with, you're not repulsed by the taste of him, and swallowing would be easy if there weren't so much of it. even when he should be finished he still keeps going, his tip pulsating against your tongue with each spurt.

just when you think you can't hold it any longer, the pressure on your neck suddenly releases and seungcheol uncurls his tail from around your neck. you pull your head away from his cock, gasping and stuttering, and you vaguely register cheol's fingers beneath your chin to support your head, your jaw aching from being held stretched open for so long. 

“mm, there you go. deep breaths, now.”

seungcheol chuckles as if he’s pleased at the sight of you. his tail lifts to wipe the tears from your cheeks, then some of the drool and spit and cum from the corner of your mouth, and you exhale a shallow, shaky breath.

“are you done for tonight? or…” he hums once he's given you a moment to recover, but although his words are kind again, there's no sympathy in his tone. he caresses your cheek gently with his thumb, his crimson red eyes sparkling as he looks down at you.

“… you think you can take more?”

your eyes are heavy and lidded, feeling like all your energy has been zapped from you, but somehow you're still insatiable. there's an itch that you can never quite scratch, feelings that only seungcheol can make you feel, and the promise of that satisfaction is enough to keep you sated and happy for decades.

“more,” you stammer, still catching your breath, but your eyes are fixed on his. “p-please, i can take it.”

cheol's smile widens, revealing his gleaming white teeth, although he'd already known what your answer would be. “oh, i know you can. such an obedient thing you are, always so ready to please and be pleased. you want more, hm?”

you nods quickly as you can manage, your neck still aching a little. that's how he always leaves you: a ruined mess, exhausted and sore, yet you'd still jump on the chance for another round if he offered. and he always does.

before you can blink he flips you onto your back, disappearing almost like magic and reappearing at the end of the bed to kneel between your legs. his thick cock rests against your stomach, still just as hard as before, and the weight of him on top of you already has you shivering with excitement.

“you’ve been such a good girl for me, darling. i think you deserve a little reward for taking my cock so well.” he grins as he traces his fingers down your body, his hands finding your hips as his grip tightens. “you get to take it again.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[clos-posts]

Okay so, hear me out:

I've been on a bit of a Merlin fanfic hyperfocuse and came across another "I'm Emrys" where Merlin has to perform magic for Arthur to believe him, in front of the entire round table council, and I had a thought.

So, we all know that Merlin is magic itself, spells that seemed powerful to other sorcerers are not that powerful to Merlin and my hc is that these spells barely make his eyes turn gold, like maybe a flicker so fast the average person will miss it.

So I imagine Merlin saying he's Emrys and Arthur being all 'well then prove it' and Merlin makes a fireball (cliche I know but bear with me). Now Arthur has seen this spell and though he has a merger knowledge of magic, knows that it's quite a powerful spell and that most sorcerers eyes are practically a blinding gold, but Merlins eyes don't change. That and Merlin doesn't even speak and therefore didn't cast a spell.

Arthur, thinking that some other sorcerer helped Merlin with his self-sacrificing, kind-hearted, not wanting anyone to die personality, appear as if Merlin is this 'Emrys' and in a patience but patronizing tone tells Merlin that's is honorable to try and protect this Emrys, but his eyes didn't even change colour and therefore can not be a sorcerer.

Merlin, in a very Merlin way, huffs and proceeds to say something like 'Well duh, that was a very simple spell. Doesn't even require that much magic to perform' and the entire room goes silent.

(meanwhile Guise blood pressure has skyrocketed and is on the verge of either killing Merlin himself or having a heart attack. He hasn't decided yet.)

Arthur, absolutely baffled (and a little turn on at the casual display of apparently immense power), asks: 'What will make your eyes gold then? If you even are a sorcerer?'

Merlin, never one to back down from a challenge and already too deep into this, shrugs and says 'We would need to be outside'

And that's how the whole council ends up on the training grounds opposite Merlin waiting in anticipation as to what he will do.

There's silence so thick that no one dares break until Merlin starts to chant. At first nothing happens and Arthur is relieved (and a little disappointed), but then clouds start to gather, think dark clouds above them, and Merlin starts to get louder. Thunder claps across the sky and there electricity in the air making Arthur's hair stand on end and a shiver works its way down his spine. He looks at Merlin and though it's subtle at first, his eyes are glowing gold.

The tension builds and builds and with one final shout from Merlin, his eyes, a brilliant gold, as lightning falls all around him, clashing to the ground destroying the train field in its wake.

Arthur can do nothing but stare. Breath caught, heart hammer, and a sudden hot arousal catching him off guard. He can do nothing but stare at Merlin, his loyal manservant, standing amidst the lighting with his head thrown back and a look of contentment on his face, as if performing magic of this magnitude is comfortable, relaxing, an everyday occurrence.

When Merlins eyes meet Arthur's, there's a, small, sad smile on his lips, and then quicker then it had started the lightning stops and the clouds disappear, and the only thing that can be heard is the birds beginning to sing again.

Arthur can't think of anything to say and stupidly say 'you destroyed the training grounds'. Merlin at this point blushes, stammers out an apology before waving his hand with a few muttered words and the training field is in perfect condition once again.

Arthur and the entire council are baffled.

Then, before anyone could say anything, Arthur blurts out a command for Merlin to go to Arthur's chambers and he does. Without question. Just a shrug, and walks off. Arthur is wheeling. This powerful sorcerer, who just showed them a feat that no mortal man will ever replicate just listens to his command with nothing but a shrug!

Anyway, once Arthur has calmed the council somewhat he makes his way to his chambers. Once he enters Merlin is speaking so fast it's hard to keep up, something about coins, destiny and then shockingly how Arthur is the only person that can kill him if he uses Excalibur. What. The. Fuck.

Arthur: I'm not going to kill you Merlin!! Why would I kill you?!?

Merlin: Well, I mean, umm, I'm a sorcerer? Emery's? The strongest warlock to ever walk the Earth?

Arthur: I'm not going to kill you Merlin. However! If you do not take me to bed and absolutely ravish me in the next 10 minutes, I may have to resort to drastic measures!

Merlin, absolutely gobsmacked, face red: Wh- what measures..?

Arthur, absolutely confident, turned on beyond belief, practically gagging for it: I'll start begging.

And before he knows it Merlin pounces, and the rest is history.

That was not meant to be as long as it was... 😂

BUT!! If someone who writes fics could take this and write a fully fleshed version on this and then tag me in it I would be forever grateful. ADHD and dyslexia does not make a good writer for me unfortunately 🥲🥲🥲

OH! One last thing! I have a hc that cold iron had a natural negative field which repels energy which is why those that have learned magic have it cut off when chained in cold iron. They can't draw upon their magic from the energy around them. However, with Merlin being magic it's a little different for him.

So, I had this image of a knight, without prompting thinking he's doing what the king would want, walks up to Merlin at some point during his light show and slaps cold iron shackles on him. But, instead of the magic stopping, Merlins eyes grow brighter and bright, and the shackles start to shake and groan, because whilst cold iron does repel energy, it's a little hard to do that from both sides and can't take the pressure. At some point the shackles start to glow as the negative properties of the iron are being overwhelmed and forced into itself. Merlin looks down, looks back at the now terrified knight and says: You should probably duck. And no soon has the knight hit the ground the shackles explode, for lack of a better word. No harm done to Merlin tho.

[eupheme]

you writing is so beautiful. the way that logan tries to stop her - how blunt and earnest he is and the worst person for the job (but also best, in his own way) but he's trying, gosh that got me. love the line about logan's tailights being a lighthouse, guiding her back out in all that dark, and then trying to make her promise she won't go back.

and how they bump into each other again, the way he takes time and listens to her each time had my heart aching. the way you write her grief felt so real (I really appreciate how you wrote this fic - my own mental health over the past few years has been rocky and this felt so - gosh, I don't know, relatable? hopeful? wonderful? to read), and the fact that he understands in a way that no one else she knows does - it such a rough connection but you have me feeling glad for each of their encounters.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation��”

Wheezing omg - perfect Wade introduction. And then that she goes back, and I that she hates but I love that he is getting a handle at how she thinks, how he makes her be honest. And gosh when he opens up in return, that fondness he had for Wade, how he's still hurting from before, I was inhaling this.

Loving 'DVDJ' (and the F9/Wade & Logan references omfg) and I so feel for reader and how hard it is to put yourself out there, but what a great group of people for her to surround herself with. And the whiplash with her finding him like that, how it still comes back to him after all the healing he's been trying to do, all of this made my chest ache.

He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one. // “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Ahh this made me want to cry - I love how you dug into his grief in this. How she's able to help him this time, find the words he needs to hear. And ahh I love how you write everyone - Vanessa, Wade, Althea. Logan's chip! I am tearing up again, especially at this part:

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”

oh!! 🥺💖 and then I love the reveal that the cliff was a space in his world, even with their shared history of it. like they were always meant to meet, the “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.” had me like !!!! - sad and lovely is so right.

“‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

this made me laugh (reference to Hugh's interview right??) omg. and the way you pace things, how they slowly get better and fall into place for her, it makes me so proud, even just as a reader.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.” // It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

Grinning, oh my god. And how sweet she is with the gift and how Wade wants to take a new photo of his new world - my heart. And then how seeing Vanessa and Wade makes her think about more, when at the beginning that was impossible - weeping.

Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

!!!!! god, what a realization. and how she can't handle it, so real. And how he comes through the rain to check on her, oh my god. That he checked, and how scared he must have been!

“I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” // His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Oh. And oh my god that perfectly imperfect kiss, the fact he's been wanting to for ages!!!!! I am screaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?” !!!! (the vein appreciation, loved that)

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

eep! 😳💖 the smut was so perfect, so good. I am obsessed with how soft he is for her -

“Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance.

LOGAN 😳 the desperation with how they’re still on her table, how sweet and pleased he is - the “then get it out”, omg he is so filthy. This was amazing (that stomach vein yesssss) just absolutely steamy as hell and so so well-written and I had to keep taking breaks to stare at the wall. Phew! Fucking her against the wall!!!! I love the use of the strength here and yessss a long night indeed!! 👀💖💖

And gosh, the last segment. No words, my heart is tied up in the sweetest of strings and knots. This was really something special. I already want to reread and pick each line apart. This was Logan and this is canon to me and wow I just loved this so much and I hope you are so proud of this fic because you really really should be. I am going to be thinking about this for a long time 💖 (and I would love to hear about the title, is Logan her cardinal?)(like a sign of hope and new beginnings?)

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[botchedsundoll]

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; general relationship/ domestic hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none!

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; hi giys my requests r open😝 request please… pls☹️, idc if some of these r ooc in my world they are very much in character i love them all so much oh my god, didn’t include much abt their jobs bcos i wany thrm all to be happy okay..

C. OLIVEIRA

have you seen them photos of them big beefy scary men underneath like thick hello kitty or very feminine blankets? yeah that’s him

SNORES. SNORES SO LOUDLY. he wraps his arms around you instinctively at night and his grip is so tight you genuinely can’t escape his warmth or snoring

on the topic of that, he runs warm. he’s a genuine heater in winter - cold? cuddle up to him, saving money on the heating. win win!

whenever he comes home from the gym or wherever and he spots you watching one of your shows on the tv, he’ll stand behind the couch and watches it himself before eventually sitting down besides you. he can’t help it

every friday IS date night. whether that be something as simple as dinner at home together or something as extravagant as going to a fancy restaurant, the two of you are spending time together. he will make sure of that

going off of my previous hc’s, he can’t bake for life of him. cooking he’s rather okay-ish with all the simple stuff but baking? alone? absolutely not

the two of you decided to bake something for one of your date nights once. you asked him to pour flour and cocoa powder into the wet ingredients and turn the mixer on - he forgot to put the splashguard on and turned it right up to the fastest setting

safe to say your kitchen, and carlos, looked as if they’d just came out of winter wonderland

gives off the biggest girl dad vibes. just imagine him letting his little girl put random clips and bows in his hair jshwiaianwi omg

he has such a soft spot for strays. has genuinely brought home a puppy before because he saw it laying out by the dumpster before and couldn’t leave it alone

he’s all over you. CONSTANTLY. arm over your shoulder, hand on your hip. he can’t get enough of you

L. KENNEDY

he wakes up a few minutes earlier than he actually needs to (when he does actually fall asleep) just stare at you and how peace you look asleep

you’ve asked him to help you with your hair so many times to the point he’s genuinely become an absolute professional at it. the moment you give him that look he tells you to turn around and starts working his magic

keeps photos of you in his wallet, he knows deep down its rather risky but can’t help himself

in the instances that he does fall asleep before you (extremely rare) and you cuddle up against his side, his arm automatically wraps around you. it’s like muscle memory at this point

has your name engraved into his key chain on his keys

ALWAYS helps out with dinner whenever he’s home, despite you constantly telling him to get the fuck out and relax for a bit. ends up in him dancing with you in the kitchen

his showers are like, the ideal temperature- perfect for you to just hop in with him. he never minds and rather welcomes it

ALWAYS SURPRISES YOU FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY!! goes absolutely FULL out, waking you up with kisses on your shoulder, an expensive outfit you’ve had your eye on for a while, extravagant dinner and a nice little stroll in the park at night. switches it up every year so you never know what’s coming

has you as his emergency contact for sure

plays old rock songs in the car. causes you to make fun of him and call him an old american dad - even though you definitely don’t actually like the song. definitely

C. REDFIELD

i just KNOW this man can be out sass you during arguements. growing up with claire certainly prepared him for that

he’s gone quite most of the time, so he makes sure to spend as much time as possible with you whenever he can

recently saw this thing where it was an ex military with his kids, where he’s shouting out orders like a drill sergeant during bath time. chris. it just screams chris.

— “I’M PUTTING SHAMPOO IN YOUR HAIR, DO NOT OPEN YOUR EYES! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

— “OK!”

just imagine hearing that every time it’s his turn with bath time. just constant giggles and shouts (if there r kids ofc)

you and claire are CLOSE. chris has made sure of that, definitely introduced you two once he knew it was getting serious

regrets it at times, as whenever something happens at home with the two of you - no matter how stupid the arguement may hve been claire is always the first to know. and always the first to knock some sense into her brother

wears hawaiian dad shirts in summer. for a fact.

like carlos, runs SO WARM. feels as though he’s an actual bear and has genuine fur on him keeping him so warm

sleeps flat on his back, arms by his sides. usually a very light sleeper but at times absolutely nothing will wake him up. you’re free to roll around all over him, strew your legs out over him and he’ll simply stay lying on his back like always. hands by his sides and the only indication of him actually being alive being the rise and fall of his chest

his appetite is absolutely outrageous. you best believe whatever you make is being absolutely devoured, he loves your cooking. sometimes all he needs is some home cooked dinner to put a smile on his face

he will genuinely let you do almost anything to him. you wanna massage his back? sure. do a face mask on him? alright, but no photos. wax a patch of hair on his leg? did it before, never letting you do it again. he has a hard time saying no to you - he’s lost too much people, he needs to make the most of his time with you

[revelboo]

Hello, sorry if I'm being annoying. But I’d love to see something with IDW Ratchet or Tarn if you could write anything with them—especially Ratchet. I just don’t see enough good stories about him. I really enjoy your writing style and can’t get enough of it. Sorry for any mistakes; English isn’t my first language.

Sure, I’ve been meaning to do an IDW Ratchet. Tarn’s on my list, too, but he and Ratchet will likely be the last new characters for a while. I’m currently over 30 ongoing storylines at this point 😅

Feel Like Rain

IDW Ratchet x Reader

• Sometimes it’s all too much. Even with First Aid helping, there’s just not enough medics in the Ark to support so many Autobots. Wheeljack and Perceptor can help if push comes to shove, but even then once the fighting begins again it won’t be enough. He’s never enough. And when he can’t get his processor right, when it threatens to drown him, he goes driving in his alt mode. Feels the sun baking him, the sand and hot asphalt under his tires. No real destination in mind, just trying to calm the panic that’s always there, the worry about what might happen. Driving for hours sometimes in a widening spiral about the Ark. Never going too far in case he’s needed. As he turns, he almost misses the car down in a crevice, only part of the bumper still visible, emergency lights flashing. Not his problem, but he’s still slowing anyway. Because he’s still a medic and someone might be hurt.

• Transforming and sliding down next to the car, he lays a hand on the roof feeling the heat of the metal and knowing it’s been there a while. Leaning to look inside anyway, there’s a human slumped forward against the wheel, broken glass glittering in their hair. Unmoving. Too late, then. Spark constricting, he’s turning away, pushing off the car to make the metal groan, when their little fingers flex and you make a low, guttural noise of pain that freezes him.

• It takes time to carefully peel back the roof of the car, snap the seatbelt and pull the door off to remove you. Feeling how hot your skin is against his servos as he lifts your limp form. Your eyes never open but you mumble incoherently, broken fragments he can’t make sense of. That make him wonder just how long you’ve been here, trapped and waiting to die. Because there’s no leaving you now that he has you in his hands. Carefully transforming around you to carry back to the Ark.

• Wheeljack’s in Medbay when he returns, digging through his tools and looking up guiltily, vocal indicators flickering green before he notices the human. “Haven’t seen that one before. Looks rough,” Wheeljack murmurs, moving closer as Ratchet lays you on a berth, your tiny form looking even smaller in the bot sized space. He’s almost absurdly glad Wheeljack’s there. Even though he’s been trying to brush up on human medicine since there’s so many of them now in the Ark, he doesn’t know nearly enough. Doesn’t know how to help you, but Wheeljack has a human. He has to know something.

• Snatching a scanner to run over you, he frowns at the results. Wrist and arm broken, one leg fractured. Body temperature well outside of normal parameters, dehydrated. Blood pressure off from normal, too. And he doesn’t know enough to know which problem is a priority. Which will kill you if he doesn’t fix it first. “Get your human,” he says softly. Temperature? It’s a place to start, cooling you off. “Now, Wheeljack,” he adds without looking up when the other bot doesn’t immediately move. Using a servo to brush your hair from your face, he can see the glass glittering on your skin and in your hair. “You held on this long.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

bucky x flirty! or like unhinged chaotic! reader, maybe him thinking she doesn’t like him she’s just a flirt, or him falling for how totally backwards she is

I love this request! This is 100% inspired by that one scene in the Thunderbolts trailer where he's on the motorcycle because I've been thinking about it a lot.

cw: reader gets hit on by a creepy guy and he gets aggressive

You almost stumble and fall onto the concrete outside of the club you were just thrown out of as the man who you were thrown out with tries to help you to your feet.

"Don't touch me," you push him away before retrieving your taser from you purse. You've never used it, but you've watched countless videos on it and now seems like as good of a time as any.

You point the taser at him, but that doesn't seem to scare him like you thought it would and he just steps closer. This is the whole reason why the both of you got kicked out of the club, so you're not sure why he's trying again.

He had been getting a little too handsy and wouldn't stop when you had asked him to, so why's it your fault that you had punched him? That had just been self defense at that point. And because he couldn't accept the consequences of his own actions, he had tried to punch you back, but you moved out of the way before he could and he had ended up punching the poor girl behind you so things got a little rowdy after that and because the two of you had caused it, you were asked to leave.

So there you are, on the street with a creep because you assured your friends who had driven you there that they could stay when they insisted on coming with you. All you have is your phone, your ID, a little cash, a pen, and a tube of lip gloss, so you don't have enough for a cab or even an uber to take you home. You suppose you could take the bus, but the last late night one was already gone.

And then, as if an answer to your prayers, you watch a motorcycle stop right in front of you as he waits for the light a few feet away to turn green. You usually didn't do things like this, but you're desperate. You're not thinking clearly even though you were only able to have a few sips of the drink you had ordered before you had been asked to leave.

Bucky turns towards you and gives you a nod as if to acknowledge you, but he can't help notice how uneasy how you must feel, squeezing the device in your hand so hard that he's convinced that you're going to break it. He then turns to the man who's standing next to you and he now understands why you're so anxious.

He's a creep to say the least and the way he's looking at you makes Bucky's stomach drop. He wants to step in to help, but he knows he he shouldn't. It's none of his business and he promised himself he would keep to himself from now on.

But the man lunges towards you and Bucky is about to step in, but just his luck, the light turns green and he's forced to drive off, leaving you behind to get a black eye or possibly worse. His stomach is in knots now and he can't just let that vile man get away with hurting you so before he can stop himself, he's doing a U-turn and somehow is able to weave through traffic before pulling up right beside you, putting the bike in park before he gets off of it, making a beeline for you.

The man has you by the arms now, yelling in your face at how much of a bitch your are and you're face is turned away from him, your eyes shut tight, still holding onto your taser for dear life.

"May I see that?" Bucky asks and your eyes open before handing the weapon to him without a second thought.

Buck then turns to the man who's still yelling at you, ready to wring his neck. But he hold his hand out for the man to shake, making sure to hold out the metal one so he doesn't have to actually touch the man.

"Hey, how ya doin", I'm Bucky," he says with a smile and the man goes to shake his hand, his smile matching Bucky's.

"Oh, I'm-"

"Oh, I wasn't asking," Buck cuts him off then brings the taser up to his neck, pressing the button on the side of it as he does so. The man quickly drops to the ground, convulsing in reaction to the taser and Bucky takes you by the hand, the two of you hurrying to his motorcycle.

"You're my hero," you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and he has to turn away to hide his blush. Women have never been so forward with him, he usually purposely turns them off because none of them would understand who he is, well, who he is now.

He gets on the bike without a word and you follow him, wrapping your arms tight around his waist and he's caught off guard by how forward you've been with him despite him being a total stranger.

Bucky starts up the bike and tries not to squirm when you rest your head against his back like it's something you've done so many times before. After passing a few lights, he manages to get the balls to ask you for your address and when you tell him, he's surprised to find that it's not far from where he lives. Just great.

You snuggle against him for the rest of the ride and Bucky wants nothing more than to jump out of his own skin. He always had a hard time letting people in, but especially after everything that happened with Hydra. He finds himself having a hard time trusting anyone he didn't know before everything and that includes you even though you seem really sweet.

The bike pulls into your driveway and you get off of it, fixing your clothes and hair after you do so. And just when Bucky thinks you're going to leave, you do two things that catch him off guard. First, you take a pen from your purse and scribble down your phone number and then, before he can ask what you're doing, you lean in and press another kiss to his cheek, this one lingering.

Bucky is wondering what your soft lips would feel like on his, but he immediately shakes the thought away, not letting himself go down that road. You pull away before he's ready and throw the pen back in your purse before looking at him again.

"Thank you again-what was your name?"

"Bucky," he replies and hates how his heart leaps when you smile.

"Bucky," you repeat and god does he love the way that sounds coming out of your mouth.

God, you're pretty, and all Bucky can think about is pulling you into his arms, kissing you until you're both gasping for air. But he doesn't. He can't. So he just lets you go, knowing that he's immediately going to scrub your number off of his hand and do what he can to remove your lip gloss from his cheek. He wants to forget this night and how good you make him feel because there is no way in hell he's going to see or hear from you again. He's going to make sure of it.

[mxtxfanatic]

I know I'm kinda late but Happy Birthday month !!!🎉🎉🎉🎉

I was wondering if you wanted to talk about the parallels between A-Qing and Wei Wuxian in the Yi city arc ?

💜

Thank you! As long as it’s November, it’s never too late 💝

I kind of compared them in this wwx bday meta, but I didn’t get too deep into the parallel. While I said that A-Qing represents Wei Wuxian’s adaptability and unwillingness to passively accept evil simply because it’s cloaked in civility, I would like to highlight here another shared trait: their tenacity towards doing the right thing.

A-Qing is in a position of powerlessness in the trio due to her lack of cultivation skills and cultivation world knowledge, similar to how Wei Wuxian is made powerless—despite being a part of the cultivation world—by his lack of status and faithful allies. Yet despite this, both characters thrive in their environments and use their situationally-acquired skills to protect those around them. A-Qing did not have to stay with Xiao Xingchen, especially after Xue Yang came along, but her own sense of morality made her stick around to ensure Xiao Xingchen’s safety, something she was only able to do by feigning blindness. Even when she fails, she, Xiao Xingchen, and Song Lan die, and Xiao Xingchen’s spirit disperses, she uses the last moments of her life to doggedly seek help. After dying, she uses the entirety of her afterlife to scare ignorant strangers away from Yi City (mind you, she didn’t even die there. She made her spirit go back) and try to find ways to stop Xue Yang. Even at the risk of destroying her soul, she goes against Xue Yang to the very end, no regrets in any of her actions.

In the same way that A-Qing used her “blindness” as a shield, Wei Wuxian weaponized the cultivation world’s fears of him first to protect the sovereignty of the newly rebuilt Jiang then to protect the Wen remnants liberated from the Qiongqi Path labor camp. When he was still schemed against and the Wen siblings told him of their plan to turn themselves in, he still never thought to abandon them or let the punishment fall on anyone else’s shoulders, just as A-Qing refused to abandon Xiao Xingchen. After his resurrection, Wei Wuxian still goes out of his way to rescue and protect the junior cultivators, entering back into the lion’s den of the cultivation world for no benefit of his own just to continue to help others, in the exact same way that A-Qing went back to Yi City to guard against passersby wandering in to their deaths. And just like with A-Qing, at no point in time does he regret having rescued the Wen in his first life or having endangered himself in his second life to protect the juniors (or later their bloodthirsty parents).

Even though they faced negative consequences for following their morality to the bitter end (and even beyond), even if the people they wanted to protect were still murdered before their eyes, their reputations tarnished and legacies buried, at no point do either A-Qing or Wei Wuxian stray from their course nor regret their actions. This is their shared tenacity. There’s a reason, after all, that Wei Wuxian experiences the Yi City arc as her.

[cloudyskydreams]

Hello I've loved all your writing and hope to see more if its okay to ask how would the skeletons react if the reader came home badly hurt from someone sorry if this make you uncomfortable keep up with the amazing rewiring love to see more

Hello! Let me just say I adored your cosplay of Black it looks so good!!

Secondly, there's not alot that'll make me uncomfortable! Just letting everyone know that for future reference if you got some weird or gross or angsty ideas I have no prob writing them ::3!

Anyways these were actually really fun to write and kept me busy at work when it was slow. Thanks so much for requesting!! Hope you guys enjoy ::>

Undertale:

Sans:

His sockets widen and his eyelights shrinks upon seeing you. He teleports over quickly and gets you to the couch as he asks what happened. He listens to your explanation as he makes you a 'dog for the healing properties and gets to work bandaging you up. He's pretty calm throughout it but he's not really cracking jokes and you can see the sweat dripping down his skull. Once you're considerably better than before he lets out a sigh of relief and cuddles close to you content to keep you company for now. Now Sans isn't a violent guy really he's more of a bard. Talk his way out of the situation. Later though, later he's going to find that douchebag and show them a bad time

Papyrus:

Papyrus smiles upon hearing the door open and spins around in the kitchen to greet you happily. His face contorts to one of horror upon seeing your state and the plate in his hand drops smashing across the kitchen floor. He's over by your side in a quick few strides and gently carries you to the bathroom where he sets you down on the couch. He gets you some of his monster candy stash and bandages you up asking about what happened, he sits next to you and gently asks if you'd like to call the police stating he'll be by your side the whole time. If you say no he might just go by himself when he gets the chance and report what he knows.

Underfell:

Red:

Upon first seeing you bruised and battered Red's mind goes blank. He stares at you for a solid minute with empty sockets before he starts yelling as he grabs you by the wrist , surprisingly gently, and leads you to the bathroom. He bandages you up and disinfects any wounds as well as giving you a monster candy before he demands to know who the fuck hurt you. He stays by your side till you fall asleep very clearly pissed off still everytime he looks at your state but trying to be soft for you. Then when you're sleeping he leaves the house to hunt that fucker down and send them to the hospital with all their teeth knocked out and a few broken bones.

Edge:

He sees you and his fists clench by his side as he takes in your battered form. He walks over and gently searches you for any serious wounds assessing how badly you're hurt before leading you to the bathroom to patch you up. He stays calm and level headed but eeriely silent for the most part until he's done bandaging you. Then he inquires about what happened, where, and with who. Once he has all the details he kisses you softly and mutters how he's so glad you're okay before leaving you wrapped up in blankets on the couch with a comfort show and some monster snacks to help you heal. He's gonna rough the guy up then drag him to the police station and force him to confess.

Underswap:

Blue:

Blue's bright smile quickly falls and the quick steps he was taking to you falter as he sees you standing in the doorway. He rushes over a deadly serious look on his face as he looks you over. He gently leads you inside and phones the police as he's getting medical supplies and some monster food. He patches you up the best he can while telling the operator what he knows from what you tell him. The police arrive and interrogate you and Blue stays by your side holding your hand the entire time and comforting you.

Stretch:

He's sitting on the couch when you come in and he calls out over the back of it. When you don't reply he looks over and sees your state sending him into a state of shock. He quickly teleports over and lets you lean against him as he walks you to the couch. He's panicking inside he doesn't really know what to do as the sight of the state your in knocked all common sense out of him. So he calls his brother as he gets medical supplies and monster food. His brother shows up and after seeing the sight of you calls the police which makes Stretch freak out a little more. So he's by you're side clinging to you and trying to reassure you to the best of his ability while you and Blue deal with the Police.

HorrorTale:

Axe:

His eyelight shrinks to the smallest it's been and his hand immediately starts tugging on his empty sockets as he stares at you. It takes him a little bit to process the situation and by that time you're already inside. He's over by your side quickly shoving monster snacks in your hands as he looks over the wounds. He doesn't remember where the bandages are so you have to tell him where and he gets them. Very gently wraps you up acts as if you're porcelain. He sits you in his lap afterwards and cuddles up close starting to purr softly hoping it will help calm you. He asks what happened and listens with intense silence. He writes it down so he doesn't forget but leaves the person as a problem for another day he's more focused on you right now.They may think they got away with it but he won't forget about them not after what they did to you.

Willow:

He sees you and gasps already by your side and scooping you up as gently as he can. He sets you on the couch softly and looks over your wounds. Gets you some leftovers from the dinner made last night for the monster food healing properties and bandages what needs it. He runs his fingers through your hair as he considers his options. He doesn't mention anything to you though as he gently takes care of you babying you throughout the night but makes sure to get as much information as he can out of you. Once you're asleep he writes down everything you said and finds Axe who hadn't seen you yet and mentions the situation before handing over the paper. He's got a small brotherly favor to cash in tonight.

[skele-bunny]

Thinking about Rultialps in the College AU....

Rain Lubina, only child of Mist Lubina, is currently in school for dance. While he did get a bit of a scholarship and financial aid, he still has things he needed to pay for. Text books and supplies aren't cheap. He works down at The Ministry, a local college bar that's VERY active as a go-go dancer and bartender with his best friend Dewdrop.

The week before Finals is always the busiest, and unfortunately, Rain is scheduled every single night shift. He's making a Devil's Den cocktail when another customer slides in one of the spare chairs, leaning over with a big smile, another one next to him.

It's simple, kind. "What can I get for you two?"

How the shorter one looks at the taller. "What they say?"

"They asked what we wanted."

"Ohh," Rain smiles a bit. "In a deaf and mute town and you don't know sign? Shame on you." A sweet tease.

"Hey, cut me some slack! I know some, I'm still learning. But tell you what, let me buy you a shot on top of ours, I'll show you what I do know." He's smiling even wider somehow, the other just rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"You're cute, but I don't drink when I'm working."

"Then what time do you get off?"

"You don't even know my name."

The smaller looks at the other. "They said you don't even know his name."

"Damn! You're right. Okay, okay, restart. I'm Swiss, and this is my fiance, Mountain. Use mine for the tab. Now, you?"

"Rain."

He's pulling out two shot glasses, laughing to himself as Swiss keeps trying and trying, it's almost humorous! Cute, too. Sliding them over and leaning over to meet Swiss a little bit.

"You're cute and all, but I have other customers. Can't keep my attention just for yourself."

Swiss hums, looking at Mountain who gives a little nod. "Oh, baby I know a lot of ways to keep your attention."

But it's just met with a flick on the nose as Rain moves towards the end of the bar, taking more orders and occasionally glancing back. And phew, Swiss TRIES. Finally got to the point Mountain hit him upside the head for constantly waving him down just to flirt. "They're working, asshole."

With a bit of a sad puppy look, they move from their bar to a booth, but Rain can still feel their eyes, and if he looks hard enough can see where they're sitting amongst the crowds. He doesn't have time to mourn though as another wave of customers come in an hour until close.

Finally... FINALLY, his bar is empty and clean. All his tabs are closed except for one and— Except for one?

Looks up and sees Swiss and Mountain, laughing in their own world with some empty baskets and even more empty glasses. He just takes Swiss' receipt and walks his happy self over, Swiss gasping once he notices and tapping Mountain.

"Babe, babe, pretty guy is coming over!"

"Yes, and I'm sure they just heard you, too."

"Oh fuck do you think?"

Rain is giggling before sitting across in the rounded booth, placing down the receipt and watching them take it. Mountain grumbling but still pulling his wallet out while Swiss is back to flirting.

Just sighs dreamily. "You're so pretty. Why are you working here? Should be a housewife..."

"Househusband."

"My bad, househusband. Just spoiled and can relax your feet, and we'd take care of you- why are you so pretty? Mountain tell him to stop being so pretty." He's whining, leaning against Mountain who's babying him.

"Rain wants to leave. Why don't you let him cash us out, and your drunk ass can go to bed?"

"Noo, I wanna go to bed with him!"

Rain just waves them goodbye as Mountain is practically dragging Swiss out who's still singing about how unfair it is Rain is so pretty, even Dew sending a questioning glance as he's sweeping; Rain just shrugs and goes back to helping close. It's the next day as Rain goes into the local dispensary and sees the same guy that was head over heels for him.

"Rain! Look at you, are you stalking me?" Swiss is laughing a little, leaning over the counter. "Usually in those crime shows it's the other way, but hey! I don't discriminate!"

"I'll be considered too pretty to stand trial. Isn't that right?"

"Ohh, very much so. What can I help YOU with this time, sweetheart?"

Just browsing through different vapes and pens, before settling on a new kind Swiss recommends.

"You know... I work tonight."

"Oh, I'd love to bother you again but I'm still not over this hangover."

"I'm dancing, not bartending."

"Dancing?"

Swiss and Mountain are at the bottom of his stage, Swiss' jaw dropped and staring hard at Rain. Just a skin tight body suit that's cut right before the thighs, boots that make up for it at the knees, and an LED face mask. How Rain leans down to his knees, reaching forwards and caressing Swiss' jawline, bringing him closer before letting the plastic touch Swiss' lips, snatching his pen, pulling down his mask and taking a hit. A few more, and he honestly doesn't remember much but the feeling of Swiss stumbling while holding him, shoving him against Mountain and hurried to take off clothes.

Remembers staring at the two before him with both amazement and nervousness, how he happily smoked more with them as they took turns on him. Folded in half by Mountain while Swiss settled near his head.

Yeah... That's about it until he woke up, staring at a tapestry hanging from the ceiling, sandwiched and being held by two bodies. His thighs sticky and his insides feeling heavy, just huffing and burying his face in Mountain's chest who just holds him tighter.

Learns over breakfast at a waffle house that they both work at the dispensary, Mountain is a cannabis director, Swiss as a budtender. Numbers exchanged, and they're even nice enough to drive him back to his dorm, Dew looking at him away from his phone.

"You're such a slut, do you know that?" Rain just takes off his sneakers and throws it at him. "Hey! Ow! Don't be mad at me! Just stating the obvious you're banging customers."

"And you're making people pay."

Dew just smiles and flips him off, letting him crawl up next to him and peek at whatever he's watching.

"Two boyfriends, huh?"

"They're NOT my boyfriends."

They're dating within a week, Rain even sneaking them into the dorm while Dewy is out. Sometimes staying in their little nicknamed hippie apartment. Just Rain and his two stoner boyfriends skkwkd

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

What is reader had some kind of an illness or disability? Maybe it’s an illness or disability that requires medicine that you could only get from readers world. Would they constantly be trying to find a way to replicate the medication or get some of the medication from her world until they could find a way to replicate it? I ask this because some people do in fact need medication

What would they do? That honestly depends on the illness or disability. Since we have a very very very wide range of things you need medicine for. So I'll give just a few examples.

If it's a kind of illness that Reader would actually die from? Then let's hope she had some of the medicine with her to begin with, but let's just say she had enough for a while. The Monkey duo would figure out about it within the first few days of course. And it really doesn't take that long for them to fall for Reader so they don't mess with it. (In fact they help make sure she takes it when she's supposed to)

If this is the case of what's happening then they don't stop her from going home, even though they want to. They don't know how to keep her alive, they don't want her to die. Not because of some illness, not because of anything! Now even though they let her go home that doesn't mean they let her go alone~ shes going to have two monkeys following her every step.

During the time that she's in her own world they will find out exactly what the medication she needs is. They'll study it and find out how to replicate it. Maybe try to search for a cure if there is one. If they get their true forms back before going back home if they aren't found out then they'll shapeshift back into the cubs that Reader knows. After all they aren't trying to scare her away.

Once they find out exactly what the medication is and how to replicate it (one way or another) then they will purposefully make sure Reader gets back to their world. These two warlords don't like Reader's home town, they don't like the hospital she goes to and they don't like how polluted the world is either. Blaring noises, also give Macaque a huge headache which he does NOT appreciate.

If Reader needs medication for help with something then we've got a different situation. Because some people need medication to focus or to make life easier.

Of course they don't WANT to see her hurting or make things harder for her but she doesn't really NEED this medicine. They can find a way to replicate it for her. They can find a way to maybe even cure it. Elixirs, powerful artifacts, different monks or demons could also help them somehow.

Wukong is desperate to keep her safe and cared for without letting her go home. He will do whatever she wants him to to make her feel better anything except allowing her to go home.

Wukong and Macaque will do their best to make her life as simple and easy as possible. Even if they aren't able to give her the medication she wants / needs. Chronic headaches? Rest and they'll give her all kinds of pain relief. Terrible menstrual cycles? Rest in the hotsprings it'll relieve some of the pain, and they'll even give back massages (if she allows it)

Again these are just a few small examples of what the Monkey duo would do. If Reader needed medication. There would probably be more stuff they would do, it just depends on why she needs it and what it's for. Heck even with the medication for her life they would be looking for some way to cure it after all.

Hope you liked this ask!! Sorry no scene for this one.

Leave a comment, like and reblog if you can/want to. No pressure. Hope everyone has a great day. And enjoy the noms.

[mephistopheleswasrobbed]

Ahh, I don't want it to be over! But alas, here we are, so let me tell you about all the gay moments in Peaceful Property one last time:

1

We begin the episode with Home and Peach sitting next to each other and saying sentimental things. Framed by a flamingo. Which is literally a symbol of love (because they're pink and monogamous).

Saying your meeting was destiny while looking each other in the eyes lovingly is somehow not the most romantic line in this episode. It comes pretty close, though.

2

Back in the action, Peach is extremely worried about Home, alone with his would-be murderer.

And when evil lawyer mentions the possibility of Home being dead already, Peach loses is completely. (Though, in a parallel that is funny to me, exclusively, he's again held back by two *according to themselves* oh so weak women. Just like in Kan's home when one woman was enough to completely immobilise him. I'm really not sure why Panpang is so insistent that Peach is so much stronger than her)

Peach knows that they don't have enough time to waste it on those useless cops so he sacrifices himself by confessing to a crime he didn't commit, so at least Kan and Pangpang can try to rescue Home. That's some ride or die devotion right there.

3

A found family bond so strong it single-handedly derailed these scooby doo villains' evil plots several times.

4

Pangpang (seen here cosplaying as a ghost pizza) knows that in true romance fashion, Peach must be the one to save Home. (And because we've already established that physical strength can't be the reason, I'm choosing to believe it's the strength of his love for Home that's giving him the advantage.)

So Peach arrives just in time (there's that destiny, that soulmate timing) to prevent Somkid from stabbing Home. And I've previously talked a lot about how much Home has changed because of Peach, but let's take a second to appreciate how much Peach has changed because of Home. He went from hiding behind his little sister at the sight of a ghost, to jumping without hesitation at an armed murderer to save Home.

And once Somkid has been distracted, Home's first priority is, as they always do when there's danger, to go check on and help up Peach.

And then he just keeps holding him while Somkid is busy coming to the realisation that all the evil shit he did was meaningless.

5

There is no way Mr. Real Estate Heir doesn't know how to tie a tie. This is an excuse to share some comfort before the funeral and it is as understandable as it is boyfriend-coded.

6

There's been a lot of Home/Peach doing something the other had previously done, and here's one more:

Just like Home before, Peach also notices immediately when something seems off with Home and wastes no time to go to him and see if he needs to offer help or comfort.

7

And what is the problem? It's, of course, the impending separation that has Home moping over an electric stove cooker thing.

But well, after almost watching Home die, again, Peach has realised he doesn't want to leave. Because even if Home goes back to the US, at least he'll be around the memories they've made together. So Peach decides to stay.

And despite the excuse he comes up with about dialect speaking ghosts, we, and Home, know the real reason.

The "I love you and I don't want to leave you" might be unspoken but Home hears it anyway.

And Home has also finally figured it out.

So he's not leaving either.

And Peach might be a little obtuse about it at first

But Home's real dream has always been to have a family. And he knows he's finally found his. Grandpa knows he's finally found his.

So Home makes it clear to Peach.

And Peach gets it this time.

(Of course, then they immediately have to make a joke out of it because those two might actually be allergic to seriously talking about their feelings for each other. But the message has been recieved, anyway)

8

Their absolutely perfect timing can only be explained by soulmate shenanigans. (also look at him smile)

9

Even the universe is trying to tell them to embrace the gay. With their Cok Long bar turned Cok Long restaurant.

10

The dialogue from the beginning plays again, over shots of their family meal. And with the expression of destiny, the camera focuses in on them. Because while "family" is for all five of them, their "destiny" is just between the two of them. And they look so soft and happy in its glow.

And they look at each other when they laugh, and we leave them to their truly happy ending.

(And maybe one day in the future they will be able to plainly say "I love you" to each other without having to hide it behind five jokes and three metaphors, but until then, they know the truth of it anyway.)

Lesbian Corner

Kan has come to seriously trust and believe in Pangpang. And Pangpang, who felt like a useless burden at the beginning of the show, is made better by it.

And in reverse, Kan, who's been completely serious and focussed on revenge for the last decade, who'd had trouble letting loose and making connections with others even before her father's not-completely-but-in-effect-death, has found in Pangpang someone who can not only make her smile, but make her make jokes to make others smile.

Just like Home and Peach, these two also complement each other. They make up for each others shortcomings and both grow into happier, more well-rounded people through each other.

And with that it's over. Except not quite because I've still got some extra that didn't fit here.

[albinokittens300]

!Spoilers Under The Cut!

A/N: SO...been a minute since I wrote fic but. Made sense since I have ideas floating around might as well write and share them. Please note not only am I rusty writing in general, this is my first attempt at these characters. Be gentle on me please XD. I do hope you all enjoy. Let me know what you think, and maybe I'll try and get another one out maybe before Act 2 drops this weekend. All this ended up being was a little drabble of a possible reunion between Ekko and Jinx because I need some Timebomb goodness. Isha making an appearance is a bonus! Fair warning I make some wild leaps about what goes on during Act 2, so beware this is based some of my speculation.

He lets it go on for a few turns into different allies before finally stopping.

Ekko knows his little shadow is nothing more than a child, judging by the sound of the sets on the stone and the occasional clang of metal being kicked or tripped on. He usually wouldn't be worried- but with no one chasing after and taking her back to where she belonged, he took it as the sign it was. To follow him so far means she is all alone. Having just gotten back across the bridge, helping an orphan wasn't something on the list of deep concerns. At least, not until it needed to be.

"As quiet as you are, I have to say it'd be easier to get around if you weren't hiding." He says softly. Light brown eyes peek around the corner, playing at being undercover without actually doing so. She is hard to make out in low and greeish light, but he manages. "You can come out. Not gonna hurt you. All safe, I promise."

His hair raises, though, when her gaze flicks back to where he can't see. By all appearances, she is getting permission. So the girl isn't alone. When she takes a few steps out, he tries to remain unsuspicious.

"Whose behind there?" He asks as he kneels while she approaches.

"Definitely not who you're expecting." A darker, familiar voice speaks.

Jinx hasn't even revealed herself before the instinct takes over, and Ekko grabs the little girl and puts her behind him.

Attempting to pull her away from the known danger sets off another problem, though- the little girl reacts as if she has been burned. Letting out a cry, she wiggles away from him quickly before running back and wrapping herself around Jinx. While she removes the hood of her cloak, revealing a far too proud smirk, another arm wraps around the kid's shoulder. His eyes quickly scan her other side. A few bombs are latched there, but no pistol or any of her bigger toys. It was not a situation he loved, but it was preferable to facing down a minigun.

When Ekko's eyes return to the child, he doesn't think someone so small has ever looked at him so frightened. Something screams this isn't right as he watches for a few seconds.

"Relax, this one, I'll admit, has a reason to be a bit jumpy." She says, directing the words at the girl. Then, leveling a look at him. "What was it Vi said you had to say when the two of ya caught up? About looking good for a dead person?"

"That makes three of us, then." He says back. "Wanna explain what is going on down here, seeing as you are my welcoming party."

"Ah, nothing much. War, revolution, infighting, and unifying! All of that. If you are looking for the Firelights, they aren't at the tree. Or what's left of it." She says with a wave of her hand and a shrug. The blood runs like ice at the words and he rounds on her.

"What did you-"

"Woah, woah, I didn't do anything. Those wackos from Noxus? They are the ones who tracked the tree. My only part was helping everyone out." She hisses back. When his face changes, so does hers—relaxing just the slightest bit. Helped them out? Months trapped away should mean nothing surprise him. But it does.

He sees her arms crossed, watching and almost waiting for him to decide how this will go. Deciding to match her lack of hostility, just this once, he looks around to the eerily empty and quiet lanes.

"Guess I got a lot to catch up on."

That brings a less taunting smirk to her face. "Just a bit."

[randomingoftherandomness]

Oooo idea

Zhou Yichen is captured/tortured, ZYZ to the rescue, followed by whump/wound tending/healing sex/comfort

Thank you :)

They've kept him somewhere so dark, he can't even see the tip of his nose. The hours have blurred together into a cycle of pain and shadows. Yichen's captors haven't said a word to him through it all. Even when he finally started screaming.

There are probably drugs involved. Yichen is sure of it. He's so out of his own body that it feels like he is swimming in his head.

"Xiao Zhuo-daren..."

Ah. He is hallucinating that demon's voice. By way of voices, it's not the worst. If anything, it's pretty nice. Smooth, soothing, and attractive when he allows himself to be honest about it. Especially when he's teasing Yichen. It makes him so mad whenever he gets under his skin, but that always goes away so fast when Zhou Yuanzhou's voice goes a bit melodic.

The hallucination chuckles. "Do you like my voice that much, Xiao Zhuo-daren?"

Yichen licks his lips before saying yes. Because that's the truth, isn't it? Despite the blood debt, despite the hurt and hate, despite this thread of vengeance that ties them both together, Yichen likes Zhao Yuanzhou.

Likes the teasing because that means his focus is on him. Likes how the demon is gentle and kind, even when it isn't acknowledged. Likes how he is this strong pillar of support that Yichen has begun to rely on. How he is the one Yichen turns to. How even if he dies here, bleeding out and broken in the darkness, Yichen won't ever let his captors know a thing about Zhao Yuanzhou.

There's a quiet in the darkness and Yichen thinks he's alone again when he hears a soft hum cut through the air.

A weight settles around him and for the first time in many days, Yichen feels warm. His mind swims when careful hands slide under his shoulders and waist, lifting him up, holding him close.

Yichen curls into the solid heat against his cheek, feeling a sense of settledness he hasn't had for the longest time.

He thinks someone kisses the crown of his head. He isn't sure, because the next thing he hears is a soft. "Dream now, sweetling."

When he wakes, the light burns into the backs of his eyes.

"Close."

An immediate sensation of demon magic prickles in the air and Yichen hears the sounds of the shutters falling shut and the curtains around the bed falling out of their usual hold. "Is this better?"

Yichen slowly blinks his eyes open again, letting himself adjust to the dimness in the room. He looks up to see Zhao Yuanzhou sitting by him, watching him with a serene sort of tilt of his head.

"Yes. Thanks." He manages around the dryness in his throat. "Can I--"

A cup of tea materialises in the demon's hand and he holds it out to Yichen. "Thanks." He says again, decidedly not trying to think about how the demon is languidly sprawled out on the bed next to him.

"Before you ask, you were out for two days. Xiao Jiu healed most of your external wounds, but I did your inner injuries. You should be fine, though I'm sure Xiao Jiu would want to know if you feel otherwise."

Yichen hands him back the empty cup and allows the demon to help him into a seated position. "Have you been sitting here the entire time?"

"Yes." The great demon chirps, smiling so wide, Yichen can see the gleam of his teeth in the darkness. "I was watching you sleep."

It was disconcerting, to say the least, but Yichen lets it slide, focusing on orienting his inner core instead. When the demon doesn't speak, Yichen decides to be the one who says it first. "I know I said some things back there. Things I would have rather I did not say. Things I would have hoped you never know."

"If you're trying to say that you hope I forget what you said about my voice, you can forget it. I'm holding on to this one forever." Zhao Yuanzhou laughs. It is a good sound. Yichen holds on to it, anchors his attention on the melody of it when a hand slides into his own.

"And I won't hold you to the rest."

Throat clicking around a swallow, he squeezes the hand in his. "Thank you." Yichen whispers and means it. He doesn't fight it when he is pulled into an embrace, held tightly and securely. Closing his eyes, he relaxes into the soft lullaby that the demon hums for him.

[inkblotsonmyhands]

----------------SPOILERS FOR ARCANE SEASON 2 ACT I BELOW----------------

Alright then, hopefully no one who hasn't watched Arcane S2 Act I yet is reading this. I don't know if this has already been said or not but I was (like so many others) blown away by Act I last Saturday and literally cannot wait for the next two. Full disclosure in case I get any facts wrong (feel free to correct me!!), I have never played League of Legends in my life and know no lore whatsoever outside the show.

I'm fascinated by Isha and Jinx's currently nonexistent but gradually growing relationship. First of all, if I remember correctly, we know that this child's name is Isha only because of a subtitle—she never introduces herself, and no one ever calls her by name. Jinx only acknowledges her grudgingly, and until the very last scene of Episode 3, Sevika acts like she isn't even there.

I think there's parallels to be drawn between Powder and Isha, starting with what I mentioned—both of them are often ignored by the people around them. Of course, Powder was loved by her sister and adoptive siblings and father, most of them just rarely got the chance to really show it. I don't think Sevika or Jinx particularly care about Isha at all as of now, but we don't know much about her past. There's got to be some reason why Chross's men were chasing her, and there's got to be a reason why she apparently has nowhere to go. I would guess she's associated with either Chross, another chembaron, or perhaps a figure like Vander—relevant to the Lanes, but not a chembaron. I would also guess that, like Powder, whatever familial figure she has/had is either dead or has abandoned her.

She's small (although we do not know exactly how old she's supposed to be), does not appear to have much fighting ability, was scared the first time she saw Jinx kill people, and, despite it all, seems to be unnaturally resilient. From the little I've seen, she seems to be good at hiding and sneaking around. These are more traits that seem similar to Powder's. I'd like to add that her flinching when Jinx fired at Chross's men does not necessarily mean she's never seen violence before, but that she's probably never been in the direct line of it. I also think she has some emotional attachment to her hat. That could just be because it's useful, though.

The larger case I want to bring to light, however, is not her resemblance to Powder—but how she differs. There's two scenes where I think this really stands out.

The first is the Jinx and Sevika vs Smeech fight. The setting of the fight bears some similarity to the fight Vi, Claggor, and Mylo get into against some thugs at the beginning of Season 1. Obviously, Jinx and Sevika are much more experienced than the kids were at the time of their fight, but they're also fighting against equally powered opponents. Regardless, the two fights bear a resemblance in where they take place—the streets. Powder is present in one fight mostly because she goes where Vi goes; Isha is at the other because she was following Jinx. Powder, in an act of self-defense, tries to use the bomb she made, which backfires and results in her losing the loot and, in a way, nullifying the others' victory. Isha, in an attempt to help Jinx, throws the bomb that Jinx made—successfully distracting the thug, and allowing Jinx an easy kill.

The second instance is the Jinx and Sevika vs Vi and Caitlyn fight. There's no obvious similarity here, but I think, especially from Isha/Powder's perspective, this is a very similar situation to the fight Vi and everyone gets into against Silco's gang in the warehouse at the end of S1 Act I. Assuming Isha has very little context (just like Powder did, at the time), to her, it's a very big, very scary fight of the people who are "with" her—the good guys—vs the people attacking them—the bad guys. Powder, in an act of bravery, tries to intervene with a device she knows nothing about other than the fact that it explodes—and it does explode, and ultimately kills most of the people she was trying to save. Isha, in an act of bravery, tries to intervene with a gun, something she has presumably never held before, to save Jinx's life—and she succeeds. Another interesting detail is that in Powder's case, Silco's gang, armed with Shimmer, was blatantly and dangerously overpowered—Powder brought in the Hextech, which in theory, evened the odds, or even tipped them in their favor—but still cost them the fight. The fight Isha was witnessing was fairly evenly matched—Vi and Caitlyn had more Hextech weapons, but Jinx did have one Hextech weapon, and she and Sevika had the advantage of it being on their turf. Isha intervened with a simple gun, arguably the weakest weapon on the scene, but still succeeded. Lastly, Powder's intervention was from a distance, while Isha threw herself into the action. It should go without saying that I'm not trying to put Powder and Isha against each other at all—I'm just observing the situations they got put into.

To address the elephant in the room—I am aware that Powder and Jinx are the same person, but I'm drawing a distinction here because I'm examining the similarities between Powder (young Jinx, if you will) and Isha, wondering how Jinx would perceive them (if she perceives them at all), and how that would impact her relationship with her. I have no predictions as to what that may be, but I do expect Jinx and Isha's relationship to be an interesting one, and potentially, Isha may even play an important role in changing Jinx.

One last thing, although this is unrelated to the parallels—I mentioned earlier that Sevika acts like Isha doesn't exist until the very end of Episode 3. When Isha throws herself on Jinx, Caitlyn continues attempting to fire, and Vi attempts to stop her, I believe Sevika triggers the blast, ending that altercation, largely to save Isha. When she realizes that Caitlyn won't back away, she does the best thing she can to put a stop to the situation right there.

I could draw this even further into a Vander-Vi-Powder hold parallels to Sevika-Jinx-Isha theory, but that may be a stretch, even for me.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Legend as echoes of wisdom link lol but confusing

Fanfic prompt : after Linked universe he decided to go visit Nayru and the other oracles again and then seeing the harp of ages

Realized how he can help Hyrule

Because if the harp can let him travel back several centuries then why not go forward

Because that way he can stop ganon from being revived and Hyrule can maybe travel back with him

He and then travels forward in time and then tries to orientate himself about where the hell he even is… then he sees the riffs through time and assumes that dark link has to learn his lesson again and goes in

He doesn’t appreciate the void for taking his voice… he kind of needs it to figure out where the heck Hyrule is because this one certainly looks too colorful to be the same one Hyrule is from… at least not in the next decades or so

Forests still need to grow after all but good for him that he succeeded eventually

Then he meets lueberry and they figure something out to go create the sword out off the crystal Legend dragged out of ,… hell he supposes

The cloak is cool though

So legend goes beefing with the random copies… so unoriginal of dink to go around and summon even more black blooded monsters or something

Well at least he now has the ability to use gps to find out where the next portal appears

And at some point finds out this Hyrule's Zelda is kidnapped and it sucks but maybe a new link will spawn or something

Then he and ganon get to beef ,,and surprisingly ganon remembers him (talking about the importance of friendship lol )

He then gets sent back to the void but manages to free the new Zelda

Then he at some point finds a random ugly ball thing… man, dink really down graded

He finds it with the club he found chases after it then goes and blocks it before the new Zelda …Nelda can go get kidnapped again

Then legend gets Zelded and now knows how much it must have sucked for fable and Nelda

…he only wanted to go visit Hyrule why must it always be an adventure

He will blame him for it later

He also gets the triforce of courage back while Zelded

Then Nelda is back…but it’s two Neldas now

He then gets freed by one after …she copies (?) a bunch of .. beds (?) and kills the other one

Well , let’s hope it’s the good one who kills the other one he always had problems with Hilda

Then he fights an eldritch abomination and uses the ..prime energy (?) to go restore Hyrule

And his voice is back so the first thing he does is ask , “hey , what’s the date and where the fuck am I .?”

He is surprised when the king turns out not to be an asshole

And fucks off into the RIGHT time promising everyone to stay in contact via the post man

Hyrule wakes up to “I fought the embodiment of nothingness and got vored to visit you be fucking grateful”

He is more confused than he was happy about his brother's return

[sugar-crash]

🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Drunk Turbo Edition!)

(Picture’s not mine!)

(Request here! Oh this loser… He just screams Oingo Boingo vibes, which is a bit ironic considering they were very popular during the 80s… I feel like I’ve probably already said this but I don’t care if I did or did not you know? I have a nasty habit of repetition lol)

- Who knows if alcohol (I believe Tappers sells Root Beer cause… Kids arcade game) or even cigarettes exist for the arcade members, but it’s fun to think about.

- I for one think him getting drunk is kinda rare, mostly because I think smoking and being self-absorbed among other things are his main way of coping with his emotions over drinking… Though he isn’t exactly against it.

- When he finally lets himself let loose and drinks at Tapper's… He drinks. Getting drunk as a goddamn skunk, like how Fix-It Felix chugged it in the… Sequel that must not be named, as witty as the name is. A real waste of a good movie name ngl.

- ANYWAYSSSS, I think he either somehow miraculously manages to find his way to you or you find him after one of your… Dare I say, friends?? Mutuals??? Complain about him being a drunk little shit and killing the mood.

- Honestly I think he flip flops from mean drunk to emotional drunk, really empathizing the turmoil that goes on in that gold ball shaped head of his.

- Going from wanting your comfort to insulting you, his speech is even more slurred than it usually is as he clutches onto you…. Freak.

- He’s so pathetic in that state, which is partly the reason why he doesn’t drink that much, against his whole thing of not being perceived as vulnerable keeping him from relying upon you like that.

- That reflects in his insults towards you as one might assume, insults elementary on the surface but tells you what’s going on in that fuzzy pea brain of his a lot more than it usually does.

- Alcohol really dumbs him down for a bit, too focused on standing up or the bug that’s clinging to the side of the wall to really string his thoughts together more concisely as words just pour out of his mouth if you poke and prod him just enough.

- Something tells me he does do the stupid ass cartoonish drunk hiccups when he’s smashed just enough… Why not? He has a bit of cartoonish whimsy to him.

- The type to try to get into a bar fight if he gets offended by some minuscule thing someone did or said, wrangling him is lot harder than one would think.

- Overall it’s usually not a great experience for any party though he does have his extremely rare moments of chilling the fuck out while drunk, mostly when he’s only sort of buzzed and still has some of his wits while being at home.

- Again I can see him being more clingy, not in a “Hehe I just like holding them💫💫🧚” but in a “Oh fuck I think I’m going to fall HELP—” Kind of way, he’s not the most graceful by any means.

- Like definitely as tripped over his shoelaces and makes you swear to keep that to yourself when he’s sober and embarrassed as all fuck when he’s able to recall the foolishness he partook in.

- Oh and keep him away from his kart— You think he’s a menace behind the wheel sober?? He is an absolute scrounge when he’s drunk, that one meme personified— Has definitely attempted to drive his kart into the Game Central Station before you put a stop to it much to his drunken annoyance.

- In a way, he was always wild, ‘liquid courage’ was just a more bitter way for that to be less constrained under his urge to maintain a powerful main character persona, makes him more honest but more incoherent.

- Rambling about what anything that comes to mind as he grips onto you as you lead him to Turbo Time to try to get him to wind down and hopefully sober up before opening time.

- Honestly, I think the more drunk he gets the more emotional side of his drunkenness comes out other than the usual slurred snarky remark he makes towards someone as they simply walk past him. Like I said he’s a little shit.

- A little attention-monopolizing hobgoblin who just so happened to get more than he should’ve drank.

- Hungover Turbo is a kind of creature you don’t want to mess with… Mean as a mother fucker, you just know his fellow racers taste his even uncaring cruelty as he fights back a migraine.

(. -. .. --. -- .- - .. -.-./.-. ..- ... .... . -../.-. . -.-. -.- .-.. . ... .../--- -... ... . ... ... .. ...- ./.-. .- -... .. -..)