#look i promise it’s all connected i promise

[khioneee]

tap out. pt ii.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team—his family—sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

[fio-of-the-fae-realm]

You don’t owe anyone suffering, and I’m sorry that life doesn’t feel worth living. If you don’t want to live, that is your decision and your decision alone. Neither me nor anyone else gets to decide that. But I don’t think that the people who want you to stay alive have much say over how good or bad your life is. The reason I say that we should try to live through this is because this is an incredibly turbulent, messy, uncertain time. Now more than ever, impulsive decisions are what we want to avoid. When the hopelessness and grief of our own is combined with all the emotions of others, it can alter your perspective and judgement. Kind of like the “2 week rule” of breakups— wait at least 2 weeks after a breakup before you make any decisions like “Maybe I WOULD look good with bangs” or “I’ve always wanted a tattoo of Colin Jost’s face on my shoulder”. Right now, I’d say we’re going to need significantly more than 2 weeks before we do something permanent. I know that it feels hopeless right now, and I can’t promise that it’ll be better soon. I know we’re going to face a lot of challenges and heartbreaks and evils in the next four years. But I truly, sincerely believe that there is a reason to keep going. You’re completely right- you are owed a better life. And I think that, in this time, the only way we’re going to get that better life is by surviving. Connecting. Trying. So, yes, you don’t owe me anything. But I hope that you keep fighting alongside me anyway.

[ashomodeus]

Hi all, it's been a minute... Work has been really rough. I promise I haven't disappeared again. Here's this.

Where is each brother + Dateables favorite place to... connect with Mc.

Gn!Mc, Smut warning, bad grammar, take a shot every time breeding is mentioned, food porn for Beel.

Why am I at work for 12 hours???

Thank you, Beyonce, for providing me with this phone to write. She's my ghost writer if anyone asks. If her lawyers ask, this is a joke.

Lucifer 》 His study

●With under the desk support from Mc all his stress is magically gone.

●No one bothers him when he's in his study, meaning hours... and I mean hours could go past and no one would question why he's in there so long.

●Would test Mc's limits, having them cock warm him as he finishes his last bit of work. Don't think that Mc is the only one being teased. Lucifer has always been able to focus on one thing at a time but with Mc there? Forget it. 'How would Mc look bent over there, How about on my desk, or right in front of the door for his brother's to hear MC is all his for the night'

●Mc giving him head while he's trying to have an important conference call.

●Having Mc lay on the couch exposing their filled holes threatening to drip out while he finishes his work.

●He has some things in his office for Mc like a designated drawer for Mc that only Mc and Lucifer can access like rope, towels, a change of underwear, some toys for Mc to use while Lucifer is busy.

Mammon 》His car

●Two things that he loves.

●His favorite thing is to recieve head while driving. He enjoys edging and pushing himself as far as possible until he has to pull over. He wants to pull over because he wants to be milked until he's weak.

● He would want to drive while pounding into Mc.He would never be able to drive without Mc again without having to pull over and masturbate to the idea of Mc being there.

●Mammon likes to convince Mc to go run an errand with him just for them to both to come back disheveled. Mammon doesn't want anyone to see Mc in that way and doesn't want anyone to hear them so he'll find a few places.

●Once Mc did a nude photo shoot in Mammons car and those photos will always remain in his empty wallet.

●Mammon hates messes in his car but he so his seats have waterproof covers for certain reasons...

Levi 》Anywhere with water

●Listen water can make you feel weightless. Since water is his strong suit he knows how to control water and make sure Mc doesn't drown.

●Beach trips normally involve Mc and Levi leaving for a swim and not coming back for hours. Mc would think the sand would get everywhere but devildoms sand is so much different.

●Levi loves sneaking into the shower while Mc is showering. Sometimes, he just loves to watch Mc. He especially gets turned on if Mc doesn't notice he's there watching. He slowly strips as he walks into the shower with Mc, only startling them for a second. He loves taking the shower head and putting it on sensitive places of Mc's increasing water pressure the more sensitive Mc got.

● He loves "accidentally" spilling water on Mc while gaming together.

Satan 》 Library

●Knowledge is power and just when he think he's read every book. There's a new series he can read. Once he met Mc it was a bit difficult to focus on both reading and Mc. He soon realized he can have it both.

●Having Mc read to him while he fucks them. He would stop everytime Mc would stop. He just loved felling Mc tense as he stopped.

●Another fun thing to him is that Mc would have to keep quiet since they were in a public place. The rush he got thinking of someone walking in on him having his cock rammed into the beloved Mc.

●He keeps a list of books to the said that he thinks would sound a lot better with Mc's breathy moans. He also finds it as great stress relief. They would sneak into the library after hours so Mc could make as much noise as possible.

●Sometimes when they're reading together Satan makes Mc wear a vibrating toy and silently turns it on and off when he pleases.

Asmo 》His bedroom

●Asmo is an expert when it comes to connecting. His room has all the necessities. Sound proofing, toys, ropes, leashes, wax, towels, everything. He could give Mc a facial mask after giving them facial.

●Theres a mirror on the ceiling that is right above the bed, mirrors everywhere. If Mc was having a low confidence day he would cover up the mirrors or fuck Mc in front of them in every position to show them how hot they truly are.

●Asmo room also has a camera that follows sound so he can record whenever they are fucking but of course that involves being loud enough.

●Sometimes Asmo will indulge in black coffee because he doesn't want to loose energy or stamina. He wants Mc to do so many things and make sure that Mc's mind is just full of how good they feel and how horny they are.

Beel 》 Kitchen or bedroom

●Duh

●Food play. He loves nyotaimori/ namtaimori; Body sushi, Human tray. He loves to layout his favorite foods on Mc, keeping them as protected as possible. He also would love to fuck Mc with a certain things then eat them. Ie: Cucumber. He wants to see how much of the thick cucumber Mc could take, licking the cucumber in-between tries. Then proceeding to eat it after.

●His fantasy would involve him coming down for a midnight snack and Mc is there surrounded by his favorite food. Mc being just as hungry for Beel as he is for them.

●Ever since the few nights Mc slept on Beels bed. He's been hungry. Their smell is permanently embedded into the bed. He would want to fuck Mc in that bed. He would give Mc a lot of oral. Making sure to taste every drop of them.

●He would to fill up Mc with his load to make sure Mc is as full as he is.Though he's very considerate Mc should expect a bit of soreness next day.

Belphie 》 Attic

●A place to be by himself in a cozy bed Mc riding him as he's slowly woken up.

●The attic is a quiet place. He normally dreams the most about Mc in this room. If anyone tries to interrupt their time together Belphie will quickly cum inside Mc and plug their hole with their underwear. He likes to see them squirm around at the discomfort of the underwear getting soaked with Belphie's juices.

●He likes waking up Mc with him about to cum on their face. He also loves sleepy horny sex where they can't even tell what's where.

●Belphie is extremely possessive so everything is on his stuff. It's not because he's lazy It's because their sent keeps him calm and makes him want- actually NEED them.

●He once used bedsheets to tie up Mc to the bed to overstimulate and exhaust them.

Solomon 》 Anywhere and everywhere

●Mc's room, his room, over here, over there, everywhere. Solomon is proud he scored the hottest human out there. He will fuck Mc when he wants wherever he wants. The idea of someone walking in on them makes him fuck Mc’s throat harder.

●One of his favorite places is the empty classroom right next to an active classroom.

●He admits to watching Mc change in their bedroom from an enchanted mirror he gifted them.

●He loves to tease Mc while they are out. Together they can make a single trip turn into an 8 hour errands day. Once he had Mc pinned in an alleyway while feeling them up and giving them aggressive hickies. He walked away as if nothing happened and Mc weak knees would struggle to carry themselves.Mc would get so desprate that they would drag Solomon to another alleyway and they would be at it for at least an hour.

Diavolo》 The balcony of the Castle or even hidden rooms

●He loves to show what he can offer Mc besides he massive cock. Of course he's anxious to rule devildom but he will do what needs to be done. Mc grounds him. What he doesn't tell Mc is that it's practically impossible to see that balcony. He would never jeopardize Mc or anyone's respect. The balcony gives him time to think a time to feel and reflect. Making Mc feels good makes him feel good.

●He loves exposing Mc's gaping hole towards the balcony. It shows everyone that only he can fill that hole.

●Diavolo is constantly hiding from Barbatos and he loves to drag Mc with him. Sometimes Diavolo forgets what rooms are in this huge castle so it's an adventure with Mc. Small rooms where Mc can barely move due to being pinned by Diavolo. He loves the rush of hiding and trying to be as quickly as possible. He wants to please every part of Mc.

●He loves when Barbatos finds themsawsee and he awkwardly leaves while Diavolo continues.

Barbatos 》 Mc's room

●He wants Mc to be as comfortable as they can be. He enjoys giving Mc massages. Waiting on Mc hand and foot. He wants Mc as comfortable as possible.

●He's more of a pleasure dom than anything. He gets off by just seeing Mc sprawled out on the bed shaking from pleasure. He could simply cum to the thought of it. It's private and quiet. He doesn't have to worry about anyone else except Mc. After he Mc into mush he'll be in the kitchen cooking them their favorite meal. Just to give them enough energy for a round two. He would snap photos of the exhausted Mc to keep for later just to stare.

●Mc's room is also good for Barbatos because Diavolo won't bother him as much. Barbatos only uses his demon form when he wants to fill all of Mcs holes.

●Any messes made in the room he'll clean it up. Since he knows he'll be cleaning anything that happens to get dirty. He's into a lot of WAM (wet and messy) Mainly with saliva, cum, sweat. The more the better it shows him he's doing a good job at pleasing Mc.

Simeon 》 Mc’s bedroom

●He wants Mc to be comfortable. He's never really felt as calm and confident ever since meeting Mc. When Mc looks like they are calm it calms him. Simeon feels safe to sort of lose control. He's a tease outside of the bedroom but now he can actually act out everything he wants to do. By everything, he means everything. Everyday he thinks of a new way He could fuck Mc or even have Mc fuck him.

●Mc's room feels familiar enough for the both of them. Of course it's a bit difficult when the brothers are home but that's when Simeon implements the quiet game. He slams himself into Mc and see how long it takes for Mc to almost give out.

●He loves texting Mc to meet him in their room. He's just so excited to be able to show Mc he's not just an Angel. He can make Mc feel things that they have yet to feel.

●They barely use the bed. Simeon likes to make sure there's a different position everytime. His mind is corrupted by how many positions or how many times can he make Mc cum that night.

[janus-cadet]

Hey!! It's been quite a while since I posted anything, here. To be honest, work is very time-consuming. But! Here I am, with a tarot card- last one being Maestro's, that I've done at least three months ago!

This time, place for some Timerogue, as the Six of Cups.

Explanation, as always, under the cut!

The Six of Cups -Upright- is a card encouraging you to think about the past, especially thee good memories. Think about the fun, the happiness, instead of the sorrow and the grief; it will allow you to nurture the relationship you still have in your life, or push you to create new ones, on new level of harmony. Connect with your inner child, and experience the fun that come with it: you need to allow yourself to be playful, spontaneous nd creative. You see and handsome stranger at a Bridgerton party? Perfect! Go talk, go flirt, get briefly abducted, have fun! You are now more open, more willing to give the other the benefice of the doubt (Bounty Hunter, yes, but he's hot, so... and yes, alien shapeshifter, but also hot, so...). It's time for you to turn over a page, and start afresh from a more positive place. (Get therapied, 14th!).

Upright, it's a card for healing, a card looking forward with joy: fitting for 15th's promise and attitude.

Reversed, hovewer, could apply to both of them- including the Doctor, who's not as alright as he would like to let us believe. When the Reversed Six of Cups appears in a reading, you might be clinging to the past and losing touch with the present. Leaving on an empty ship meant for two, for more, even, all by yourself; keeping all the memories of what used to be, and closing yourself up around it. It's alright to indulge in a little reminiscing about the past, as long as you understand that it's over. You need to make peace with the past, so you can focus on the now: stop brooding all by yourself, and try to connect with this very charming stranger, maybe. Allow yourself to enjoy life again, to have fun, to breath. It's okay. They would not hate you, for it.

You may also have lost touch with your inner child, closed yourself up to anything and everyone, because you're taking too much of a responsability, or leaving with an heaviness you do not share. You want to keep your emotions quiet, shielded away from others, in fear of their judgement. You don't need to: your friends are here for you.

If you have some.

Sorry, Rogue.

And that's it for today! I'm starting to have a lot of Doctor Who related card, uh- definitely more to come.

I hope you enjoyed it, and see you next time, hopefully! Here are some of the other cards I did- minus the three Masters, because of the post picture-limit.

[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 🫂

[gotta-winwin]

2019 debut year <> first meetings - maknae line

word count: 2.1k TW: a bit of swearing, cyana is sad for some reason italics are in english and bolded words are in Mandarin this is a continuation from the hyung line fic, so please read that for continuity's sake!

౨ৎ ─── ─── ──౨ৎ─── ─── ──౨ৎ─── ─── ──౨ৎ

MINGHAO:

Although he had been all but ready to make fun of Jun when he was nervous and shy, Minghao found himself suffering just the same as Cyana approached him. Being the final member to meet her officially, he had the gruelling process of waiting as she slowly made her way through members before finally reaching him. "Hi. Nice to meet you, I'm Xu Minghao." He opted for a hug rather than a handshake, smiling when Cyana wrapped her arms comfortably around his waist. Parting, Cyana shot him a bright smile. "I'm so glad you and Jun speak Mandarin. I haven't met anyone besides my parents who knew the language." Minghao was glad to have brought her a sense of comfort. "We're just as happy. It's always nice to meet someone connected to home. Where in China are you from?" "My parents lived in Shenzhen before moving to Vancouver." Minghao's eyes widened and he glanced at Jun, who was lazily stretching, warming up for practice. "Jun's from Shenzhen too." Cyana followed his gaze, frowning when she saw the boy. "He's very quiet." She gathered. Minghao nodded, chuckling. "He's shy around strangers. He'll warm up, don't worry. He was quiet around me too, when we first met." He turned to look at her, studying her before continuing. "You're quiet too though, a little bit." Cyana flushed. "I don't really speak much, yeah. Prefer to listen most times." Honestly, Minghao didn't mind. He enjoyed the peaceful nature that seemed to radiate off her even within the short time they'd met. It was a change from the usual chaotic energy SEVENTEEN oozed of that Minghao accepted gratefully. "If it ever gets too much, Wonwoo and I are usually quieter company. We don't like doing too much outside of work." He didn't miss the way her face soured when he brought up Wonwoo's name. Cyana took his advice and invitation gratefully, promising to tell him if things ever got too much and to come find him whenever necessary. He savoured the look on her face, one of pure innocence and blissful unawareness of the tumultuous waves idol life could be. He distinctly remembered entering Korea with the same wide-eyed look on his own face and made a quiet promise he'd help keep that glow in Cyana's face as long as possible.

DK:

"Hi hi~" DK bounced up to Cyana, shaking her hand vigorously. He had heard Seungcheol's warning in the beginning -- to be calm and not to overwhelm the girl -- but he just had so much excitement to share! This was a day of celebration, having a new member join them, and it irked him a bit that the others were not treating it as such. "I'm Dokyeom, nice to meet you!" He sang, smile widening when Cyana moved to match his energy. "Hi, Dokyeom~" Cyana giggled at the boy's actions, unconsciously matching both his tone delivery and his movements, hands in his as they both jumped with excitement. She found it endearing, how energy seemed to spill out of him uncontrollably. "I wanted it to be a big celebration," He explained, pausing for Joshua to quickly translate. "I was going to order a cake, put up decorations, maybe some gifts-" Cyana protested profusely. "No, no- that's too much work." Deterred from his original train of thought by her sudden Korean, DK cooed, shaking her as he died at how cute it was. "Ah~ so cute!" Cyana blushed, unsure of what to do with the amount of attention DK was giving her. She was also hyperaware of the fact that he was still clutching her hands from before. Noticing how stiff her posture had gotten all of a sudden, DK immediately took a step back, unlatching himself from her and apologizing. Cyana shook her head. "No, no, it's okay. Just caught me off-guard." She sent him a warm smile. "This is nice." She admitted after a pause, enjoying how comfortable she was around him. She felt as if she had known Dokyeom for ages. DK sent back a blazing smile of his own. "Yes." He agreed happily, "So nice. So amazing. So unbelie-bubble." Cyana let out a loud laugh, startling everyone, including herself. It had been the loudest sound she'd made since entering the room. DK grinned, proud. Her laugh was really pretty, he realized. It made him want to make her laugh again just to hear it, to bathe in the warmth of it. Hell, he'd bottle it up if he could.

MINGYU:

Mingyu knew Wonwoo was hiding behind him. A coward, he mused, as he watched Cyana make her way slowly towards them. He couldn't understand why so many of them were nervous to meet her, Cyana was just a girl like so many others they had met before. "Hello~ I'm Mingyu." He opened his arms tentatively for a hug and felt both pride and relief when she had accepted. Okay, maybe he was a little nervous. He was scared she'd find him intimidating because of his sheer height and size. "You're- so tiny." He said, gesturing with his hand how short she was compared to him. Cyana gave him a look. "We've only just met and you're making fun of my height?" Mingyu spluttered, backtracking. "I- um." He pointed wordlessly at a cackling Vernon. "He teach me- to say." Vernon had insisted the line would be a good icebreaker. Now she seemed more amused then offended. "Ah~ I see. It's okay, I was only joking. You are very tall." He nodded, agreeing. "Yes. The most tall." He thought she seemed quite impressed by it all. "Your English is good!" She complimented, happy that they were able to carry a decent conversation on their own. He grinned. "Practice." He pointed at Vernon again. "Vernon." Cyana smiled. He liked making her smile, it brightened her face and the hint of sadness within her eyes disappeared when she did. Mingyu wondered what on earth could have made her so sad so early in the morning, but figured they were not close enough to directly ask. He didn't really know how to say all that in English anyways.

SEUNGKWAN:

Seungkwan found it both a bit endearing and amusing, the way Cyana was following behind him as they toured SEVENTEEN's floor. He likened her to a confused and intrigued cat, running her hands across the wall as he led her down the hallway towards the main lobby. Her eyes shone, and she was listening with full attentiveness at whatever he was saying. "This is- uh, recording studio, three recording studio, here." He pointed to the hallway to the left of them. "And here-" he paused, doing his best to recall the English word for 주방. "Here is kitchen. Eating~" He mimed eating food as Cyana nodded. He'd noticed that Cyana was very quiet and only ever talked if it was to answer a question. He didn't mind of course, many members had been like that too when they'd first met, but it confused him why a child actor would be so shy. "You are actor?" He asked, stopping in the lobby to get her response. He could almost feel the shift in the atmosphere the moment he asked the question. Cyana's shoulders tensed and she nodded. "In LA, yes." "That's cool." He offered lamely, not really knowing what else to say. Getting the sense that she didn't want to talk about the topic, Seungkwan gestured over to the large screen that overtook one of the lobby walls, currently displaying scenes from SEVENTEEN's music videos. "Seventeen." He said, still at a loss of words. It was rare for him not to know what to say, he prided himself in being good at filling silences, but this particular silence felt heavy and sad. He glanced at Cyana, who had her neck craned up as she watched the bright screen flash. The lights reflected against her irises and Seungkwan could swear she was holding back tears. Perhaps it was the homesickness, he deduced, scolding himself for bringing up her acting career. She had probably found it hard to leave everything behind. She turned to him and the heavy silence was gone. "These are all you guys?" She asked, pointing at the screen. Seungkwan nodded. "You guys are amazing." She marvelled. "So synchronized and captivating." "You." He pointed at the screen, having only understood the first compliment. "Soon." She smiled ruefully. "Hopefully. I wouldn't want to let you guys down." He wanted to let her know that he was sure the company had told her that everything was on her shoulders and that their success depended solely on her but the members wouldn't think that way. They'd all been there before, moments before debut and wondering if they'd somehow fail and disappoint the others. He wanted to tell her not to think like that. That she should be performing and working hard for herself and not because she had to. If he could say it in Korean and have her understand, he would have.

VERNON:

"Wassup, I'm Vernon." He shook Cyana's hand, confused when the girl seemed to be fixated on his face. "Is there something on my face?" He asked, reaching up to pat it. Cyana blinked out of her stupor. "Sorry. No, it's just-" She pointed at his sunglasses. "Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?" "Oh." He took them off sheepishly. "I don't really know." Cyana let out a tiny laugh, gesturing for him to put them back on. "Keep them on, I didn't mean it in a judgemental way." Vernon placed them back on and Cyana couldn't help but laugh at how he seemed to just listen to her without thinking. Maybe it was the tie-dye tshirt or the terribly ripped jeans as well, but Vernon just seemed like a walking meme to Cyana and she found it incredibly funny. "Well, now I just feel like you're laughing at me." Vernon complained, although he was sporting a similar grin. Cyana shook her head, still laughing. "No, no, I swear I'm not." "Don't lie~ You so are." Vernon found that he liked the easy banter that seemed to flow seamlessly between them, realizing just how fast they seemed to click. "No, I'm laughing with you, not at you." "Right. You're going to tell me you actually enjoyed watching Birdbox next." Cyana's jaw dropped. "I actually really hate Birdbox." Vernon's eyes lit up. He'd tried using that line once on Joshua before, but the older boy hadn't understood what Vernon was getting at. "No fucking way." Vernon couldn't contain his excitement. "No one ever gets that reference." "You watch movies too then?" She asked, smiling when he said yes. If Seungcheol hadn't called everyone in for a group huddle before practice, Vernon would've whipped out his letterboxd to compare with hers right then and there. As if having a new member couldn't get any better.

DINO

Dino thrummed with anticipation as he patiently waited for his turn to speak with Cyana. She was really pretty, Dino observed, and she was really shy too. She seemed to interact with most of his hyungs with a sort of apprehension, as if secretly a little bit terrified. Dino couldn't blame her. He supposed they probably did look a little terrifying, all 13 of them when there was just 1 of her. "Hello~" He said, nervous when she approached him. "I'm Dino. And Chan. We're same, uh- old? age. Same age." His ears turned pink at his little stumble. Thankfully, Cyana didn't react to his mistake. "Really?" She said instead, lighting up. "I didn't know that. I've always wanted a friend my age." He thought for a little bit before replying. "Me too." He gave her a bright smile, praying that it'd make up for his poor English. Something about the fact that they were both the same age seemed to have soothed Cyana, as she took a step closer to Dino and held at her phone. "I- um, could you," She flushed as she tried to explain. "do you have the wifi?" Dino's shoulders relaxed, thankful it was a question he could answer. Taking the phone, he recognized her wallpaper to be a view of the Han River. Upon pointing it out, Cyana explained that she had passed by it on her way here and had fallen in love with how peaceful the waters were. He could understand what she meant. He often visited the Han River just to watch the current when he was a trainee. It served as a way to both relax and clear his mind. Handing the phone back, now connected to wifi, he mustered up the courage to ask her something before she could leave to say hi to someone else. "I- Han River. We can go, uh- together?" Cyana smiled and nodded. "Of course."

author's note: thank you so much for reading! thank you for all the love you've given this series and i'll be updating as much as possible. i've fallen in love with this universe and cyana lol.

[creamflix]

choso x reader; no implied reader gender. angst, limited superficial comfort. established relationship. implied (past) choso x yuki. choso is half-human who does not understand social cues, but could be read as gaslighting/manipulation? lol. based on a true incident :pensive: — masterlist here ☆

being with choso was like getting to see the world through brand-new eyes. the way he marveled at even the simplest things — a cup of coffee, a sunset, a song — lit up your life in ways you never expected. he’d sit there, wide-eyed, eager to learn and feel, and you were there for it all, guiding him through the maze of human experience. it felt special, something unique to you both, a bond deepened by moments only you could share.

so when that song came on, the one that was supposed to be yours, it was like a rush of warmth, like another page added to the story you were writing together. the melody swept you up, reminding you of quiet nights, gentle laughter, and whispered promises that you thought belonged only to you and him.

but then, out of nowhere, he smiled, that soft, almost bashful look he always gave you when he was remembering something dear.

“you know, yuki played this for me the first time,” he said, voice light, as if he’d just shared a fond memory.

the words crashed over you, your chest tightening as if the air had been sucked from the room. yuki played this?

the image of her, casual, confident, teaching him the meaning behind this song flashed unbidden in your mind, and suddenly, the song you thought was yours didn’t feel like it anymore.

you tried to keep the smile on your face, the one he loved, the one he looked for whenever he felt unsure. but the hurt simmered under your skin, an ache spreading through you that he couldn’t possibly understand. you swallowed hard, feeling your pulse in your throat.

“yuki introduced you to it?”

choso nodded, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within you, still wearing that innocent smile. “yeah… she thought it suited me.” he chuckled softly, completely unaware of the weight behind your question. “she said it reminded her of family. guess that’s why i thought of you when i heard it again.”

family.

the word rang hollow as it slipped from his mouth, the meaning of it different than it should’ve been. you wanted to feel special to him, to have your own corner of his heart.

but now it felt like you were picking up pieces of memories he’d already formed with someone else.

“oh,” you managed, voice low, trying to sound casual even as the words scraped out. “i thought it… i thought it was our song.”

he tilted his head, brows knitting in that familiar look of confusion. “it is, isn’t it?” he asked, his gaze warm and unassuming. “i mean, it makes me think of you now.”

you forced a smile, but something about his innocence cut even deeper. he didn’t realize what it meant, didn’t understand that he was treading over something you’d thought belonged to just the two of you. to him, it was just a song, another piece of his experience, while to you, it was part of your connection, a bridge between your worlds.

“yeah,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, “but it’s not… it’s not the same.”

choso blinked, concern flickering in his eyes as he noticed the strain in your voice. “what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning closer, his expression open, worried. “did i… did i say something bad?”

you wanted to say yes, to tell him that this hurt, that it felt like sharing something you could never get back.

but then you saw his face, that wide-eyed sincerity that had always drawn you to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lay it all out.

he wouldn’t understand.

how could he? he was trying so hard, learning to open himself up, and here you were, tangled in feelings he couldn’t yet grasp.

“no, it’s…” you forced a laugh, hating the way it sounded hollow, even to your own ears. “it’s fine, choso. i just… i thought it was different.”

he reached for your hand, his grip gentle as his thumb traced comforting circles along your skin. “i only think of you when i hear it now,” he said, earnestly. “doesn’t that make it ours?”

your throat tightened, a bitterness you couldn’t name rising in your chest. he didn’t get it, and maybe he never would.

this wasn’t about a song, not really — it was about feeling like part of him in a way that no one else could touch. but he didn’t understand why it mattered so much, didn’t understand what it was like to feel like an afterthought in someone else’s memories.

you swallowed, brushing your thumb over his hand in return, forcing yourself to smile, to meet his gaze even though it felt like you were cracking.

“yeah,” you lied, trying to smooth out the hurt with words you didn’t quite believe, “i guess that makes it ours.”

but as the song continued, filling the silence between you, it didn’t feel like it was yours at all. instead, it felt like something you’d borrowed, a memory that didn’t truly belong to you.

and as you sat there, feeling the weight of everything left unsaid, you realized this wound wasn’t one he could ever heal.

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[salem-witch-slut]

Shotgunning (18+)

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Ellie finds out you've never gotten high before.

WARNINGS: Recreational drug use (marijuana vapes), SHOTGUNNING, swearing, risky lesbian sex, semi-public, fingering, pussy eating, dom!Ellie, sub!reader, happy trails (its hot, okay?)

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

A/N: Get ready for a barrage of kinktober prompts coming in. I'm fresh on my bullshit now.

DIVIDERS MADE BY @cafekitsune

“You seriously never gotten high before?”

That was the sentence that started it all. You had no idea what you had been thinking when you agreed to this shit. Maybe it was the idea of the hottest bad girl in school being in your house? Your bedroom? Or perhaps you just didn’t want her to fail the calculus test tomorrow.

Everybody knew you had the highest test scores in the class, and that you studied like it was your only purpose in life, while said girl in your bedroom was either at sorority parties fucking anything that breathes or making videos with her skateboard tricks. She was quite the rebel, and you were crushing on her HARD.

Yes, Ellie Williams was a player, but she was still the sexiest thing to ever be close to you and there was a sick part of you that wanted to do literally anything she asked you to. If she put a gun in your hand and told you to shoot someone, you may feel driven to pull the trigger if she promised to kiss you after.

Ellie clearly knew she had you under her thumb. You were at her mercy, despite this being your territory. So, when Ellie pulled out her vape and didn’t even ask if it was okay before she took a hit, you tried not to look at her while you were looking through your Calculus textbook.

A moment passed, and you heard the burning inside of the cart before Ellie released another hit from her lungs and offered the vape for you. “Want a hit?”

You didn’t even glance up. “No, thank you.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t have herpes or anything,” Ellie joked, the THC already working through her as she leaned back against the wall on your bed and sighed. You dared a glance upward and saw her face, and how blissed out she looked. A silly grin was on her freckled face as her ringed fingers twitched. “Promise it’s good shit, angel.”

You blushed at the nickname but attempted to focus. “I don’t really know what classifies THC as ‘good’, so I wouldn’t have a compelling argument for that.”

It took Ellie way too long to connect what you were saying, and she gaped, sitting up and scooting closer to you. “You seriously never gotten high before?”

Not like it’s by choice, Williams. You thought to yourself but kept your mouth shut. All you did was shake your head and write something down on the paper in front of you but had to stop mid problem. The letters of the triangle went from RST to THC, and you groaned, putting the pencil down and rubbing your temples.

Ellie simply held the vape out for you. “C’mon, take a hit, angel. It’ll calm you down.”

“Ellie,” You looked up at her, seeing the look in her eyes and feeling your heart stammer… This was your chance to finally get in good with her… Fuck it. What was a little vaping compared to being friends with THE bad girl?

You curled your fingers around the vape cart and pressed the mouthpiece to your lips. Ellie watched you hold down the button on the front of the device and you cautiously inhaled… the second the substance tickled your throat, you immediately pulled the vape away and started coughing.

Ellie snorted, watching you drop the vape and slam a fist on your chest to try and stop hacking up the substance while she took it off the mattress and immediately took another hit. You watched in jealousy as Ellie blew the vapor out of her mouth and you bit your lip a little.

“Wanna try again, angel?” Ellie slowly reached out and slid a finger into the beltloop on your jeans and pulled you closer. You thought she was just going to hold the vape out again, but you felt your breath leave your lungs when Ellie pulled you into her lap, straddling her thighs and slowly pressing the mouthpiece to your lips again. “Slower this time… nice and easy for me, yeah?”

You slowly breathed it in, feeling the vapor travel down your throat and fill up your lungs. You felt slightly tingly, your fingers twitching by your side as your hands reached upward and slowly curled them against the back of Ellie’s neck. She watched you hold the vapor in your chest and slowly breathe it out, grinning at how well you handled it, and how your pupils were dilating in response. She took another hit, blowing the vapor in your face and watching you blink slower than normal.

“How’s it feel?”

You sighed, relaxing against her. “Feels good… really good…”

“Good girl,” Ellie praised you. Your cheeks heated up and you took her offer of another hit, inhaling the substance without hesitation and letting it sit a little longer before you released it again. Ellie was drowning in you, enjoying being at the momentous occasion of your very first high, and she was so out of it already that she only noticed the cart was nearly empty until she looked down and saw the red blinking light.

“Fuck,” She scowled, looking at the cart and then at you. She wanted to keep feeding you, but she was desperate to float like you seemed to be doing already. Very slowly, Ellie held the vape up for you and frowned. “It’s almost empty.”

You don’t know what possessed you to be so bold… Maybe it was the weed working through you, or maybe Ellie was just that addicting to be around. You accepted the vape without a question and when you inhaled this time, Ellie was surprised when you reached down, grabbing her face with both hands on her jaw and easing her mouth open with your thumb.

“Take it from me,” You said, breathing down and watching Ellie inhale the vapor from your mouth and into her own. You whined a little and leaned down, pushing your nose against her neck and holding her like this was the only thing that mattered to you. Ellie was pouting. She wanted to feel euphoria… “I have… other ways to make you feel good, you know?”

Ellie looked at the side of your face curiously, wondering in what way you meant, and she immediately understood when hands grabbed her ass through her jeans. The sound she made was almost animal as she growled and pressed her lips into your hot skin.

“I dunno what I’m saying,” You admitted, blushing slightly as you hid away in her shoulder but didn’t remove your hands from her rear. “You make me so damn nervous, Ellie—”

“Hey, relax angel,” Ellie cooed sweetly as she pushed you back a little by your shoulders and smirked, hands sliding down to the hem of your shirt and slowly pulling it up just enough to expose your bra under your clothes. You blush, biting your lip and without warning, pulled the fabric of your top and your bra over your head. Ellie didn’t waste any time before she was latching her teeth to your breasts, licking and sucking all over your flesh and making you whine. “Take real good care of you, yeah?”

All you could do was whine and nod your head as Ellie took control. She pushed you down onto the bed and began stripping you slowly before you were laying on your bed in nothing but your black ankle socks and boy short panties that she couldn’t stop admiring. The cute star patterns on the fabric made her think you wore them just for her. “So fucking sexy.”

“Please,” You rolled your eyes. “Your just high.”

“So are you,” Ellie leaned down, leaving a trail of licks and kisses from the middle of your chest down to your abdomen. You watched her, shivering at her wet lips leaving a visible wet line on your body before she was dipping down and laying on her stomach between your legs. You shivered, looking down as you scooted up a little and rested your head on the many pillows of your bed.

Ellie reached down, gently pushing her fingertips against your clothed cunt, seeing the visible wet spot on the fabric and also feeling it through the material. You let out a soft yelp and immediately covered your mouth to shut yourself up.

“Shhh, quiet angel,” Ellie cooed, her eyes dilating at your sounds. “Can’t let your parents know you’re about to get fucked, can you?”

As a college student still living with her mom and dad, this was definitely an embarrassing thing to admit to the hottest girl in school, but she seemed to like teasing you on that, especially now. The thought of your parents walking in while Ellie was licking your clit… You immediately covered your face with both hands and whined.

“Still shy, hunny?” Ellie grabbed the vape that had maybe 5 hits left and offered it to you. “Let’s loosen you up then.”

Wordlessly, you took the vape from her hands and inhaled the vapor like you needed it to survive. Ellie watched and grinned before she dipped down and licked a long stripe over your clothed pussy. You sharply inhaled, chest inflating before you breathed out. Ellie watched the vapor leave you and gather in the air.

You were on cloud nine as she pulled your panties to the side and dived inside of your pussy, tongue immediately attacking your clit and making you squirm against her face. Ellie wrapped her tattooed, veined hands around your hips and held you down, drooling all over your cunt and making you feel more pleasure than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

Your soft little noises only spurred her on as you spread your legs as wide as possible, grinding down on her face and almost drooling. “El… Ellie… Ohmygod, please keep going… Feels so good…”

She started off slow, licking from your hole to your clit before repeating the entire process repeatedly and loving how your body twitched and jerked upward when she caught her tongue on a certain place above your clit. It didn’t take long for her to catch on to what you wanted before she was wrapping her lips around your nerve bud and sucking. Hard.

The noise you made was stifled when you bit down on your forearm to keep quiet. Ellie loved watching you struggle to hold it together as she attacked your clit with her lips, licking at it while sucking and letting her teeth graze over it just a bit. You were already seeing stars, just like her as she stared at the panties on your hips.

Ellie was practically making out with your pussy, drooling and slobbering all over you as the taste of your cunt was like the most addictive drug she’s ever had in her life. You on the other hand? You were embarrassed at how Ellie got you so close, so fast.

Hands went from your side and into her hair, undoing that half-up ponytail she had going on and yanking on her auburn locks, making Ellie groan into your cunt and roll her eyes back a little before meeting your gaze. “E-Ellie… M’gonna… f…fuck…”

Ellie mumbled against your slippery folds. “Yeah, cum for me angel… Make a mess on my face…”

You were gone after she began licking even faster. Your orgasm made your entire body arch off the bed before Ellie yanked you back down and continued to lick at your clit until you were practically begging her to stop. After many pleading attempts, she pulled away and licked her lips before leaning back down and taking the vape from the bed near your side.

Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Ellie inhale the drug again, holding it in her chest before she bent down and you gasped, feeling her lips against yours and that burn of the vapor as she breathed it from her lungs, directly down into yours. Both hands tangled in her hair and you pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, tasting yourself on her lips and for some reason, loving every second of it.

When Ellie pulled back, you licked your lips and began to reach for her jeans, undoing the belt around her waist and unzipping the denim fabric. Ellie smirked, watching your desperate attempts to get her jeans off and she decided to humor you, shimmying until the fabric was off her body and on the floor.

Ellie sat on her knees, naked from the waist up as you saw the mess of auburn fluff overtop of her cunt, but for some reason, you found it incredibly hot that she was for the most part, unshaved. Ellie scooted forward on your bed and you reached up with one hand, still tripping on the THC as your fingers came in contact with her soaking wet slit.

The bad girl let out a soft sigh at your touch, hissing through her teeth and gently grinding down on your hand as your fingertips circled her clit and made her squirm against you.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Ellie bit her lip and leaned down until her forehead was on your shoulder. You wrapped an arm around her and let her lean forward just enough to rest her elbows on the pillow behind your head. Her chest was inches away from your face and you couldn’t resist pulling up her t-shirt and gaping at her not wearing any kind of bra. Ellie hissed, her hips jerking forward when she felt your lips around her right nipple, squeezing her hip with your free hand and slowly pushing your middle finger into her cunt.

“Nnnn, god—Fuck, angel…” Ellie groaned at your desperation to feel her cum on your fingers as she pretty much fucked herself down on your digits. You added a second finger and she began rolling her hips forward, loving how your tongue felt on her tits and how full your fingers felt inside of her pussy. You twisted your hand a bit and she felt your thumb rub at her clit, making her see stars behind her eyes.

You didn’t mean to look smug, but seeing her like this for you and you alone made your heart race with euphoria. You smiled, the idea of being caught by your parents no longer taunting the back of your mind as you kissed all over her chest and licked her other nipple. Ellie squeaked when you curled your fingers upward and stroked that sweet spot in her cunt; the one that made her whiny.

“You like that, baby?” You mumbled against her tits, suffocating in her presence. Ellie just nodded, her fingers curling into the fabric of your pillow behind your head as you began to move your fingers faster, thumb rubbing hard on her clit and pounding that sweet spot inside of her hard enough for her to start squirming. “Come on, please… please, wanna feel you cum on my fingers…”

“Fuck, fuck, don’t stop… d-don’t fuckin’ stop…” Ellie pulled back enough to look down into your eyes, pressing her forehead against yours as you took the vape from her hands and pressed it against your lips. Ellie watched your eyes roll back as you took the biggest possible hit ever and you began pumping your fingers into her even harder. The sounds her pussy made had you blushing as you yanked her down by her neck and pressed your lips against hers.

The orgasm that rippled through her body was the most intense feeling of her entire life. And when the vapor passed through your throat and into her lungs, she was bordering on convulsions. Her legs gave out and she fell down on top of you, your fingers pushing inside of her so deep that she squealed into your mouth.

You shared the moment of not only sharing the high of the THC, but the high of her climax. Her inner walls quivered against your fingers and you licked at her bottom lip before breaking the kiss just long enough to meet her eyes. Her pupils were blown out and she was panting, sweaty, and flushed.

You thought she was even hotter like this. Ellie watched you remove your fingers from her cunt, whining at the emptiness she felt, but blushing even harder as you brought them to your mouth and sucked her juices off your digits.

“Fuck, baby,” Ellie sighed, collapsing next to you and wrapping both arms around your body. You giggled, curling into her and nuzzling into her chest as she ran her fingers through your hair. “Not bad for a fuckin’ nerd.”

“Excuse me?” You pretended to be hurt, a hand going to your chest as you chuckled and watched Ellie just roll her eyes. “You’d be surprised at what this nerd can do.”

“Oh yeah?” Ellie put both hands behind her head and you almost drooled at the way her abdomen sucked in, drawing attention to that happy trail on her tummy that mixed with the hair on her pelvis. “Show me then.”

“You are so—”

The sound of knocking had you both looking up at the door. The color drained from your face and you felt like your heart was gonna stop.

“Girls, everything okay in there?” Your father’s voice petrified you.

You gulped. “Fuck.”

[gothamite-rambler]

Bruce is beekeeping age, but Artemis would still smash

I respect and agree.

Artemis (Amazon): Jason, your dad is at “beekeeping age.” You know what that means?

Jason refused to respond; he already knew where this conversation was headed. But Artemis took his silence as an invitation to elaborate on the slang term.

Artemis: It means he’s an attractive, middle-aged man—usually in his 40s or 50s. You know, the kind of guy who would keep bees and make his own honey.

Jason (monotone): That’s not something he does.

Artemis (undeterred): He doesn’t have to do that exactly. It’s just cute how he’s the cape crusader at night, but at home, he’s such an emo dork—like a businessman and a cool dad.

Jason pretended to examine his soda can, regretting that he had said anything at all. He wondered how the conversation had even started.

Artemis: He’s kind of cute—tough, tall, and handsome. How old is your dad?

Jason brought his hands together, trying to block out the thoughts swirling in his head.

Artemis: He’s definitely at "beekeeping age." Some Amazons even call him a DILF.

Jason (whispering to himself): I wonder if I killed myself and got thrown in the pit, would I forget this?

Artemis (looking longingly): He reads books, he’s always there for you guys. He protects you like he protects Gotham. I never had a dad, but my mom wasn’t even there for me like that.

Jason refused to respond, taking a long drink from his soda can instead.

Artemis (wistfully): The crazy thing is, none of my former partners—besides you, of course—have made my heart flutter like Bruce and guys like him do. I know you two aren’t close, but a strong man who loves you, supports you, and is conventionally attractive…

Jason examined his gun, debating what Artemis would say next while struggling to keep his boiling annoyance at bay.

Artemis (twiddling her fingers, lost in thought): Jason, I think I want to fuck your dad.

Jason (angry): No, really? I couldn’t tell!

---------------------------------------------

Later that day, Jason made a surprise visit to Bruce to discuss the earlier conversation. If he was going to live with that moment replaying in his head, the man connected to it would have to hear about it too.

Bruce: She said I was “beekeeping age?”

Jason (staring at his feet): Yes. And before you ask, it’s a term for an ‘attractive’ middle-aged man, usually in his 40s or 50s.

Bruce: How did she know I was in my 40s?

Jason: Oh my God, that's what you focus on?!

Bruce (alarmed): Sorry, sorry! I’m just thrown off by the fact that she said it—she’s your age, and that felt wrong to hear.

Jason: Yeah, she called you a DILF too.

Bruce: What’s a DILF?

Jason covered his eyes, cringing at the word.

Jason: Look it up. Because if I say the full acronym, I might shoot you in your kneecaps!

Bruce shrugged, then pulled out his phone to search for the definition. After reading it, he buried his head in his hands, exhausted by the world.

Bruce: I’m so tired of this. Why can’t people just see me as fairly attractive and move on?

Jason: Thank God we’re on the same page about this.

Bruce: Yep, yep, yep. I already had to get Selina to stop calling me "Daddy."

Jason nearly vomited at the thought of that word connected to his foster dad.

Jason: Yep, this is going to be a full session in therapy next week. Anyway, avoid her forever, or I'm going to lose my mind.

Bruce: I promise, I’m not going to do anything with her. That may have sounded wrong, but I wouldn’t because it's all kinds of messed up. I’m with Selina—she's my partner. Even if I were single—

Jason shot Bruce a glare, clutching a letter opener. Bruce nodded, cutting himself off before he could say anything that would make Jason want to stab him.

Bruce (ashamed): Have I paid you this month? I have not! Let me get my phone; I’ll be right back!

Bruce hurried out of the office, leaving Jason to collect his bearings. He pondered whether he deserved an extra paycheck after just getting paid last week, then shrugged.

Jason: Works for me.

[zablife]

Run From Me Darlin'

Tommy Shelby x female reader (Alfie's wife)

A/N: Taking shelter requested by @thomashelbyswife. Song is "Run from Me" by Timber Timbre. Prompts "I didn't know where else to go." Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge.

Divider credit: @wethairjoel

Warnings: language, mention of infidelity, betrayal Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution!

The servants at Margate had long since retired when they heard their master's voice echoing throughout the house, along with an eery melody from the ancient piano in the parlor.

"Run from me, darlin' Run, my good wife Run from me, darlin' You better run for your life"

And so you were in that moment, escaping a mad man who had made your life a misery from the moment you said I do. You ran from your seaside home in only your night dress, no possessions or money to your name. It was fear that drove you from him that night as he threatened to kill you.

That's how you found yourself on the doorstep of Tommy Shelby's manor the next morning, your shivering form but a memory of the woman he'd come to know the past five years.

"Y/n, what's happened?" Tommy asked as he ushered you inside and draped a blanket over you.

"I didn't know where else to go," you cried in despair, breaking down the moment you saw his sympathetic sapphire eyes staring back at you.

"You're going to be alright," he assured you, looping a strong arm around your waist for support. "Tell me what he's done," he urged, guiding you to sit on the sofa in his office.

He poured you a drink to steady your nerves and you confided everything. The periods of time you'd been locked in your room because of his suspicions about the two of you, followed by angry and often nonsensical tirades. Your chest heaved with pain and your voice faltered with hiccuped gasps at the horrendous treatment you'd received for over a month.

"How did you manage to escape?" Tommy asked.

"A door left ajar by a new maid," you replied.

Tommy nodded solemnly as he listened, then drained his glass of whisky without answer. He didn't have to because you knew he didn't believe in hurting women, having agreed many times before that his friend's behavior was crossing a line.

As Tommy lightly stroked your hair, you felt compelled to share the threat against him as well, quietly explaining Alfie's plans to crush Shelby Company Limited with his uncle's connection to the opium trade in America. Though you sensed his frustration as his fingers curled into your shoulder, you tried to soften the blow by proposing this as a time of new beginnings. "Run away with me, Tommy," you urged, gazing hopefully into his eyes.

"Leave it to me," he assured, placing a chaste kiss to your temple.

You settled back against him, covering his hand with yours before giving way to exhaustion.

Feeling your body grow heavy with sleep, Tommy called for the housekeeper to look after you. "Frances, take Y/n upstairs and draw a bath," he instructed carefully. "Then prepare the guest room for her. She'll be staying with us tonight."

"Yes, sir," the woman replied, taking you by the hand with such gentle ease, you began to weep.

"Oh, my dear," she gasped as she guided you upstairs. "Don't worry, Mr. Shelby will set it right." And you couldn't help but believe the promise in her voice.

Downstairs Tommy paced his office in agitation before finally tossing his glass against the fireplace in anger. As the shards of glass fell at his feet, he tried not to picture your beatific face crumbling. In fact, he tried not to think of you at all as he raised the receiver to his ear.

"What the fuck do you want?" Alfie grumbled.

Tommy traced the phone cord, thinking of all the times his so-called friend had betrayed him and how fitting it would be to humiliate him by stealing his wife forever. However, the notion of partnering together to control the opium trade abroad was far more enticing.

"How is your uncle in Boston?" he asked.

Alfie huffed out a laugh as he asked, "And why are you so concerned about the state of my family this evening?"

Tommy didn't have to say your name, it was implied the moment he began to negotiate. "You'd exchange my wife for access to Boston, would ya?" Alfie sneered with a knowing grin.

"I would," Tommy answered without hesitation.

And that's how the deal was made late one September afternoon as you soaked in the bath, quite unaware you would be reunited with your husband the following morning.

You had one last peaceful slumber before realizing you'd been sold out, exiting Arrow House kicking and screaming against the men your husband sent to punish you.

"I thought you loved me. How could you do this?" you cried when you glimpsed Tommy's somber face waiting in the drive.

Motioning for the men to let you go, Tommy welcomed you into his open arms as he whispered, "It's not personal, it's business."

You wanted to fight him, but instead you pleaded for your life. "Have mercy," you begged against his lips when he offered one last passionate kiss. A glimmer of promise was restored in that moment as you swore you felt his muscular frame give way into yours. However, you underestimated the strength of his resolve. One look into his icy blue eyes told you, he would never claim you as his own.

"Run," Tommy urged you under his breath, waiting for Alfie's men to give chase.

As he watched you flee toward the open field where he kept his horses, he hoped your swinging gate would prevail. Swallowing hard at the sight of his betrayal, he loathed the man he had become.

"Run for your life," he whispered, knowing it was already too late.

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@theshelbyclan

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@helen06dreamer

@pietroxreader 

@galactict3a

@ietss

@mostly-marvel-musings

@writeroutoftime

@yolobloggers

@outlanderuniverse

@anilovessadbooks

@tremendousstarlighttragedy

@elliaze

@leenieweenie

@snickersmee

@niktwazny303

@call-sign-shark

@brummiereader

@cillmequick

@mischievouslittlecreature

@justrainandcoffee

@ryecosse

@garrison-girl-08

@copinghex

@dandelionprints

@look-at-the-soul

@cillianmurphyfanatic

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@babayaga67

@babaohhhriley

@kmhappybunny240

@thomashelbyswife

@mythos-writes

@writeroutoftime

@thegreatdragonfruta

@peakyltd

@holacia3

@novashelby

[mono-dot-jpeg]

your strongest potions, shopkeeper! - blue lock

summary; in which you (the reader, not y/n) learn of the tales of rafta

genre/extra tags; scenarios?, heavily inspired by potionomics (great game), characters as potionomics characters, fluff, comedy, modern fantasy au (technically), lots of potionomics references and fantasy talk, y/n a little stupid but it's fine.

a/n; hi, i've been playing potionomics nonstop lately and it's been on my mind and I already miss my silly baptiste. he's so babygirl. and naturally, why not smush my current interests together now since I got the idea in my mind already. i wont be discussing all the characters in the game and matching them with bllk boys unfortunately as im having a hard time wondering who would be who. tbh, a lot of them could probably apply to one character KHDJDKDJ

the ingredient merchant is a teasing one. he's dry, calculating, and more than willing to add fuel to a fire during a heated conversation. but he would never do that with you. but he does live to tease you with his dry remarks and his smug grin. but he's the one who helps supply your potion ingredients, though. you don’t really know how... but you decide not to question it.

karasu tabito is a clairvoyant. he has his large all-seeing orb, which he's told you that it's how he finds all his connections to get all these ingredients. and then he's got his little chest mimic. maybe not that little.. it's bigger than a chair. and he can sit on it like a large ottoman.

he's kind of mysterious despite being one of your first friends you've made in rafta. he doesn't talk a lot of his past, and he appreciates that you don't press hard about it.

he's probably been by your side since the start, watching your growth to defeat the competition in the potion-making industry.

you fell for him first, but he totally fell harder.

"you know i've been getting a lot of visions of a person lately. from my orb." he started. "i see your...stupid face in them." he looks away from you, the large brim of his warlock hat covering the subtle blush on his cheeks. he curls in on himself slightly, resting against his floating all-seeing orb. "you.. see me? wait, does that mean i'm gonna die soon?!" you panic, flinching back at the possible implications of him seeing you in his visions. "god, you're such an idiot. i mean, yeah, we all die someday, but this.. is different. it means.. that i like you." he grumbled. "so, what are you gonna do about it?" "hm.. can i kiss you then?"

the guild master is a man of the people... despite being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. he means well. he strives to make the blue lock guild thrive! he wants to support the amazing adventurers who supply and give their recent monster loot to the potion makers who keep them alive with their adventure commissions. but it's been hard for him, really. he's been so disconnected from the normal life that he doesn't understand low class or middle-class struggles as well as most would.

mikage reo is a man who wishes to experience what most people already have. he's sick of the cushy rich life of having everything (though his mother still sends him a care package of out-of-your-budget hair care). he's a sight for sore eyes, catching plenty of attention from anyone and everyone. he's a gentleman whilst being a little.. passionate (is passionate the right word?) about his experiences and his goal to improve the guild to its rightful peak. he's also the announcer for the potion contests in rafta! he's never biased in those. i promise. (/gen)

like how he's watched you grow to be a masterwork potion maker, you've watched slowly shed free of his insecurities of the past and worrying over not being a great guild master.

he's sweet, a little eccentric, and more than an open book than he realizes. he's loyal to his goal even if the seasoned adventurers give him side eye about his past and lack of proper qualifications to handle a guild.

you fell for each other just as hard as the other.

"lately, i've been going through quite a lot as i learn how to navigate this new life. it's been stormy skies and rough seas..." he said with a sad smile, but it turns into something more softer and happier, "but you've been there for me and had so much faith in my plans." "some days i want nothing more than to go back to luxury. to relax and be free from work." he said with an annoyed frown. "luxury and riches are nice." you nodded. "but you helped me and showed me things i have never experienced." he smiled brightly. "and for that, i found myself falling for you." he pulls out a bright red rose, handing it to you. "do you want to hear the love my heart has to offer to you?" you gently take the rose with your fingertips, "i already hear it loud and clear."

the excitable new hero that was part of the guild was a fun one! he was a hero enthusiast, wanting to become a hero himself because of it. and he made it all the way to rafta! and now he helps gather new ingredients for you, ready for any dangerous adventure. he's absolutely an excited puppy. he loves doing anything as long as it was adventurous! sometimes if he was feeling really crazy, he would try the flavor of the day in the local ice cream parlor. (he cried the day he got his least favorite flavor, mozuku)

he's been kind of hung up on wanting a trophy or large weapon. so many heroes had them, so he should get one! he has to be a great hero after all! but in your eyes, he was already rather great at what he did. he's swifter than a bee and stung like one too. he seemed to have this innate talent for fighting and being adventurous. he just didn't seem to believe it when he was surrounded by hero legends or higher ranked heroes.

he's been your most supportive customer, often visited for plenty of potions or maybe a quick large order. sometimes he gives you a discount for his commissioned work out on the field.

you didn't fall for him at least, but boy, did he fall for you hard.

"it's silly, wanting to have a trophy or weapon to show off for your success." he said softly. "but i really did want one. i wanted to show that i was a great hero, you know?" he laughed sheepishly. "you might not have found one, but you really did prove yourself along the way. you're pretty high ranked, aren't you?" "yeah, it just feels weird to not have anything to show for it.." he smiled wistfully before it melts into a softer grin. "but hearing you say that i proved myself, it makes me feel so much better!" he groaned childishly, "but still! believing in yourself is hard." "well, it's easy for me to believe in you. it's probably the easiest thing i could do." he goes quiet, looking at you with adoration before blurting out, "can i kiss you?"

the succubus currently living in your literal hell of a basement is certainly a character. you had beat him in the potion-making competition and he outed himself as a demon. which wasn't much of a shocker to you, considering his less than savory scams he did with his potions. but even so, he was considerably skilled in charms and illusions more than potions. he just needed some cash.

but now that he's lost, he had found solace in your unfinished cave basement.. that had a whole river of lava running through?! you curse your uncle ego for having such an odd home that's left for you to handle. so, you unwillingly take in the damn demon before he runs amok ruining other poor souls. he's charming. you'll give him that much. he often sells you illusions and charms that would help your potions sell better. and he even gives you some pointers on how to charm the customers into letting their guard down for a great profit. he's been looking for a place to belong in a while, and your home seems to fit that bill as much as he hates to admit. he's rowdy, flirty, invasive, most things that you don't really want to have around (especially since he unsealed the magic barrier that was keeping you safe from the heat of the lava).

but overtime, you seem to find yourself liking the odd presence of him. or maybe he had unintentionally put a charm on you. you may never know.

you fell first, he fell right after.

"you know i really saw you as a threat to my business and all." he said. "it really wasn't love at first sight." he laughed. "but you're still you, even after all your big decisions to change. still the same wrecking ball that crashed into my shop and right into my basement." "i was petty about a lot of things for a long time. many many years probably. when my own home got destroyed. i was just surviving to the next day." he said, frowning slightly. "but i changed. i changed to find my way to you." "now, you're thriving." "i really am thriving. and now, whatever i decide to do with my life. i want you by my side." "i want that too." "then show me, dear."

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I’m so excited because I got out of class early and I had time to make sure this ask was ready to go

Let me know if this doesn’t quite make sense, and I’ll try to clarify, but:

—

Jeff seeing/knowing his s/o died in a fight, but seeing them alive and well two years later, obvious they had been alive those two years, but they have no memory of him or any of the time they spent with Jeff. Bonus sad points if they were married or had some sort of matching thing so s/o KNOWS something was up with the two of them, but they don’t remember.

—

Feel free to use this prompt for anyone else you wanna write for :D

I hope you enjoy! This got super extremely long because I was feeling inspired ^^' I hope you're fine with the direction I took this in :)

It destroyed him. Watching you die that day was the most difficult thing he's ever had to cope with in his entire life, and he still struggles to cope with it some days even two years later. He's spent so long mourning your loss, that when he sees you walking around one day he thinks it must be a hallucination or someone that just looks far too similar to you, and he continues on his way. At least, until he hears that incredibly familiar laugh he first fell in love with all those years ago, and he's whipping back around, eyes locked on you as you converse with the unfamiliar person at your side. His feet move immediately, pushing him forward, but at the same time, you happen to drop something. He picks it up for you and hands it to you, and his eyes land on the ring decorating your finger, the one that matches the one on his hand, the custom-made promise rings the two of you had. You accept the item you dropped without complaint, your eyes also noticing the ring on his finger, but before he can say anything you just thank him and walk away.

He's so shocked by it that he just stands there for what feels like hours, before making a beeline back to the mansion. With Slender and BEN's investigative assistance, Jeff learns you didn't die that day, and he also learns that you have no memories of your time before then. You're still in the Underworld, still wandering around and joyful as ever, but you have no memory of him at all, and that thought alone is destroying Jeff all over again. The years you'd spent together, your promises of being together forever, all of your plans for the future, vanished. He finds himself entering an existential state of limbo in the coming weeks, not sure if he should try to find you and reconnect, or if he should just let you carry on your new life as you presently are. In the end, he decides to let you go. With all of his trauma and issues, with all of the struggles you both experienced gone from your memory, he feels as though it would be unfair to force you to learn how to love him and care for him again. You, however, have a completely different plan than Jeff.

It was eating you alive, the ring he was wearing on his finger, the familiarity in his eyes, the disappointment at your swift exit. You had to learn who he was, and how he was connected to you, you finally had a clue to your life before your amnesia and you weren't going to let it pass. It wasn't hard for you to track him down, with how well known he is in the Underworld and the fact that everyone knows he works for Slender, but you also spent time waiting and wondering what you should do. Eventually, you decided on it; you were just going to have to force him to talk to you. So, there you stood, anxiously on the front porch of a mansion that seemed far too familiar for you having no memory of it, and upon the door opening, a group of faces greeting you that were also far too familiar. Slender calls Jeff down and tells him he has a guest waiting outside, and when he comes out to see you, he feels his world halting once again. You both sit on the front porch in silence for quite a while, but you break the ice first, asking him who he is, and why he has your ring. You have a feeling you already know the answer, and when he looks at you in misery, tears flooding his eyes, you know you were right, without him even having to confirm it verbally.

Jeff explains it all to you, everything. How you met, when you started dating, what your relationship was like, all of your plans for the future together, the significance of the rings he had made for you, and most importantly, the day he thought you died. It's a shock to you, of course it is, but bits and pieces of things he says, you can catch small glimpses of them in your lost memories. A night under the stars, mornings spent waking up together, an exchanging of rings. You can catch small glimpses of him, but it feels so far away. It is, however, enough for you to believe him. It feels right, sitting beside him on the steps. It feels warm, and comforting, like you belong there beside him, and when you shyly move your leg to press against his it feels so oddly familiar and correct that you find yourself being moved to tears. He tells you he didn't want to trouble you, didn't want to make you have to deal with his fucked up life and issues all over again, he thought it would be cruel, and you can only smile at him through the tears.

You tell him you have a feeling the you that he knew would be upset at him for even insisting that, and he laughs, saying that you're probably right. Neither of you makes a move to leave, to end your reminiscing as he continues telling you stories, and both of you are okay with that. It's you who finally asks the question weighing on both of you. If you can try again. If you can try from the beginning, try to love him again and become a part of his life again. He smiles a smile that has your heart racing and cheeks growing warm, and lifts your hand, saying he gave you this ring along with a promise to stay by your side for the rest of your life, no matter what. He kisses the ring on your finger, and the brush of his lips makes you long for more. He agrees easily to start over, saying he'll never give up on you, but he can't help the chuckle that follows as he simply requests that you not disappear again, and there on that front porch you make your second eternal promise to each other, that this time you'll protect each other, and stay together no matter what. A promise you both successfully keep, to the end of your lives.

[invinciblerodent]

While I'm on the topic of being hopelessly in my feelings about these characters, I just finished the last part of the Gloom Howler quest, and I'm thinking about Davrin and names at the moment.

I really, really love how, once we learn the truth about her, Davrin seems to make a point of always referring to Isseya by her name (mostly on its own, but sometimes in conjunction with calling her "The Gloom Howler" when necessary), and even correcting others who would refer to her only by the latter name. (Which, honestly, both Solas and the Inquisitor could also talk at length about a title that all but replaces your name- it definitely feels significant that Davrin would pointedly reject the thought of doing that to someone, but I digress.)

And that reminded me of how I previously made an idle, kind of shitposty little post about how nice I found that during his recruitment mission, Davrin calls out the specific names of each griffon if you interact with their cages, and he attempts to comfort them like that- by reminding them who they are, that he's there, and promising that he'll be back for them.

In retrospect, I think that's so interesting, how his core story seems to boil in part down to... well, in part to the burden of duty, the questioning of tradition and authority (he questions both Dalish- and Warden traditions from very early on, one by joining the Wardens and the other by joining Rook) and, yes, living past what one thought to be their purpose, but also... to these moments, that invite some contrasting of his elven-, and his Grey Warden identities.

Isseya being an elven Warden is a very direct parallel, and a very clear image- it, I think, is meant to show what happens when authority goes unquestioned, and one side (the Warden) triumphs over the other (the person). His uncle then acts as a counterpoint and a thread of connection to the past- he shows what happens when tradition goes unquestioned, and while peaceful, how that existence is not one Davrin wishes for himself.

This all comes to a head in the final choice concerning the griffons... which, I can't say what a "correct" choice is, but I find it really cool how one option embraces a more rigid tradition and acts as a vow for reforms within them, honoring them, while the other embraces a different tradition, one born of fluidity, choice, and change- a more personal freedom.

Purpose and nature, respect for the past and hope for the future, all strain against each other sometimes (in multiple companions' stories, I feel), and it's often a name that represents the complicated harmony between two halves.

Be that Assan, noble descendant of a hero Warden's griffon wearing an Elvish name, Isseya, the monster and mage brought to peace, the idea of "turlum", harmony and understanding forged between vastly different minds, or just... Davrin, the Dalish Grey Warden, who is not more one than the other.

Maybe that's why calling people (and animals, and feelings) by their proper names seems so casually important to him. Because if you give something complex, messy, and muddled up a name, it's easier to just live it.

(.......... and yeah, that makes it a bit ironic how so far he's been calling Rook, "Rook", but, yknow, technological limitations. I've a feeling I've at least one important scene to go still, but honestly, the name "Rook" does also kind of represent a similarly complex matrix of ideas condensed into a person. It could be that "Rook" feels more accurate than any "friend", or "love", or "boss", or even "vhenan", for what they are to him, or it could be that he's still looking for the right name, but either way, I'm looking forward to seeing how it all ends.)

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

cuddling Ishmael from limbus company

I went way off course on this one. Also, I added Don Quixote, Rodya, and Ryoshu as well.

Either way, your wish is my command!

Ishmael’s love is like the ocean.

One moment, it is calm with gentle waves and good winds.

The next, the wind is blowing you to and fro, the sea froths and foams in passionate, loving madness as waves like skyscrapers attempt to swallow you whole.

You are the only one permitted to see this part of her in its entirety.

The part of her that festers under her skin, begging to be let out onto those she loves.

The part of her that is held back by her fear and rage.

The part of her that you let loose, if ever so slightly.

The part of her that wants her to crush you in her arms as she holds your hand.

The part of her that wants to kiss your lips raw whenever she looks into your eyes.

The part of her that wants to have you with her for all of time.

The part of her that, when you saw all of her, held her close despite that, took control of her and shook her too her very foundations.

That is Ishmael's love.

That is the love only you are privy to.

Don Quixote’s love is like lightning.

It is burning, it is viscous, it is quick, it is loud, it is wild, and it is most definitely Don’s.

To say the girl sweeps you off your feet is an understatement.

She will take you in her arms and promise you the world, promising to show you the most incredible of sights as it is the bare minimum of what you deserve in her eyes.

The conviction in her eyes, the force of her words, and the gentleness of her promises makes it impossible for you not to believe her.

Don Quixote’s words and actions, no matter how grand or mad, always have endless passion and love in them.

And so, rain or shine, day or night, alone or in public, Don Quixote will show you her love whenever she so wishes.

Rodion’s love is oppressive, greedy, and all consuming.

Like a starved animal biting down on prey, she will hold you in her clutches and won’t let you go until she wishes.

Rodya knows that if you want something desperately, you take it.

However, the concept of giving something invaluable and fragile like her heart…

It’s something she is terrified of.

Yet, she still tries to give her love to you as best as she can.

It is not subtle, it is not gentle, it is not measured.

And yet, it perfectly encapsulates everything she feels for you.

Her love is massive, impossible, kind, passionate, and filled with more emotion than she can stand.

And it is all for you.

It is something she gives to you without desire of reciprocation.

She only hopes that you know just how great her love for you is.

Ryoshu is not someone who shows love in any way that could ever be considered traditional.

However, even she is not immune to the cold.

So, on the nights when the temperature runs ever so slightly chilly, she will wrap her arm around you with an abbreviated mutter and nothing else.

As the two of you lay there, she will absentmindedly run her finger across the small of your back like it was a brush (or knife) and you were her canvas.

Simple nonsensical doodles, complicated designs, sketches of half formed thoughts and memories.

If you were anyone else, she may have entertained the thought of cutting you open at this moment.

Unfortunately for her artistic side, you had wormed your way into her heart like a caterpillar eating through an apple.

For better or worse, you were a part of her now.

For better or worse, she was a part of you now as well.

Ryoshu was in turmoil over this fact.

And yet, for some reason she felt a small flame of hope in her chest when she thought of you.

Could it be caused by sentimentality? Connection? Love?

Ryoshu did not know.

That did not bother as much as she thought it should.

[ateezscupid]

hii! can u write a gally x reader where they’re already in a relationship & reader gets hella flustered whenever he has that rebellion gas mask on, he knows it and purposefully teases them.. thank you! :)

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲. ☆

warnings ✩ FLUFF!! Short but sweet, gender neutral reader this is after the gladers make it to the last city, reader and gally are dating (implied they've been dating since the glade) so reader is replacing teresa, reader basically has a mask kink

tags ✩ @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @skzkias

MAZE RUNNER MASTERLIST / REQUEST

In the early morning light, dew clung to the grass like a thousand tiny crystals. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. You stepped outside the homestead, savoring the quiet solitude before the day's activities began. The sun had not yet fully risen, but the sky was a canvas of soft pastels that promised a beautiful day ahead. You stretched, feeling the tension from the previous day's...activities with Gally.

Gally emerged from the nearby barracks, the iconic rebellion gas mask hanging around his neck. He noticed you immediately and his eyes crinkled into a knowing smile. You couldn't help but feel your cheeks warm up at the sight of him. It had become a sort of game between you two, ever since you had accidentally admitted that the mask had an oddly alluring effect on you.

"Morning, sunshine," he greeted, his voice teasing. He knew exactly what was going to happen next. He reached up and slowly pulled the mask over his head, the leather strap creaking as he tightened it. The mask was a stark reminder of the battles he had fought, the lives he had saved, and the world that had shaped him into the leader he was today.

You watched, your heart racing, as he took a deep breath, the mask molding to his face. His eyes searched yours, and you knew he was waiting for your reaction. "What? Why do you always act weird when I have my mask on?" he asked, his voice muffled yet still full of mischief. You bit your lower lip, trying to maintain composure, but it was a futile effort. The way the mask framed his face, highlighting his strong jaw and piercing gaze, had always sent your thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of confusion and attraction.

"It's just…it's different, that's all," you murmured, hoping he wouldn't press the issue further. But Gally wasn't one to let things go easily. He stepped closer, the early morning shadow playing across his features.

"Different how?" His proximity made it even harder to think straight. You stuttered, trying to find the right words, but they eluded you.

"It's like…you look more," you pause, squinting your eyes and looking for the words. "Hot." you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your own as he stepped closer, the mask seemingly amplifying his presence. "Hot, huh?" His eyes danced with amusement, and you could feel the heat from his body. "Is that what gets you blushing like that?"

You nodded, unable to find the words to explain the tumult of emotions that the mask brought out in you. The way it made him seem both more dangerous and more vulnerable at the same time was an intoxicating paradox. He leaned in, the cool metal of the mask brushing against your cheek as he whispered, "You wanna see what other secrets it holds?"

Gripping the edges of the mask, he slowly lifted it off, revealing his smirking face. The moment the mask was removed, it was as if a weight had been lifted from the atmosphere. The tension between you dissipated like morning fog, leaving behind only the warmth of his smile and the closeness of his body.

"Gally, you're such an asshole," you said, trying to lighten the mood with a playful punch to his shoulder. But the impact was lost as your knuckles connected with the hard material of the gear. He just grinned wider, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Maybe," he conceded, setting the mask aside. "But you love it."

Your eyes narrowed playfully. "Do not."

"You don't?" He stepped closer, his arms encircling your waist. "I've seen that look before. It was on your face when you first met me."

You felt a blush spreading across your cheeks, but this time, it was from his touch rather than his teasing. "You're just full of yourself."

He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. "Is that a no, then?"

You pushed him away gently, trying to regain your composure. "It's not funny, Gally."

"I know it's not," he said, his voice dropping serious. He reached up to stroke your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "You don't like when I talk about how you blush when we-"

You hit him, understanding what he meant. "We're in public!" You exclaimed, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm and warm, anchoring you to the spot. The early morning light cast a soft glow on his face, making him look less like a warrior and more like the boy you had grown to love amidst the chaos of the Glade.

Gally's eyes searched yours, the playfulness replaced with a gentle concern. "You're right," he said, his voice sincere. He leaned in closer, his forehead touching yours. "But I can't help it. You're just so…cute when you're embarrassed."

You felt your heart race even more at his words, your palms growing sweaty. You didn't know how to respond, so you just leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. The moment was intimate, a brief respite from the harsh realities of their world

"Don't you have a meeting to get to?" you mumble into his chest.

Gally's grip tightens for a brief moment before he sighs and nods. "Yeah," he says, pulling back slightly. "But I'll make it quick. For you." He winks, the action making you roll your eyes even as you can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

He releases you, the loss of warmth leaving you feeling slightly cold. You watch as he walks away, the mask swinging from his hand.

[hywonuka]

and i’ve been meaning to tell you | hjs

Sypnosis: Joshua and you have been best friends for ages, until one day your dynamic with him changed into something deeper. He has asked you out the day of your birthday, but will you be able to confess to him how you really feel?

Pairing: joshua x fem!reader

Genre: best friends to lovers, fluff

Word count: 904

Warnings: none :3

A/N: happy bday to the sweetest and best joshua biased!!! ily so much, and you have become one of my closest friends, someone i dont want to be apart never in my life. tysm for always being there for me and being the best friend i could ever ask for :( ily the mingyu to my wonu <3 hope u enjoy this little present hehe

11th November. Finally, it was your birthday, your special day, even if you really weren’t looking forward to it, your best friend was. He promised you he would take you out, and make it the best day of your life. You didn’t believe him, but there was no harm in trying. After all, you had a huge crush on him, and that made you feel like he was asking you out on a date, which made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

You could tell exactly the moment in which you felt for Joshua. It was an spring afternoon, a day in which you needed to be completely alone. Daily life responsibilities had overwhelmed you that day, and you just needed time alone. Or at least that’s what you thought.

You were sitting at a local park, just seeing life passing by, when a tall figure approached you, sitting next to you. You looked at the man next to you, ready to start a fight. The last thing you needed that day was a random guy trying to flirt with you. For your surprise, it was your best friend, Joshua, the one sitting next to you. He was carrying a bag with something inside it, but you couldn’t tell what it was.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours” Joshua said, smiling.

“Why?”

“Y/N, you disappeared without saying a thing, I was really worried. And I know something has happened, I know you pretty well by now. Here, I bought you a little something” He said, handing you the bag.

As you took it and saw he bought you some chocolate cookies. You couldn’t tell in which shop he bought them, but when you tasted them you could tell those were the best cookies you ever ate.

“Do you like them?” Joshua asked, with a smile on his face, which turned bigger when you nodded. “I knew it. Well… do you wanna talk about your day?

You finished eating your cookie before replying to him. They were too good just to stop eating them. “Not really, if I’m being honest… I didn’t even want to run into anyone, how did you find me?

“Let’s say I have some sort of superpower that tells me where you are when you need me” Joshua said playfully, while he looked at you, endeared. “Here, lean on me. I’m here for you, it’s time for you to rest.

And, with that, you felt your head leaning on his shoulder, and something else. Back at the time, you had no idea of what to call it, but nowadays you know what it was. You fell for Joshua in that exact moment, and you couldn’t stop falling for him as the days passed by.

After a beautiful dinner at one of your favourite Italian restaurants, Joshua was driving you back home. Music on the radio was playing, and Joshua was singing to it. You couldn’t help but stare at him, endeared by the sight of him and his voice.

“Did you enjoy your birthday?” Joshua suddenly asked, parking in front of your apartment building.

“Yeah, thanks… If it wasn’t because of you, this would have been another boring day”

“Y/N, don’t flatter me like that” Joshua said, smiling.

You both stared at each other. For some reason, today felt… different. You didn’t know why, but you felt more connected to Joshua than ever, and the way he was looking at you, made you shiver. Something deep down told you it was the moment, the moment to tell him how you actually felt. You couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore, especially not after what looked just like a date.

“Joshua, I…” You started talking, just to be interrupted by him, who brought one of his fingers to your lips. “Wait, I love this song”

Really? Did he shut you down thanks to Seven by Taylor Swift? What sort of mean joke was that?!

“Before you speak up, I have something for you” He said, taking a bag from the back seat, that you didn’t notice before. “I hope you like them!”

You opened the bag, a bit confused, just to find inside the bag those cookies he bought you months ago. You opened your eyes widely, and took a bite of them. God, they tasted just as you remembered.

“You like them?” He asked, and seemed a bit… nervous?

“I love them, Shua. I always wondered where you bought them”

“I made them myself”

“Just for me?”

“Just for you”

The silence in the car was heavy, only interrupted by Taylor’s voice, and heavy breathings from both of you.

“I love you” Both of you said at the same time, blushing as teenagers experiencing their first reciprocated love. The silence was heavy, and you noticed Joshua staring at your lips, unashamed. “I want, no, I need to kiss you”

“Then do it” Your moment of boldness surprised you, but it was more surprising to you when you saw Joshua leaning to you, covering your lips with his.

He was sweet at the beginning, taking his time to kiss you, until his tongue entered your mouth, heatening up the moment, as he deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours. He was kissing you as if his life depended on that kiss.

“Happy birthday, Y/N” Joshua whispered, as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Thanks, Shua…”

“I love you”

taglist: @joshug <3