#there’s got to be an attachment of some kind here

[sturniololuvz]

Can you right a fic were they have a sister who’s like 15 and the boys go in her room and find like birth control or some thing like a thong and they freak out becuse they still see her as a baby? Love you btw

love ya

⸻

“What We Weren’t Ready For”

It started because of a missing charger.

Chris swore he left it in the living room, but Nick rolled his eyes and pointed down the hall. “Check Y/N’s room. She steals yours every time you leave it plugged in.”

Chris grumbled something under his breath but went. Matt and Nick followed — more out of boredom than anything else.

Her room was its usual mess: books everywhere, one shoe under the bed, hoodie slung over the back of her chair.

“Check the nightstand,” Matt said, digging through her backpack on the floor. “She hides all kinds of stuff in there.”

Chris opened the top drawer.

Then stopped.

“Yo…” he said, voice flat.

“What?” Nick asked, crossing over.

Chris stepped aside.

Inside the drawer — tucked beneath a folded tee and a pack of gum — was a small, pale-pink box.

Birth control.

And next to it, a pair of black lace underwear. New. Still with the tag attached.

Silence.

Like the kind that fills a room after a dropped bomb.

Matt blinked. “No. No no no.”

Nick’s brows furrowed. “What the hell is this?”

Chris’s chest was tight. “She’s fifteen.”

Nick ran a hand down his face. “This doesn’t mean she’s… doing anything. Maybe it’s for cramps. Maybe the thong was a gift or something—”

Chris snapped, “Then why hide it?”

None of them had an answer.

Matt sat on the edge of her bed, stunned. “Dude… she still watches cartoons on Saturday mornings. She cried when her favorite jeans ripped last week.”

“She begged me to braid her hair three days ago,” Nick muttered.

Chris shut the drawer slowly, like putting the lid back on something they weren’t ready to see. “She’s still our baby sister.”

“But she’s not,” Matt said quietly. “Not anymore. And we didn’t even notice.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Nick said, “What do we do?”

Chris sighed hard. “We don’t yell. We don’t accuse. We ask. Calm. Like grown-ups.”

Matt gave him a look. “We’re barely grown-ups.”

They waited until Y/N got home later that evening. She came in laughing, holding a leftover milkshake from her friend’s dinner, and stopped when she saw all three brothers sitting on the couch.

“…What’s going on?” she asked slowly.

“Can we talk?” Chris said gently. “Just us. A quick second.”

Y/N’s smile faded a little. “Okay…”

They sat in the living room — all quiet, all looking at her like she might break.

Chris was the first to speak. “We were in your room earlier. Looking for my charger. And… we saw something.”

Her eyes widened just slightly. She knew exactly what.

Nick jumped in. “We’re not mad. We’re not here to punish you. We just… weren’t expecting it.”

Y/N’s shoulders tensed. She stared at the floor. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then help us understand,” Matt said softly.

She took a breath. “The pills are for my period. My cramps have been horrible. Mom knows. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to be embarrassed.”

“And the…” Chris hesitated. “The underwear?”

“It was a dumb joke gift from my friend. I haven’t even worn it. It’s still got the tag.”

Chris let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay.”

Y/N looked up at them, eyes a little glassy. “I wasn’t trying to hide from you. I just didn’t think you’d get it.”

Matt reached over and took her hand. “You’re right. We don’t. Not all of it. But we’re trying.”

Nick leaned back. “You’re still our little sister. But we know you’re growing up. Doesn’t mean we’re ready for it. But it does mean we love you enough to listen.”

She smiled through watery eyes. “Even after the thong?”

Chris groaned. “Please don’t say that word again.”

Y/N laughed, wiping her face. “Love you guys.”

“Love you too,” all three of them said — at once, no hesitation.

And for the first time, they didn’t feel like they were losing their little sister.

They just realized they were gaining a young woman.

⸻

[alikesical]

part 2.5 part 3 part 4 (you're here!)

Bruce Wayne x Reader, familial! Dick Grayson x Reader

“I’m leaving in three days.” you say, eyes locked on Dick’s sleeping form, lying still under the satin covers -the kind that costs more than your rent.

Bruce kept quiet, opting to stare down at you. “Give him some time to adjust.” you add exhaling softly, taking in the calm and quiet. Like you know this’ll be the last time you’ll feel this way. 

The whole night had been a whirlwind. From him appearing at your door -yet again- to Dick asking you to join them.

You tried to deny, you did. But you learned very quickly that the boy doesn't take no for an answer.

Being in the Manor after all these years felt suffocating in a way you couldn’t quite place. It was familiar, like an old song that you would much rather forget, but has been engraved in your heart.

Everything was in the same place as the last time you were here. Same tapestries. Same chandeliers. Even the portrait of Martha and Thomas Wayne seems to not have been moved an inch, casting its shadow over the house. A reminder of what has been lost.  

The manor was a picture suspended in time, a photograph left untouched by rot and decay. 

“You could stay.” Bruce's voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back into reality. You turn your head, finding him already staring at you, hands clasped behind his back. Hiding.

You don’t let yourself linger, turning back, focusing on the light rise and fall of Dick’s figure. 

“I couldn’t.” 

“He seems attached to you.”

“And whose fault is that?” the words spill from your mouth before you even get a chance to think them through. But you couldn't bring yourself to care for not sparing his feelings. He certainly didn’t care when he left yours bleeding.

“He needs you.” he says simply. Definitive. Seemingly cold. But you knew better.

“No he doesn’t.” you’re quick to answer. “He’ll have you, and Alfred,” you take a deep breath in, even if shaky. Trying to pretend this won’t hurt as much as you anticipated it to. “He’ll be fine.”

“Still,” he says, not looking at you, “You could stay.”

“You don’t get to ask for that.” you say, voice sharp. A blade Bruce wished he would never have to face again.  

“Listen-”

“Listen?” you laugh like he said a bad joke, looking bewildered at him, bitter, “You want me to listen.” you grimace, taking a step back, as if the distance would numb the pain that crept deep into your bones. 

“I don’t remember you listening, Bruce.” you spat, venom dripping with every word. “Or even giving me the chance to talk!” 

“I didn’t-”

“You didn't what? You didn’t say it? Didn't mean it?” your eyes flashed at his already half-baked excuse, “You called me a gold digger! And a leech! And I begged you to explain!” you jab a finger on his chest, “I begged you and you shut me off, sent me my merry way, and never talked to me again!”

“Let me-” he moves his hand, wanting- needing to touch you. Needing for you to let him explain, have you understand him.

“No!” you yell jerking back like a live wire yanked from the socket. 

You take a shaky step back, biting your cheek, trying to stop yourself from exploding in his face, not wanting to wake Dick up. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, the pain in your cheek keeping you from reeling, “You don’t get to talk!” you start again, staring him down, your voice calm but the bitterness bled through, much like his heart.

“You don't get to explain yourself! Not after all this time!” you hiss, lip quivering as you desperately held your tears in, teeth grinding.

“You were my best friend! You were my person!” Bruce could hear his heart breaking at the quiver in your voice. At the damage he had done. At all things couldn't say.

“And you dropped me! Like our friendship- like I meant nothing to you. So you don’t get to take it back now. You don't get to feel bad! Not when I finally got you to mean nothing to me!”

Bruce stays quiet. Staring at you unblinking. You like to think that once upon a time you were able to decipher his stony expression. And that, that was a long time ago.

But you'd be lying to yourself. Trying to bury the familiarity that haunted every corner of your heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says and the words ring though your brain, although hollow.

“You’re three years too late.”

I'M BACK but only for a short while, I'm still drowning in credit tests

I'm sorry it's so short this time around, but my brain is still filled with cascade reactions

In retrospect I should just have been writing my little fanfictions, I studied so much for this stupid credit and just ended sleeping through istg

[theshiniestgemstone]

What if Y/n and Gideon were dating when he was in Hollywood (like she was a C list actress) then broke up because she thought what he was planning on doing to his father was immoral.

Then, years pass and she is shooting a movie in the same city as where the Gemstones live and they reconnect and sparks go a flyin?

The room was silent as you stared at Gideon across the tiny table of your shared apartment. The lightbulb above you buzzed, casting a harsh white light over the takeout containers in front of you, the abandoned crab salad pushed off to the side. He had that soft smile on his lips and the starry look in his eyes made your heart melt. He’d only looked like this a few times. When you said yes to being his girlfriend. The day he asked you to move in and then he sheepishly admitted that he didn’t think you’d say yes, but he’d make you a copy of the key first thing in the morning.

“Gideon,” you started. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

He shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe you didn’t understand what he was asking. “I know Scotty keeps talking about us going to Thailand as brothers or whatever, but I want you to come with us. His tone was casual, his fingers drumming on the table. “At least at first and flights are like 20 hours, but they won’t be that bad if you stay with me between seasons so you’d only have to do the flight twice a year.” 

You blinked, trying to wrap your head around what he was saying. You searched his face for any hint of a joke, a tell that he was being dramatic or impulsive, the way he sometimes got after two beers and a sentimental movie. But there wasn’t a trace of humor in his expression. Just wide, earnest eyes. Hopeful. A little scared. It wasn’t glamorous, your job. You landed a recurring role on some teen drama full of teen pregnancy and gossip, the kind that no one wanted to willingly admit to watching. Your character was neck-deep in scandalous plotlines about cheating boyfriends and surprise pregnancies. It wasn’t your dream role, but it paid the bills, kept you afloat, and it felt like yours. Like something you had earned.

“Will you come with me?” 

“With your family money?” you asked, more bitterly than you intended. You hated yourself the moment you said it. He’d told you the entire plan twice. The first time was a few weeks ago and you could have sworn he was joking. Now, he told you the second time, more finality in his tone. 

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t get defensive. He just nodded. "Yeah," he said, like it was obvious. Like it was no big deal to him to bankroll your entire life with stolen money because, in his mind, you belonged with him. Simple as that.

You fought the tears, vision blurry as you scrambled for your purse and keys. “No.” 

“What? Why not?” 

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to hold yourself together, your keys digging into your palm. "I thought you were different," you said, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

“What do you mean by that?” Gideon asked, his voice low and tight, following you into the living room. His bare feet padded against the hardwood floor, desperate to keep pace with you.

You whipped around to face him, your chest heaving. “Hollywood is full of greedy people who do nothing but lie and cheat and steal to get what they want.” Your body trembled as you looked him up and down, feeling the fight drain from you even as your heart broke anew. “Your family may be drenched in hypocrisy, Gideon, but at least they can be honest with themselves. They don't pretend they’re doing it for someone else.”

He furrowed his brows. “I-” 

“I never thought you’d be so stupid enough to follow someone. Especially someone as stupid as Scotty. He doesn’t care about you. He’s taking you to Thailand out of pity because it’s your last name attached to the money.”

He stood there, blinking at you like you had just struck him. His mouth opened, like he wanted to say something. 

“My stuff will be out of here tomorrow," you said, voice breaking despite your best efforts to sound cold, decisive. "I don’t want anything to do with any of this."

You turned away from him, your vision swimming. The apartment you had made a home together blurred into vague, painful shapes. Your hand landed on the doorknob with a loud, final click just as a choked sob escaped you, messy, ugly, uncontrollable.

+++

Amber sighed, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “I thought your father would be home sooner. Gideon, say grace, please. He can join us when he gets home.”

Gideon nodded silently, folding his hands together. He looked... different. Calmer, somehow. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. He seemed a a little slower, a little heavier. Four days home from Haiti, and he was still shaking the dust out of his bones. The climate here was easier on him, but the ache in his body hadn’t quite left. It pulsed dully beneath his skin, a constant, invisible reminder of what he’d been through.

Around the table, the family bowed their heads. Gideon took a breath, letting the familiar rhythm of home steady him.

"Lord," he started, voice low and rough, "thank you for bringing us together tonight. Thank you for the food we're about to eat, for the roof over our heads, and for the people who love us. Watch over those who can't be here, and bring them home safe. Amen."

A quiet chorus of "Amen" followed. The clink of silverware picked up again, the conversation slow to restart. 

Abraham picked up the slack, chattering about school. He rambled on some science project he was excited about, a field trip coming up. His voice bounced through the dining room, high and eager. Pontious, by contrast, grumbled out short, half-hearted answers when Amber asked him questions, stabbing at his food like it had personally offended him.

"Pontious," Amber warned, giving him a pointed look over her wine glass.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "I'm eating, ain't I?"

"Behave," she said sharply, but with the kind of tiredness that only came from years of trying to wrangle boys who didn’t want to be wrangled.

Gideon watched it all play out like a movie he'd seen a hundred times. Pontious, with his attitude and an afternoon full of detentions; Abraham, trying too hard to be the good one; Amber, caught between scolding and surrendering.

It was normal. Too normal, maybe.

Gideon stayed quiet, pushing his food around on his plate, listening more than he spoke. The hum of home should’ve been comforting, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he didn’t quite fit into the rhythm anymore.

"My wonderful family, I’m home!" Jesse hollered, his voice carrying easily through the house. Heavy footsteps thudded toward the dining room before he dropped into his seat at the head of the table with all the grace of a man who thought the world owed him something.

"Motherfuckers shut down the street right outside the church for some movie. Had to take the long way," he grumbled, grabbing for the nearest serving dish like he'd been starved all day.

Amber raised an eyebrow, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. "I didn’t know they were filming in Charleston."

Jesse huffed, shoveling food onto his plate. "Something called Devil's Hollow or Hollow Devil or some shit. I don't know. Some 'indie passion project' from some Hollywood big shot.” 

Gideon swallowed. “Who?” 

“Well, Mr. Hollywood, I would have assumed you’d know everything about it already,” Jesse chuckled. “Had lights and shit all over the place.” 

Abraham perked up, finally looking away from his phone. “I think I heard about it. Some big-deal director wanted it to feel ‘authentic.’” He made air quotes, rolling his eyes like the word itself was offensive.

Jesse leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Authentic? Ain’t nothing authentic about a bunch of Hollywood weirdos coming down here, playing dress-up."

Amber shushed him lightly, but Jesse laughed. "They oughta leave Charleston alone. Last thing we need is a bunch of California freaks sniffin’ around."

Gideon kept his head down, chewing slowly, but he could feel his stomach knotting. The name of the movie tugged at something in the back of his mind, a memory he hadn’t wanted to touch. He toyed with the edge of his napkin, trying to keep his breathing even.

After dinner, Gideon grabbed his phone and looked up the movie. 

Devil’s Hollow begins filming in Charleston this week. If you’re a fan of Evergreen High, you’ll be happy to see a few familiar faces including Noah Stevenson and Y/N Y/L/N. 

Gideon stared at the glowing screen, the words blurring together. Your name was right there, bold as anything, like it hadn’t shattered his entire world once already.

He tossed the phone onto the nightstand with a clatter and rolled onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face. His chest ached in a way he hadn’t felt since Haiti, a deep, gnawing ache that sleep wouldn’t fix.

You were here. In his town. Breathing the same air.

He squeezed his eyes shut, like that might somehow stop the flood of memories: the way you used to laugh against his mouth, the way you’d tangled your hands in his hair, the way you’d looked at him like he was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

He still didn’t understand where it all went wrong. One minute you were his, and the next you were crying in the doorway, clutching your keys like they were a weapon against him.

He hadn’t even fought you. He should have. God, he should’ve said something.

Instead, he let you go.

Gideon sat up suddenly, the room tilting a little as he moved too fast. His heart thudded against his ribs, reckless and wild. He grabbed his phone again. It was muscle memory at this point. Scrolling nearly to the bottom of his messages to find your conversations. The last text from you had been a farewell one, that your items had been moved and the key was on the counter. Before that they longer messages. Hours of messages traded back and forth. Photos and videos were shared. He looked at them pretty often. He couldn’t stop hismelf from sending the message. 

Gideon: I wish you would have told me you were in Charleston. I’d like to see you sometime. 

He sighed, staring at the little blue bar across the top of the screen. The little woosh that it had been sent made his heart jump. In the second it took for the little ‘delivered’ to pop up below the text, he couldn’t breathe. 

He set the phone down beside him, face down like that might help him resist the urge to stare at it. Like that might stop him from obsessively checking if the bubble would appear, those three little dots that would tell him you were there, reading it, thinking about him.

He could feel the phone, taunting him from the nightstand. He flipped onto his side, punching the pillow into a better shape. Closed his eyes. Forced himself to breathe. To wait.

Then, just when he thought maybe he should give up, maybe you had changed your number or blocked him or worse. Maybe you’d moved on. Maybe you’d curse him out. 

Ping.

His eyes snapped open. He fumbled for the phone, hands clumsy with adrenaline. Your name was lighting up his screen.

Y/N: I’d love to :) Have you had dinner? I was about to go find somewhere to eat

Gideon swallowed. 

Gideon: I have, but I can go with you. I can pick you up in a bit?

Y/N: Sure! I’m staying at the Marriott on Elm(?) There’s a giant fountain

Gideon stared at the screen for a beat longer than necessary, his heart hammering so hard he thought he could hear it echoing in the room.

Gideon: Give me 15 minutes.

Your typing bubbles popped up almost immediately.

Y/N: I’ll be outside :)

He shot up from the bed, scrambling for his shoes, suddenly too jittery to think straight. He glanced in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his shirt. Don’t look like you’re trying too hard, don’t look like you’ve been losing sleep over her. He grabbed his keys from the dresser.

By the time he was pulling out of the compound, his palms were sweaty against the steering wheel. The streets blurred past, headlights and neon signs blending into a haze he could barely register.

When he turned onto Elm Street, the fountain was impossible to miss, lit up by soft golden lights. And there you were standing just off to the side, arms folded loosely over your chest, your hair catching the glow from the fountain. You looked…

God, you looked beautiful. Different, but the same. A little more guarded maybe. A little more grown.

He pulled up to the curb, rolling the window down. You smiled warmly at him. 

“Took you long enough,” you teased. “Go park. I got impatient and ordered doordash.” 

So, over soggy fries and smushed burgers that dripped with grease, and flat sodas, you caught up with one another. Gideon, between bites of fries, filled you in. 

“He’s dead?” You asked, setting your drink down. “Like… dead-dead?” 

Gideon nodded. “Yep.” 

“Holy shit!” 

“That’s what I said!” Gideon paused, reeling himself back in as he caught the man at the front desk watching them before turning away. “I spent a few months in Haiti trying to… make it right.” 

You looked at him. “Like… doing what?” 

“Mission work. It was a clean water project.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but you could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way he couldn't quite meet your eyes. 

You leaned in a little, propping your chin on your hand. "That's... really good, Gid." 

He gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh, popping another fry into his mouth to avoid responding right away. You didn't push him. It was strange, sitting here again, like no time had passed and yet everything had. 

You picked at your burger, trying to wrap your mind around it all. Jesse Gemstone's kid out in Haiti, digging wells and building water systems like some kind of penance. Gideon cleared his throat. 

"What about you? I mean, Devil’s Hollow? That's huge, right?" 

You smiled a little, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah. It's a lot. Kind of surreal sometimes. Honestly, I thought after Evergreen High I'd be stuck doing toothpaste commercials forever." 

He chuckled, that old soft laugh that used to make your chest ache. "Nah. You were always gonna be a star." 

The compliment caught you off guard, warming your chest, and for a second you let yourself believe that you were still that girl, and he was still that boy, and somehow, against all odds, you could pick up right where you left off.

“I’m sorry for calling you stupid,” you mumbled. 

Gideon shook his head. “I am. It was.. God, I don’t even know how to describe it in one word.” 

“Crazy. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Bonk-”

Gideon barked out a laugh, a real, chest-deep, head-tossed-back kind of laugh, the kind you hadn’t heard since before everything went wrong. The conversation lulled, not awkward, but easy, like a favorite old song coming to an end. The only sounds were the rustling of greasy napkins and the sad gurgle of empty paper cups when you tried to sip the last bit of soda through crushed ice.

“Can we try again?” you asked softly, the words trembling just a little. “I mean, unless you have another scheme up your sleeve.”

“God, no,” he said immediately, putting his hands up in surrender, his face animated and sincere. “I was thinking of getting back into stunt work.”

You grinned, feeling lighter than you had in months. “We need someone for something next week. Do you want me to put your name in?”

“If that means we get to hang out more, I’d do anything.” His voice was steady, but there was a vulnerability underneath it that made your heart squeeze painfully.

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand. “You are going to regret saying that.”

His face dropped into mock horror. “Please tell me it’s not bugs.”

“Then it’s not bugs.”

He narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. For the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t hurt to hope a little.

[magical-girl-coral]

🛁 Adaine/Aelwyn platonically just, friendly sisters having a time

Ohoho, I like this one.

Send me emoji(s) and I'll write a drabble

Adaine grimaced in disguise, still finding new sludges in her hair no matter how many times she got over the same spot. Out of all the places their mission could have gone, what did it have to be a fucking swamp?

That place was so awful that even her precious familiar wasn't happy being there. He now sits on the tiles with his own mini bathing equipment, looking as miserable as Adaine felt.

"Adaine?" Her sister's voice called out from the door. "How are you holding up there? You're not drowning in your own bloody bathtub, are you?"

Adaine's face heated. "Oh, fuck off! You try fighting an ugly goo monster in the middle of a swamp and then come here all high and mighty!"

"No, thank you. There's a reason I never bothered with this whole adventuring thing. It's much more fun gloating from the sidelines." There was some shuffling from outside the door. "Can I come in? I have some stuff that can make this self inflicting torture session go quicker than your current pace."

Adaine was ready to tell Aelwyn where she can stuff her beauty products, but a piece of the monster she just killed slid off of her bangs and fell onto her nose had killed the words in her mouth. She had to admit defeat. "Fine, but any comments on my appearance and I'll have Sandra Lynn kick you out."

"Not fair, you know I fear that woman," Aelwyn grumbled as she fiddled with her things.

"Everyone fears Sandra Lynn," Adaine said smugly. "She has a mom voice that can make a god feel shame and I'm not afraid to use it."

Aelwyn muttered a few more things Adaine couldn't hear from the closed door before entering their shared bathroom with a box under her arm. She opened at mouth at the side of her sister covered in whatever the fuck this is but quickly closed it within a millisecond.

Adaine's tense body visibly relaxed at Aelwyn keeping her comments to herself. She only dared to talk again after picking up a stool and sitting next to Adaine. She pulled out a shampoo bottle and squirted some of it onto her hands.

She did a motion with her hands to tell her to turn around and Adaine did so willingly, letting her hair fall onto Aelwyn's hands.

Aelwyn spoke as she cleaned her up. "This is a special substance used to get thick muck out of wizards' hair for when their experiments blow up in their face. I had to get a bottle of this after my first abjuration attempt nearly took away my eyebrows."

Adaine snorted. "You're kidding."

Aelwyn smiled. "I swear to you, it happened. I wanted to make my own face mask when I was thirteen because all the cool high school girls were doing it, so I thought putting some magic in it would make me the coolest of them all. But I put in too much magic, and next thing I knew, me and Penelope were screaming our heads off because whatever we made won't come off our hair. I was just lucky I did this at her place or I would have never heard the end of this from you."

Adaine played with her thumbs. "I didn't know you guys were friends for that long."

"Neither did I," Aelwyn said. "Back then, I didn't fully know what friendship was. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't know. The realization would have crushed me." She rinsed the shampoo off of Adaine's hair with the shower nuzzle and picked up a different jar. "This is an enchanted bath scent. It will replace anything arcane with the smell of fresh roses."

Adaine raised her eyebrow. "Does this have a tragic story attached to it too?"

Aelwyn snorted, kind of like how Adaine did a second ago. "No, my life is not that pathetic, little sister. This is just something I got for seventy percent off at Bath Bombs and Beyond. But there was a fantastic break up scene at the candle scent aisle if you wish to hear about it."

Adaine made herself comfortable against the wall of the bathtub, letting her wet locks fall onto Aelwyn's pants. "Now I do."

Aelwyn grimaced at her sister's actions, waving her hand and making all the water that was dripped onto her clothes splash onto Adaine's face. She shrieked with laughter, her Boggy croaking happily right beside her.

"You're lucky I still enjoy your company regardless of your antics, little sister," Aelwyn mockingly threatened her before adding more scent into the bath. "Now, where was I? Right! At the candle isle, a half elf and some bulky man were arguing over which scent will make their apartment smell more "homely" because their third roommate complained it always smells like sex because of them. So then-"

Adaine listened absentmindedly as her sister went off, feeling herself drifting off to sleep when Aelwyn started to play with her hair.

She didn't notice Aelwyn gently helping out and drying with her towel. She didn't hear her calling out to Sandra Lynn to help her dress Adaine up. She didn't see Aelwyn trying her best to carry her sister to bed until her arms gave out and Jawbone had to take over.

She didn't need to. The warm feeling she had while tracing told her enough as it is.

[molonara]

So, uh, is no one gonna talk about Otto’s assistant Vincent in the Your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman show?

Dude being SUPER supportive of the Doc, even calling him up to make sure he’s eating properly and offering to bring him food. Not to mention he’s the only other person Otto is working with in such confidence.

I’m not gonna call it right away, but let’s just say… my spidey sense is tingling.

[s-wave-entertainment]

OHHHH YOU OPENED THE BOX. I GET TO TALK ABOUT CYN. HERE WE GO

Okay okay, first thing's first - I high key have a whole fanfiction about J and Tessa talking about what they've been having to do about Cyn, how Tessa feels absolutely awful about it but J feels like it's their best bet. Just as you said, I like to think there are two reasons Tessa locked Cyn in the basement - one of course being that Louisa made her promise to keep her out of her sight (and the basement is one place Louisa would never go), and also, I WHOLEHEARTEDLY AGREE with the idea that Cyn wasn't completely gone when Tessa took her - thus, Tessa had to watch Cyn slowly change in some way she couldn't explain. And Cyn, ashamed to admit the deal she made (and not knowing how to explain it to anyone anyway), never tried to explain what was happening. But because Tessa couldn't identify the issue and needed to keep her out of sight, she went to the basement as Tessa tried to search for any solution she possibly could. And yes, she felt /horrible./ But she didn't know what else to do. She hated to admit it, but the change was /scaring her/ - hence her apparent displeasure with Cyn that we see in Ep. 5. She knew that the drone she brought into the mansion all that time ago... probably wasn't there anymore. But she refused to throw her back out. She wouldn't do it - she/couldn't./

The idea that the abuse Tessa underwent was what resolved Cyn's last impression of mercy for humanity (with Tessa as an exception) is a very good one, and I agree Cyn was probably very angry with her parents for what she saw them do to her, but I don't think she let her hatred override her - largely because she had Tessa in the first place. The way she treated her, the amount of love and care she had placed into her was enough to prove that humanity couldn't be all bad - but these two humans definitely were. I personally think the REAL Cyn resembled a ~13 year old in mentality (I think they were all kids but they had jobs to do so they acted a little more grown, but we all know robot age is. Wack as all hell anyway. Just how I perceive her, idk LMAO), so usually her fear of the Elliotts would override any anger, especially since she was already thrown out once and Louisa already hates her. They'll kill her before she gets the chance to do anything - even if she were to use the Solver, which I personally think the REAL Cyn wouldn't do willingly because it scared her as it pushed itself into her body and took her deeper into herself. This got rambley, but my main point here is I don't think Cyn herself had any say in what happened at the gala that night. Cyn wouldn't have killed all those people, that was 100% Solver - as she was already gone by the time that night rolled around. As such, the "we can no longer be thrown out" likely didn't include Tessa and instead referred to the fucking /army/ that the Solver was building. But... that is a sweet thought.

I do actually kind of like the idea that the threat of "don't come to the gala" was a test... I never thought about it like that. In my mind, the Solver had absolutely no intention of sparing Tessa. Now I personally don't think Tessa died THAT NIGHT (a la the pictures from ep. 6), it kept her alive but not because it had any attachment to her (aside from maybe a fucked up fascination with the one human who ever dared to stand up for her and also the one who cared for and protected her primary host), jut because it wanted to ensure it would be rooted in other planets to assist it in its whole "ending the universe" thing. After all, it's viewed humanity's hubris and greed enough in the manor - after its gala stunt, it knew people would come to observe (I don't know if it knew that it would be JCJ in specifics or not, but it would make sense if it did since it would have to do with drones, a JCJ property) and that they would have /questions./ Questions they'd want answered - and of course, they needed someone to get the answers /from./ It would kill Tessa with the rest of humanity after it /knew/ it had "in"s to other planets. But the added thought that it was a test to see if Tessa would stand with it or humanity and when she went to save her parents that made its mind up for it? That's extremely intriguing and I like that :3

Holy fuck it is a bad time for the worms to wake up I have to SLEEP

I'll make this as quick as I can. Louisa and James absolutely /hated/ how attached Tessa was to her drones - or any drone, for that matter. James insisted on "curbing her trips to the dump," and belittled the passion as "creepy," just to set the stage a little. They already saw her as a morbid freak of a girl, and now she was more attached to robots than anything else like a Weirdo. But let me tell you what - they restricted her trips out, but never STOPPED them. They let her keep taking drones home and dolling them up. Why? I'll fuckin tell ya - blackmail.

This was more a Louisa thing than a James thing I think (though he did find it unnerving, he never said anything to imply he'd use them against Tessa), but that woman knew Tessa loved the drones dearly. She didn't understand and most likely found it embarrassing (I mean hell, she called them Tessa's "dumpster pets"), but she let her keep going out there. Because if worst came to worst, it was something she could use to /keep her in line./ Even more than the goddamn abuse.

"Myrah, where are you getting this?" I'll tell ya. When Tessa "disobeyed Louisa's orders" by bringing Cyn into the ballroom, what was the immediate threat of punishment? No, it wasn't chaining her up in her room - that only came after "Cyn" delivered that cryptic ass line about not being able to be "thrown out" anymore. But why did she say that in the first place?

Spoiler alert, the line was "I said /this one/ (Cyn), out of my sight. Though still can't follow simple orders. [...] Swamp! Dumping your broken drones clogging our library tomorrow, too. Don't test me."

You catch that?

Cyn was the only one Louisa pitched a fit over. But because /Tessa/ didn't listen, she threatened /her/ by threatening to take away the one thing she /knew/ would matter to her, the one thing that could make her listen - her beloved drones.

It was the only thing Louisa knew for damn sure would scare Tessa into submission. And did it work?

You tell me, buddy.

You tell me.

[psychopomp-namine]

.

[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.

[into-the-milgramverse]

Fuuta crash out when

(don't mind the tags, i'm talking to fuuta)

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about a house. the house is sentient but not in a way i would typically recognize. it would view me as both a part of itself (similar to how an animal is a part of its ecosystem) and also something inherently lesser (like how an owner views its pet). i can't communicate with it in any meaningful way. i can't even tell when it's paying attention to me if it doesn't try to draw my attention. it can manipulate whatever is inside of itself except me, which would give me a sort of edge if it ever viewed me as a threat, but since it doesn't it sees it in more of a "awww look at your little claws" way.

[psqqa]

i refuse to believe any other rock musicians have the vaguest shred of respect for the gavinners. not for whatever musical abilities and sensibilities they may or may not have, but because of the whole shilling for the police thing. also. the name.

[paladincecil]

I won a Lightbringer ring in osrs tonight by answering a question about full metal alchemist xD

It's worth 3mil but I'm gonna keep it'll be useful when skilling :)

[squidmaid]

sometimes I really MISS being young and feeling passionate about things like. I used to be so into writing and drawing and all these sorts of things and i could make myself work so much harder at them and nowadays I’m like. I would be content to be content at this point? like idk what I feel PASSIONATE about anymore I just aim to be comfortable but also sometimes that doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I miss that spark.

[princessnijireiki]

A few of these are weird, but I'm wondering where y'all live that a few of these screenshots even... merited inclusion in a list like this?

Like I've heard "yaya" before, just like I've heard "oma"/"uma" (I'm assuming that's the source of "oompa" in the first screencap), "bubbe," etc. They're not weird, they're just not English. Even the person who called their grandpa "booboo" instead of abuelo, I know a very young kid right now who differentiates his grandmothers by calling one "abu" and one "tita," both short for abuelita.

"Grandpa Gungus" and "Goochpa" are objectively funny, but I need y'all to expand your horizons a little bit if you think "Bubu" or "Gigi" and "Sloppy :D" are in the same category.

THIS IS KILLING ME

[ooglywooglies]

always been perplexed by the common title of an old house being "the house i grew up in" what do you mean THE house, just one? i think ive lived in at least 9? houses during my childhood i might be missing some im not sure

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)