#to knowing people's names BEFORE they even say them and that being CANON?

[fernslivers]

A Breeze Blows A Crane Off Course (Pt 1)

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"A breeze can blow a crane off course. You... are a typhoon."

A dying stranger appears in the shrine where you're reluctantly indentured. Being of little value, they're left in your care, kicking off a series of events that will take you further from home than either of you could have predicted.

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A//N: Eeee, it's heeeere, I'm so excited to start sharing this multi-chapter piece I've been working on. This is where the Teahouse Jealousy storyline actually starts!

It's going to span the entire length of season 1, and while there's going to be a bit more backstory than I usually write for the Reader, it still won't be anything too specific.

As with the Teahouse fic, this can also be read as a standalone!

This is the only part outside of the canon, and takes place JUST before season 1.

Hope you guys enjoy!

TW: canon-typical violence/death, people being mean to reader, reader is WLW and it's implied their family rejected them for it.

----

It's a funny thing, in retrospect.

Well, not funny. People died.

But you didn't.

Because you were lowly. The lowest on the food chain for the entire shrine.

It’s because you were lowly that you were awake before the other attendants, the one tasked with sweeping the shrine from end to end.

Because you were out sweeping, it's you that found the stranger, slumped over in front of the messha nearest to the entrance, a burned out stick of incense in front of him, a red bloom beginning to dry across his side, his face grey as death. It's you that screamed for the others to come running.

Even that doesn't wake him.

They bed him down in the same little messha where he was praying, and tell you to try not to let him die. They said it was because you knew the rural folk remedies that would help his fever.

But the truth is, because his clothing was patched and threadbare, because he looked like a beggar, because the others resented being dragged from their slumber so early by your infernal shrieking, because you are lowly, because, because, because…that was why you were tasked with tending him.

And because of that, it is you that haggles in the kitchens for extra meat in the broth for him, and holds it to his lips as he mutters in his sleep.

It is you that looks at that red stain, anxiously, then goes back to the kitchens to haggle again for hot water, medicinal ingredients, clean rags, and strips of linen.

It’s you that carefully, blushingly peels back the stained blue cloth, sponging away the dried blood with a rag, stitching up the neat slice across his ribs.

It’s you finds out that your feverish guest is not a him at all.

It is you that falls back with a gasp when his eyes open, not shards of mahogany or ebony, but chips of glowing ice. He–...she shifts with a wince, puts a hand to her side, feeling the stitches. Those startling eyes widen; snapping to you, and as fast as you can blink, there's a sword point in your face.

“Don't scream.”

By the gods.

That voice. Nevermind it, if this is death, fine. You'll accept it willingly as long as it talks like that, all crushed silk and gravel.

You shake your head, indicating that you won't, and try to stop gawping at her like an idiot.

Once it's clear you're not raising any alarms, she immediately stops paying attention to you, looking around at the little hut, glancing on either side of herself for her belongings. “Where am I?”

You name your shrine, the title coming out breathless. For some reason, at your tremulous tone, she rolls her eyes. It really shouldn't make your stomach flip. It does.

“Go and tell your miko that I'm grateful for the assistance. I'll leave an offering on my way out,” she says, so drily that it almost could have been sarcastic. “And say no more than that, girl,” she adds, warningly; you don't know if she means about her eyes or her gender.

You scramble to your feet, stepping back a bit, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. Instead, you study her face, the thin features, delicate and sharp, perfectly honed like a blade. You watch as she slips on those strange, tinted glasses. You wonder if you should tell her the miko has nothing to do with her recovery; you're not sure if it isn't better that she underestimates you a bit, like everyone else does. It's kept you safe, so far.

Somehow, though, you find you don't want her to think of you as something passing. You want her to see you.

“Shouldn't you rest a little longer?” you say, finally, trailing off as she starts to rise, staggers. She looks over at you, dismissively.

“You're still here?” She asks, derision clear in her voice, cold. An eyebrow raises, as strangely appealing as her eyeroll earlier. “Not scared the onryō will get you?”

An instinctive shiver runs through you at the mention of a bogeyman from your childhood, but now it's tempered with something else, something that makes that shiver thrilling. You'll tolerate the coolness of the tone if those eyes meet yours again.

“I don't think you're a demon,” you protest, watching as she tries again to get up, and then collapses back on the bedroll with a grunt, her hand clapped to her side. “I was just startled. I've never seen eyes like that before.” She cracks one eye open through the pain and gives you an extremely unfriendly look. Your brain somehow decides that continuing to talk is the answer, instead of shutting up. “They're so pretty. Like clean water. Were you born like that?”

Silence.

For a moment, her features could have been carved of stone, unreadable, blank. One hand goes out, testingly, to push against the ground again; she lifts only an inch before flopping back with a frustrated huff. She thumps back onto the mat bed, glaring at the ceiling as if it's at fault that she's indeed trapped in the conversation.

She closes her eyes again, and you begin to think she isn't going to answer. But then her hand goes to the place where you stitched her, under the carefully scrubbed haori. She seems to be weighing something, closely; she rubs the cleaned, dried fabric between her fingers, lips pinched tight, raising her gaze to glance over you.

You wait, silent and expectant, every inch of you vibrating with more questions, but wary of the way her brow has furrowed. That cut on her ribs was too clean to be anything but a sword slice; even sitting down, she probably could slice you just as badly.

In the evening darkness, her eyes turn almost orange as she stares into the little campfire.

“I will tell you only as thanks for my care, though little thanks it is.” The ice disappears as she closes her eyes a moment, breathing in slowly, deeply. “I'm…impure. A half-breed.”

“Ohh…” You breath, absorbing this. Half-foreigner. You can see the slight difference in the angles of her features, now that she's pointed it out. But it's subtle; you wouldn't have noticed at all except for those eyes. So many questions queue up; you've never been that far from this locality, and this is the wildest experience you've had. Even before the questions, you want to tell her again that she's beautiful; you would never dare. Not after everything that got you sent here. You have learned the hard way where expressing that side of yourself gets you. Part of you wants to tell her that you know what it is to be seen as monstrous, but, like her, you’ve learned to guard your secrets closely. She seems to expect more of a reaction; but the softening of her features at your accepting response is short-lived.

“So you've seen a white man?” You ask eagerly, leaning forward. Her knuckles go bone-pale against the blankets, a muscle twitching in her jaw. “Are they nice?”

“No.” It's flat, hard as stone. “They are not.” Then, seemingly torn between indignance and genuine curiosity, she adds, “Why would you ask that?”

“Oh… well it's just…” You hesitate, thinking again of yourself, the horror in your family's eyes when they sent you here. Your hands bunch up the fabric of your kimono, feeling the coarse weave of it bite at your palms. “... I've met others that people say are monsters, but I know they aren't. I thought maybe the white men were the same way.”

“Hm.” Is the only reply, but she looks mollified when you glance up. Perhaps there's even a modicum of kindness in her gaze now, though you would prefer hostile respect to the mingled pity and disdain that you can tell is mixed into her gaze. Does she find it naive, maybe? Too sweet, or simple-minded?

She would hardly be the first in your life to think little of you.

Not the purest of the maidens here, nor the best educated. But a pretty survivor, quick and clever, adaptable as a common fox. Skulking at the edges of the buildings, barely tolerated. Willing to survive on scraps, ready to bite, but soft if the right hand pets it.

Always underestimated. Always overlooked.

You might have written off the samurai as another person who can't be bothered with you, even with her striking looks and purring voice.

Except that over the next few days, she seems to be about the only person that makes you want to be petted.

She's not chatty, mind. She shares only a little about her revenge plans, but even less else, not even her name. You get the distinct impression that she's only making conversation to stave off the frustration of being bored out of her skull. That, and perhaps the strange--to her--lack of concern about her impure blood.

She watches you prepare the medicine, propped up on her elbow; she wants to know the ingredients, and then how you know about them. She wants to know the pattern you used on the stitches, says that they feel more secure than what she's used before.

The more you reply, the more you start to feel a budding confidence; you know things. Useful things! How did you forget how much you know, how much you can do?

Every time you look up to reply, those flashes of blue stare through you like you're the only thing they've ever seen. And suddenly it feels…it feels thrilling to be seen.

Even with her questions, there's a lot of silence; it’s tense at first, and you find yourself chattering nervously. You try to keep it light; you don't have any friends here, but being unnoticed, you hear all the drama. It’s kind of nice to have someone to pour it all out for; how the various girls came to be here, that the head priestess is keeping back some of the offerings for herself, that one of the girls is in love with one of the cooks.

One night, as you’re trying to turn the gristly meat the cooks gave you into something edible, she asks,

“So why are you here?”

Your hand slips; some broth sloshes out of the pot and into the fire with a hiss, making the flames dance. In the flickering orange light, your gaze meets hers. The glow of the fire makes both of your gazes the same fire-bright color, equals.

“My… parents gave me to the temple,” you tell her slowly. It's not really the truth, not in full, but it's the most you're willing to say.

Silence falls again, and this time you don't rush to fill it.

“...Hm,” she says softly, and you risk a glance her way. She's looking into the fire, but the habitual scowl on her brow seems softened. You get the distinct impression that she’s more than aware that there’s something you're not saying, but that she can understand the desire to hold your cards close to your chest. She might even respect you more now that she's seen you can indeed keep some secrets.

After tonight, you'll take note of the way the silences feel more pleasant now, almost companionable. You'll chatter less frenetically. And she, in her turn, will appreciate the way you can give her space for her own thoughts.

In this moment, though, you're just glad when she falls asleep without asking any more about your story.

Seen…might be good. But underestimated is safe.

Unnoticed is safer still.

Unnoticed means that when you're taking your usual sneaky shortcut back to the messha, you're missed by the men that round up the other girls. You hear a scream, cut off with a gurgle and a thump, and step around a corner to see the white uniforms hemmed in by a ring of black clothing and naked blades. You duck hurriedly back behind the nearest building with a hand clapped over your mouth.

Someone is sobbing; you know you saw a uniform crumpled on the ground; the red overtaking the white. Over the sounds of distress and protest, the male voice is harsh, demanding to know the location of the onryō with the pale eyes. You cautiously edge up to the corner of the building and peek around, listening.

One of the head priestesses steps forward, says something in a low tone. As you watch, one of the men proffers a jangling bag; the miko takes it. She points in the direction of the little outbuilding where the samurai has temporarily been set up; at least, she points the way in the direction that isn't one of your secret shortcuts. The long way, the way one would walk when they are proud of people seeing them. Not the secretive, faster ways you go.

Nobody here ever looks for you, so, like a common stray, nobody notices when you slip away.

You run like mad down your secret shortcut, as if all the demons you've ever read about were snapping at your heels. The samurai looks up when you tumble in through the door, stammered syllables trailing off into whooping coughs for air.

Her eyes freeze over. She gets the gist of it.

You expect her to start gathering her things in a hurry; there's got to be a dozen of the men at least, all armed, and she's not yet recovered.

“I–...I can-... tell them you already left–...” You gasp breathlessly, but she cuts you off.

“Get on the mat.”

You stare at her. “Wh-...”

“If they find you here alone, you're dead.” Her tone is quiet, blunt. You flinch at the words, but you know she's right. She staggers over against the front wall, tucked behind the doorway. “Get on the sleeping mat. Face the wall. Don't move.”

You stare at her like she's growing another head right before your eyes. She stares back, unmoving, her brow darkening the longer you don't move.

She's opening her mouth to snap at you when, in the distance, you hear stealthy footfalls on the path; your heart leaps into your throat, choking you. You're dead you're dead you're dead plays on loop in your mind. She glances over her shoulder, then back to you, impatient, but hesitates at the naked fear in your eyes.

“I won't let anything happen to you,” her tone isn't gentle, or soft. It's just as blunt as her prediction of your death, harsh, factual. But it's the simplistic straightforwardness that reassures you. She says it like she already knows it's true.

Lying with your back to the door, blanket pulled to the crown of your head, playing at being decoy–it's no less nerve-wracking for all of that, though. It takes every ounce of focus that you have not to flinch or gasp when you hear the steps grow closer, and then cross the threshold, echoing in the silent room. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching your jaw until it creaks.

Metal sings out. It's followed by a garbled rush of gasps and grunts, and distinctly fleshy sounds.

There's a thud, an ever so brief silence. A woman screams.

You roll over to see the samurai standing in the doorway, looming over a bloodstained lump in black clothing. You push yourself up from the bed, staring at it, your first dead body. The samurai glances up at you, then down at the body, and then steps almost coincidentally forward, blocking the man’s dead grimace from your view.

Past her, you can see the other men frozen in the act of climbing the steps of the hut, the priestesses behind them. The men look shocked, some angry, while the priestesses look horrified. Many of them have turned their faces away, or clapped hands to their mouths.

“You!” The head miko shrills, pointing an accusatory finger over the men’s shoulders. “I should have known it would be you, helping a demon, you mangy little gutter-fox! After we took you in, despite everything about you!”

You flinch. Your eyes go to the samurai, wondering if she'll query this; she doesn't even twitch. Her entire focus is centered on the people with swords in their hands. Squabbles are clearly beneath her notice; blood is all that's on her mind.

It only takes a few clashes of swords for the men to recognize that they're in serious trouble. A few of them look your way when they see that the samurai is proving more of a challenge than anticipated. As two encircle the samurai, one inches forward, towards where you’re plastered against the hut’s wall, his eyes malevolent. Do they think to use you as a hostage, perhaps?

Always underestimated.

The first man to close his hand around your wrist learns the hard way how impossible it is to hold a frightened animal in a trap. Your complete lack of skill is helped by the absolute wildness of your thrashing, sinuous as an eel, impossible to easily keep a grip on. He swears in frustration, fumbling with you and his weapon at the same time.

It makes him distracted; both of you fail to notice the two bodies thumping to the ground at the samurai’s feet.

A sword tip sprouts from your assailant’s chest like a bamboo shoot, and his grip on your wrist clenches, before going limp. You watch the light leave his eyes, and barely notice the warm liquid spattered on your face. You've never watched a human die before. Now you've had a multitude of examples.

When the last man topples, the miko are already gone, scattered in terror. She doesn't seem to care about pursuing them to wherever they've hidden. Only shakes the red off her blade and lets it sing back into its sheath.

~~

“No,” She repeats.

For a moment, you consider pointing out that you saved her life, but then hesitate. You look around at the carnage, staining the courtyard of the temple, admitting to yourself that as far as saving lives go, you're probably both even on that, now.

“Well I can't stay here.” You try not to whine.

Goodness knows you don't want to, that's for sure. If you could have traveled alone, you would already be gone years ago.

She follows your glance around the courtyard, her face impassive. “So go to another temple.”

“Alone, on the open road?” you protest, though your reluctance has little to do with fear of marauders. You've always managed to slip past watching eyes.

Except hers. She gives you a very skeptical look, then starts to grab her cloak, before pausing with a suppressed grunt. Her hand goes to her side, just for a moment, and then she swings on her cloak with her jaw set. One palm has a faint red stain.

“You've reopened your stitches,” you say as persuasively as you can, cocking your head in a distinctly animal fashion, hopeful as a fox waiting for a handout. “You'll need more medical care if you want to heal up quickly. I could come along just until it heals.”

This time you do see a flicker; her shoulders twitch every so slightly under the cloak. You pursue the tiny opening like it’s quarry.

“Surely swift revenge means getting healthy again as soon as possible.”

She turns, and looks you over again; you can feel the tingle of her focused gaze. Mizu, observant as a survival tactic, and a connoisseur of underdogs, pays attention to the way your soft lashes veil a stubbornness in your gaze, and remembers the quick effectiveness of your untrained thrashing. She sees the potential, and hates that she does.

She points a finger at you–a warning, a rule, a threat, all rolled together. “Just until the next temple. Then you stay there. Got it?”

“Of course,” you reply, all agreeably pliant, but the gratitude is unfeigned when you follow up by thanking her profusely. She tersely tells you to knock it off and gather your things.

“And wash your face!” She calls after you, irritably, as you scramble to obey, racing off into the temple.

You're back in a matter of minutes. Pale eyes take in the quality of your newly acquired clothing and bag, assuming correctly that they didn't begin life as yours. She shrugs; finders-keepers. She would rather see you with it than the others, anyway.

~~

How unfortunate for her that the next three temples aren't taking new girls on, not for any tasks. For now, it seems, she's stuck with you.

How strange, this abundance of temple acolytes. Yes, indeed.

She doesn’t seem to have caught on yet, an odd thing for such an observant samurai.

So…maybe she's not looking very hard.

Maybe after a few weeks, she's beginning not to mind the extra set of hands at camp set-up, or how few rations she needs to buy in town now that you can forage for her. Maybe it’s even rather sweet to awaken from a mid-day roadside nap to your proud and excited exclamations of having hooked a fish with your cobbled-together fishing pole.

She already seems to be ever so slightly less irritable about the burden of company, though dour remains her default expression. The sudden increase in time to train certainly helps; it's a strange luxury to use the last of the dusk light to train after a day of travel, only to come back to a fully roaring fire with food cooking on it, instead of starting from scratch in a cold, silent clearing. She never asks you for the help. You do it anyway, without a word said between you about it.

That's another thing she likes–though it would be pulling teeth to get her to admit it–that you don't need to be told twice. Usually, not even once. Someone wants a fight? You make yourself scarce. Something odd that she might have missed? You point it out–without crowing about it. You watch her like it's your job, and you keep out of her way without needing to be guided to do so.

Maybe she'll stop trying to shake you off, soon. Maybe you'll be able to stop waiting until she falls asleep first, and waking before her, just to be sure you aren't left behind. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll soften her up enough to let you simply stay.

Before your miko-bribing money runs out.

Maybe, though, you’re the oblivious one. Maybe she noticed a long time ago that you would hurry ahead every time a temple rose into view, even though you never left her side for any other reason. That she would find you already talking to the priestess when she walked in. Maybe, secretly, she finds it funny, a private joke just for her, that such a clever little fox would fritter away the money it pilfered when it was meant to be washing its face, all just to get to travel with a cranky onryō.

If you're that determined, then she really can't be bothered to waste her time fighting with you about it. It's not her job, nor her responsibility. You're only a young woman, it won’t be hard to shake you off when she feels the time is ripe.

Always underestimated.

[laboratory-for-peace]

HIHIIYA!! do you have any crack hcs, or serious hcs of the MADS members?

Oh man, I think I have a thousand little ideas for about every One Piece character I've spent 2 seconds thinking about, be it villains or not.

It's one of those cases where it's nothing concrete or big, and a lot of it verges on "character analysis" rather than headcanon, so I have a hard time listing specific things. But talking about all the big theory stuff or deep character analysis would probably be not what you're asking for + I'm not focused enough to do that right now, so let me think of some funny inconsequential stuff.

I don't know. Fuck. It's like I forgot every thought I've had about these science jerks. Idk. Caesar can't smell anything anymore due to all the toxic gas and chemicals burning his nostrils for years. Judge has severe back pain due to being 270-something cm tall and also in his 50s (and he deserves every second of it). Queen didn't loose his arm in an accident, he chopped it off on purpose to give himself a sick robot arm. All of them would have the most severe presbyopia right now were they not some of the few people on the Blue Planet with access to corrective eye surgery. Screw it, Stella didn't make the Satellites' consciousness via Brain-Brain fruit he was simply plural already, he just used the fruit to add a sense of concreteness to them and help with the android body inhabitation. Ms. Buckin' has a serious gambling addiction and got scammed by whatever the OP universe version of crypto is.

Joke headcanons aside.... let me think of more interesting stuff. Long post so it goes under the cut. You've been warned.

I''m fully convinced Queen made the Marys. Was that ever confirmed or touched upon? It's insane to me that canon never like, explained their existence. That makes total sense, right? Are all of them like, robots/artificial lifeforms, or are they cyborgs like Queen himself, and were once living beings? I think if he made them, either way, he has a funny uncle-niece relationship with Bao Huang. He's metaphorically giving her a gun and going "hell yeah go do crime little dudette". Also I like to think whoever the mother of his abandoned son was, was probably another member of the Beast Pirates. Also a big part of his rivalry with King definitely comes from the fact that King doesn't Trust Scientists after what happened in his childhood, and Queen knows that and tries to intentionally make him uneasy because he finds it entertaining.

I'm convinced of the "Caesar has some sheep/goat Mink ancestry" thing, it makes full sense. Even in a post-"horns in humans tend to signify Ancient Giant ancestry"-reveal world, I think the design of them looks too much like sheep/goat horns, rather than the more bovine design we've seen from everyone else. I know this is boring "everyone has this headcanon at this point" territory, but it just makes full sense to me. As a character in general, I think he's very easy to read, so I don't know if I have anything more unique to say about him. In my head, the reason he got hired at like, a very young age to join MADS, is because he gained a name for himself in the Underworld by doing some sort of horrific bio-terrorism type experiment that left a bunch of like, Marines dead or something, when he was a kid, and that put his name on Lu Feld's ears.

As for Judge, that piece of shit and his stupid little family have enough juice from being featured heavily in an entire arc that it's super easy to come up with a lot of things about them. I think for starters, his marriage with Sora was most likely arranged, mirroring WCI. It seems to be how royalty does things. I do wonder who Sora's family was before that, though, and how she ended up there.... Too many questions without answers until we get like an SBS or something. It'd be really poetic if she was from a royal East Blue family or something, considering Sanji ended up there... Also, I think that him being allowed to fuck off from whatever his royal duties might have been, at a very young age, and join MADS is interesting. So in my head, whoever the previous king / his father was, he was probably one of the funders of MADS. Both as a desire to invest in weapons for Germa, and to feel that he had a sense of control over whatever his (presumably only) son was doing. Also I think Judge and Queen had a Sanji vs Zoro type rivalry, obviously. He got called "twirly-brows" (derogatory) at LEAST once by him. I also like to think a lot of his horrific hypocrisy comes from a place of disgusting projection and insecurity. This man definitely grew up being a weak crybaby until his horrid ideology and pampered upbringing forced him out of it.

Ms. Buckingham is a VERY interesting one, because I feel like we already know a lot about her and also absolutely nothing. The Rocks Pirates are for sure a group we'll get more flashbacks on, eventually. Looking at the timeline, I like to think that after she saw her own clone (being the first ever successful human clone), she immediately started attempting to create Weevil. I like to think this was somehow her way of getting "revenge" on Newgate for "dumping her" or some petty motivation like that, on top of desiring his strength. That boy is a (not-so-successful) clone for sure. The Rocks Pirates had recently been dismantled at that point. I don't think it's a coincidence that Weevil is 35 and Stussy (clone) is 36 lol. It looks like she saw, she immediately tried to copy, she failed.

And for Stella.... now that's a man who's entire history we kind of already know of. There's so many good meta and analysis posts around Tumblr, even stuff I've written, so I'm not sure what to add. The plurality thing wasn't a joke. But other than that, I think that -to combine this with a Stussy (clone) headcanon, he was forced by the WG to hand her off as a Cipher Pol agent. 26 years ago, as an exchange for Not Getting Arrested and instead Being Hired by them. She would have been exactly 10 years old at the time (temporally; with her being a clone, we don't know what physical and mental age she would have been). He must have been raising her until that point, right? He was her creator. I think that the WG made a demand that she's taken as an agent, and like any father, I like to think Stella was reluctant to hand her over at first, but eventually decided it'd be safer for her too. He'd been Underworld so far, he was going to comply to most demands the WG made for him in order to keep his new position. But of course, seeing Stussy's faith to him in Egghead, she definitely kept contact with her father throughout the years, even while in Cipher Pol, even if it was in secret.

Those are my very cool MADS headcanons thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

[nabi-unveiled]

Love the spoiler-free insight.

I know that's tricky to do so I greatly appreciate it!

I actually wonder what are your headcanons about why Myungha had such a destructive intimidating reputation of a fighter before :]

After I'm done with my watch, I'll try to pull together any remaining head canons I have for this show and put them in a post.

I'm just going to go ahead and put my cut here since I'll be responding back to a lot of your points.

Episode names are related to missions! In direct and non-direct way^^ 발전 means improvement, progress, development but not "gamedev" specifically, game development would be 개발.

So my first thought and interpretation of it was right. Lol. Good to know. It worked both ways really, but I always enjoy added language context. Language is so complex, and it really is beautiful.

I actually don't remember the scene of hopping the wall well because I never noticed how Myungha actually had a cast(?) on his left leg.

As far as I remember, you don't see the cast in the wall scene. That's why I was inferring. Actually, I don't think I EVER noticed a cast. Putting him in a cast would make sense though. It would be a good reminder for the actor as far as movement goes. Most of the shots in the show don't include their feet which is why I tend to notice it when their feet are shown. Now I'm curious if I just missed a shot of the cast somewhere.

Minsu (Sangwon's actor) would keep talking to director even right after they finish script reading, and he'd write a lot of in-depth analyse notes about his character

The work is noticeable. It's always apparent when an actor really understands their character.

The "disease" in Korean is used in casual speech a lot. I'm not sure why were you looking for a different translation, but it's something like 'illness, being sick'. Any obsessive trait can be a 'disease/illness'.

Good to know. I got the general idea of what it meant, and that it's a playful jab in the shows where I've heard it. It's just not a word that would ever be used that way where I'm from. It would carry a pretty negative connotation crossing the line from roast to actual insult. I'll have to think about if there's an equivalent around here. Most of the terms I'm coming up with are either too mild or not playful enough. I haven't come up with anything that carries the exact same energy.

[Very random offtop: I also love roasting/teasing humor (with no negative feelings) with my friends, and I grew up in such companies - with all engineers and IT people in school and uni who love a good intellectual or worplay or simply witty jab, it was so joyful to bicker and everyone knew it wasn't serious - but then I reunited with my best friend since elementary school who went to study humanitarian and philologyin uni. And I'm not trying to stereotype guys vs girls or tech vs culture, btw - she said her uni classmates were full of vicious sarcastic subtext or roasting each other and it felt like bullying. So for a couple of years we constantly hurt each other because our ways of communicating meant very different things, it took some adjusting. Which is a life lesson but also - I definitely feel you wanting more of this fun bickering energy in your life!]

Also off topic (so skip if you are here only for LFLS): I totally understand this. It is indeed a life lesson. I've had to learn who I can spar with (a fun few) and who I can't (most). Some consider it mean. My husband considers it disrespectful. My brother and me just implemented code words. If he calls me a jerk, I know to immediately back off. We also have a code "greeting" that he uses to signal it's not a day to play at all.

That's the fun part! This show is actually saying a lot on the level under the surface, and you can trust a lot of things that slowly get connected

It is indeed the fun part. I made a note that it hadn't "said" it, because I tend to put general disclaimers on a lot of my interpretations. Particularly, if I'm not breaking down ALL the evidence of why I made that claim. Saying "you can trust it" is a nice thought. That's not always true.

I'm just saying if you want to guess something based on reactions – you should stop doubting yourself because there are almost no random choices or sloppy editing/acting decisions

Same as above -> I don't trust a lot of shows so that's good to know. Many shows don't pay careful attention to their details/editing. I just got burned by the editing in a different one. Rather than "doubt", I'd say that I normally leave room that I may be wrong. Lol. Call it the scientist in me. Sometimes it's that I actually have multiple hypotheses running through my brain. But often it's just that there should always be room to change your mind if new evidence comes into play. That said, I do doubt myself when it comes to hearing/sound. That's just knowing my own limitations.

Feel free to go wild with theories and interpretations! I love how you're already doing that.

I have a major clown car theory about the water sound at this point, but I'll save that for my episode 5 post.

I would actually love seeing other people's affection of me above their heads

Upon reflection, I've firmly landed in the camp of "I don't want to know". Ignorance is bliss and all that.

Taevin said he thought a lot what should character feel and express, finally seeing Affection level going from 0 to 1.

This just makes me happy.

Yes, the guys were talking about Myungha 'leaning' on them or help holding him so he doesn't put more strain on his hurt leg. Hold him up? I wonder what'd be the best alternative in English.

As someone who has been in a leg cast and on crutches more times than I care to remember (10? 11?), most people around me just said "help" or "support". Or they would ask "do you want to lean on me?" That probably varies by region or country though.

I know of different symbolism for butterflies so it was interesting to see your side of knowledge!

There are a lot of different meanings for butterflies for sure. I went with the one that was most relevant to me personally, but as the show progresses I could end up pulling a different one if it makes more sense.

There was also a flower in this Senior & Myungha in a Bar location at the very first episode, not sure if it's seen now, but it also had a nice meaning

Yeah, the cornflower. I noticed it during episode 1. It has a lot of different meanings depending on the culture. They're also known as bachelor's button. But they can mean love, hope, remembrance, future, eligibility to marry....the list could go on. Again, there's a lot of references for them.

leader B.I gave a speech and said "The word happiness is too vague, so I hope you guys feel like it is worth living every day".

LOVE THAT!

I didn't actually notice video game sound in the scene with Kyunghoon!

There's a certain sequence of sounds in the soundtrack I'm referencing when I say that in a reaction. I'm going to be trying to pay attention and take note of them in the future.

Like you'd say to a kid who's making great great promises and really insisting they'd get you a moon for your next birthday. Which can be seen as condescending but I don't read it at that level at all, there's no malice in his words or gesture that could make Yeowoon feel bad or offended - in my view.

This is a *me* problem. Not the show's problem. Lol. I didn't think there was malice or that Yeowoon felt bad/offended. It just confuses me. Similar to the hug in the earlier episode.

only Joonkyung is looking at his blondie brother in a worry. He does seem like he was an actual friend of Sangwon

I rely a lot on experience or connections with other media to try and understand people (even in real life). That type of interaction is just far outside anything I've ever experienced.

I do think those two are friends. I may have to think on Sangwon's relationship to the gang a bit more.

I kinda love that we didn't get 'Oh.' moment but instead got the badass unapologetic confession

I'll take unapologetic confession every time. After the shared meal, that might have been my favorite moment of the episode.

(why does it always take me a couple of hours to write my own comments on your comments lol? I'm sorry)

I appreciate you taking the time. I greatly enjoy reading the response and all of the added information. It actually takes me a good bit of time to make the initial post too. I type fast, but not THAT fast.

in the very first take he totally forgot to cover his mouth and just kept staring in Yeowoon's eyes like 🥺

I think I'd stare too. Kabedon moments get me every time.

Sea or Mountains?" is a very popular 'personality division' question in Korea

It's a pretty popular question here too. Not so much for "personality" division, but it comes up pretty often in social situations and as a conversation starter.

Myungha does always wear black shirt under his school uniform

I have a theory about this one now too, but I'll save it for the episode 5 reaction.

As always, I appreciate your time and the insight! So much fun ✨!

Catching Up: Love for Love's Sake (Ep 4)

Other Reacts: Ep 1 Ep 2 Ep 3

Yes, it's 3:15 in the morning. Yes, I have to work tomorrow. No, I can't even sleep in because I have to interview a potential intern at 9 am. Plus, the kids will be home with me too since it's a school holiday. I don't care. I'm starting episode 4 anyways.

And yay! We've went back to the fight. I was hoping we would find out more about what happened.

Is this a new way for them to do the subtitle for "debuff/curse". I guess that's fine so that people who don't understand gaming get it. It feels a little late in the game for that though. Still, I loved this screenshot, because you can see the transition that's a bit gamified. And the purple aura energy is showing up on Yeowoon's arm.

We didn't have any debuffs last episode so I guess the debuff really does relate to affection of Myungha and not Yeowoon's personal affection. Fine. I'll exit my clown car theory about the debuffs....for now. Outside of my clown car, it makes sense that the debuff would show up now since Myungha's affection level just plummeted.

Myungha absorbs the debuff. Yeowoon is left in shock. He definitely is feeling rejected/slighted at this point.

Myungha is dragging Sangwon through the halls. Sangwon says "I'm not a kid." I'd be careful Sangwon. That line of thinking means he can hit you. I know Myungha knows how to fight, but I do wonder more and more every episode about "why" he fought. I'm already developing a lot of head canons on that score. Maybe we'll find out eventually though.

He's not going to hit him (not that I thought he ACTUALLY would anyways), because we now have a ringing sound. I'm guessing the debuff is having an effect. He absorbed all the bad purple energy, and it was STRONG this time base on his -99. Was the -99 in red last episode? If not, it should've been. Sorry, random thought.

Myungha falls down the stairs.

I've given up on the episode names being strictly related to missions. The gamer in me though is going to retranslate this as "progress". That feels better in gamification terms. Especially if it's talking about progress in the mission quest. I obviously have no clue whether that is right. Wait. Unless they're talking about aspects of the game being "in development" like new code/levels being written or the story being redeveloped/changed. Hmm. That actually feels likely. We'll stick with development.

KYUNGHOON! You're back. I missed you so much. I'm guessing they're having to skip class to go to the competition. Apparently, Myungha has hurt his leg. Kyunghoon struggles to get over the wall. Based on how Myungha hopped the wall, I'm guessing it's the right leg that's hurt. But Myungha's leg obviously wasn't THAT badly hurt. It didn't look like he tried to favor one leg more in the landing. Guess that could depend on the type of injury though. My perspective is probably skewed. I've dislocated kneecaps more times than I wish to recount. I definitely wouldn't have made it over the wall shortly after one of those times. My personality is such though that I'd have doubled down and probably hurt myself more while trying. Lol.

Sangwon is waiting on the other side of the wall. I loved his "hi". Kyunghoon asks if he was waiting. Myungha says it's a "disease". It works, but I wonder if there is a different translation of that word. They've used it several times. It was also used in a very similar way during Secret Relationships ("being nosy is a disease").

Sangwon says he was just late to school. It's coincidence that they met up. I love that he's somewhat "talking back" to Myungha. But I also have a very sarcastic/roast style sense of humor. These types of exchanges always make my day. I wish I had more of that energy in my life.

Kyunghoon asks about the shoes, and Sangwon realizes that he had made a mistake. I didn't mention it last episode as the post was already getting really long. But my guess is that Sangwon was upset about the shoes, because he thought that his mom gave them to Yeowoon. His mom had just been to the school after all, and it appears like they have a complicated relationship. I'm guessing there's a lack of affection there too based on Sangwon's reactions to Myungha's signs of care. This is all conjecture on my part. The show isn't really SAYING any of this at the moment.

But now he knows the shoes weren't from his mom. It's okay Sangwon. I made several bad calls in the last episode too. Sangwon decides to follow.

And just like that, we have a gaming party embarking on a quest.

Our trio notices that Yeowoon is standing instead of taking his place on the blocks. Is he wearing the blue shoes? It looks like it. Myungha is still outside of the love supremacy zone, but he yells Yeowoon's name. I'm taking note that his number is 251 just in case it pops back up at some point. I loved the sound effect as the camera circled around and Yeowoon realized his name was being called.

Yeowoon is recalculating his affection, and the number starts moving up fast. Lol. This feels very much like love indeed. Highs and lows and emotional turbulence. Some might say that's the fickle nature of teenage affection. I'd say that doesn't ever really change. But maybe that's just the nature of my personal relationship talking. Maybe it'd help if we had affection scores above our head so we'd both know when we screwed up. On second thought, I don't think I'd want to know my score. That feels like a recipe for disaster.

Yeowoon takes his place at the blocks with magic sparkles coming off of his blue shoes. The affection level keeps rising.

If this wasn't a "game", the new shoes would be disastrous in a competition. But as I've thought about it, I actually like that this feels like an equipment upgrade in a game. Higher tier equipment immediately leads to better outcomes in a game assuming you have the skills to use it.

The music reminds me of late 90s/early 2000s movies. I kind of love it since we're panning across Sangwon and Kyunghoon's faces, and it feels like a friend montage moment out of one of those types of "high school" movies. Ah nostalgia.

Affection level is back at 0. The subtitles say Yeowoon is second, but I'm guessing he's actually third. They announced two other names before him.

Yep, he's third place based on the next part of the dialogue. Myungha says he did well. Yeowoon is crying, but Myungha definitely doesn't understand the reason. Yeowoon is trying to figure out why Myungha is nice to him.

Poor boy is definitely dealing with romantic feelings now. I'm loving the romance driven emotional angst of it all. This is my cup of tea.

The coach interrupts. Yeowoon is still emotional, but Myungha says he'll wait. They can eat together afterwards. Yes, please do. I'm always going to be down for a shared meal.

Yay! Our whole crew is EATING together! And Yeowoon is smiling.

Yeowoon tells Myungha to eat too and gives him food. OMG - our affection level has crossed the zero threshold. We're now at 5. And it keeps climbing as he keeps giving Myungha food. Lol. Kyunghoon tells Myungha to eat slowly and Sangwon's face is priceless! He seems absolutely disgusted by Yeowoon's actions. We end on an affection level of 17 for now.

Sangwon and Yeowoon are bickering. I love it. so. much. Frenemy relationships are the best. I'm looking forward to seeing how this develops moving forward.

For those that like talks about linguistics, they said a bit about honorifics too. If I followed it correctly, Sangwon used more casual speech with Myungha and Yeowoon didn't like it. I could be mistaken though. Myungha really is the exasperated parent here. Lol. Cutie Kyunghoon helps Myungha out. He is worried that Yeowoon's feet might hurt since he ran with new shoes.

Yeowoon says he's fine, but he asks what happened to Myungha's leg.

🤣 This pout had me dying. For the game aspect, it really is like now that his "affection level" has went up, it's unlocked all kinds of new dialogue/expression options.

I wonder if Myungha realizes that his leg getting hurt was due to the purple energy. He's a smart cookie. I bet he's figured that out.

This whole scene just put me in a good mood.

Yeowoon offers to help "hold" Myungha. I'm betting there's a better translation of that. Kyunghoon used the term earlier too. I bet it has to do with letting Myungha lean on him or something like that rather than "hold" as I typically interpret. Myungha says he fine.

Yeowoon wants Myungha to rely on him too. This is a tricky situation. Yeowoon wants them to be EQUALS, but Myungha is definitely going to struggle with that. Myungha has taken on a caretaker role, and while those things aren't mutually exclusive, it can make things complex.

Yeowoon asks how Myungha knows his (shoe) size. Myungha says he let the fan (sis) pick it out, and that she wants to meet Yeowoon. Yeowoon doesn't seem happy about Myungha hanging out with her often, but he agrees to meet up with Si-a.

Yeowoon has essentially walked Myungha home. He tells him thank you which Myungha teases him about. But he says it again and leaves.

The entry light starts flickering and there are some jarring sounds. Ominous music plays, and Myungha's head is hurting.

OOOOOOH. It WAS development like "game in development". Exciting.

We're back at the bar from episode 1. Senior is asking Myungha questions.

I first noticed the three butterflies in the corner of the paper. It shouldn't be a surprise given my blog name that I'm likely to notice butterflies. They're a symbol of transformation and personal growth. Actually, they have different stages of development just like a game. A butterfly's development requires they insulate themselves from the world and focus on changing themselves before they can emerge in their final form. I don't know whether that has anything to do with this show or not though.

But these questions are interesting. Yes, I used my phone to translate. Though it kept giving slightly different translations depending on the angle I held it, I think I got the gist of it. One of the things says "like minded friends" which was what the quest said in episode 2. If I remember correctly, that was in Myungha's hand writing. So is senior having Myung-ha essentially write the game levels? I had said in an earlier episode that this was really a quest for Myungha's own happiness as well.

It WAS his writing. I love this shot. It feels like a magic dungeon with the candles and lighting. The shape of the glass is nice. I think it's a glencairn whiskey glass. Actually no. The base is wrong. It doesn't matter. The glass itself is probably not symbolic. I just find certain types of glassware pretty. As a fun side note, I used to drink everything (soda, milk, etc.) out of a red wine glass that I got while dumpster diving in college. I loved that beautiful glass. My roommate eventually broke it "on accident", but said it was "probably for the best" so that people didn't think I was drinking alcohol. Fun times 🙄.

It's late/early. I'm rambling. *Focus brain*

Senior is in white as the "heavenly" being with the power. Am I supposed to trust him? I don't. But it feels like he's God/angel coded.

"Will there be happiness to 29 year old Tae Myungha?"

"So the standard is very important." says Senior.

Myungha doesn't hear him clearly, and we can't hear his next line clearly either. He's muffled as if he's under water. It's the same sound as when he first entered the game world.

This feels important, and it feels mistranslated. Or at least like it was translated without the needed nuance. I need to pause anyways. I'm tired enough that I know I'll miss details if I keep going tonight.

(pause)

Ok. I've slept a few hours and hung out with the kids for a bit. I've mulled it over. I'm guessing that senior is really meaning that Myungha needs to be very careful about what goals/words he's using. Happy is a pretty vague term. I actually walked down the aisle to a song called "Different Kinds of Happy" from the movie Sweet Land. The idea/theme in that movie is that happiness can take different forms and mean different things to different people. In a game, if you don't have a clearly defined objective, then it's going to be difficult to meet it. So what does Myungha actually mean by "happy"?

But Myungha "can't hear" what senior is telling him. Myungha, and us by extension, are missing a critical piece of information. I'm guessing it has to do with the standard/clearer objective or that it's a warning of some kind.

We're back in the video game world. Myungha is looking at his notes.

AND OMG - YES! HOORAY! A time jump/alternate world that GETS how problematic it is for a 29 year old to be suddenly back in high school. The dialogue is clearly establishing that he IS 19 in this world. It's how I had resolved it mentally myself in episode 2. I love it when my head canons become actual canon.

Anyways, it's a good question. What CAN he do? Because "making someone happy" on a identity level scale really isn't easy. I would argue that it's not actually possible. That they have to strive for their own happiness as they accept themselves. It's not just circumstances that's driving Yeowoon's mental disdain for himself. New shoes are great, but they're not a long term solution. When you're dealing with suicidal ideation the other person has to "want" to live. A lot of times they don't even realize it until the moment. Yeah, it wasn't my grandfather's first attempt before he succeeded. My brother's neither. So far my brother has always decided he wanted to live and sought help in time.

I love that Myungha is being smart about this. He goes "What does he WANT me to do?" If you're playing a game, that's an important question. It's anticipating the game maker's design. I am noticing that the butterfly is on the journal paper here. But it's only one this time, and it's in the top right corner instead of the bottom corner.

Now THAT'S interesting. He doesn't remember "senior". There are a lot of fun implications in this development, but I'll have to stop for now. It looks like my husband has got off of work early today. It's a national holiday. I should've expected it. This will have to wait until after everyone is asleep tonight. I didn't get very far in this session, but it's fine. I really should've been working/writing anyways. I have five scripts due in the next two weeks.

(pause)

Well...the emoji tag game happened, and I got a wee bit carried away with it. I loved it so much. But then my brain was broke so it's taken a few days to get back here.

The fact that Myungha doesn't remember "senior" from his real life is a cool detail. I had said I thought it was in odd in episode 1 that he wasn't weirded out by the situation. It could mean that ONLY senior is obscured. Or it could mean that the facts of his "future" will slowly disappear as he creates a new story leaving him only with the 19 year old version of Myungha. There are a few other possibilities too, but I'll go with those two for now. I actually like the latter one in some ways. I don't remember if he recalled senior once he entered the video game during episode 1. That would provide evidence for which possible interpretations to keep moving forward. I might have to go back and check that out.

Regardless, we know this memory was jarring. The question is what triggered the memory.

We're down to 288 days left to complete our mission so a good bit of time has passed, and we're reminded that death is the penalty. We still don't know whose death we're talking about though.

We cut to Kyunghoon and Myungha walking down the hall together. Myungha is complaining that the teacher treats him like a thug. Kyunghoon proposes that they go to college together, drink together and have fun together in the future. I love the video game sound effects in the music/soundtrack.

OH! Random thought. I wonder if those sound effects show up at critical/specific moments. Is this like the rain drops in When It Rains or just a fun part of the soundtrack? Sound analysis is tricky for me, but it can add a lot to a show. And I LOVE it when sound is used symbolically. That would require an entire rewatch though as I'd have to focus just on the sound. I'll try to make note of it moving forward though to see if I can find a pattern. I can't promise I'll catch it every time though.

Hold up. We HAVE had a sound. The freaking water. I said before that it sounded like water when Myungha is shifting between worlds. That's definitely a specific sound at critical moments. Is that significant? Is it even water? Stop brain. You know your hearing can't be trusted. Move on.

Myungha is obviously uncomfortable here. Probably because he knows that he doesn't have that kind of time. He was just reminded of the countdown. It could also be because he didn't have that kind of life in the past. I don't know if he has those resources in the current videogame timeline either. Money isn't an obstacle for Kyunghoon. But it will be for Myungha and Yeowoon. But I figure it's that he feels like he's lying to Kyunghoon by agreeing to a future that may not exist. Yeowoon has already called him a liar after all.

Ah, the bullies are circling for blood. Frizzy blond guy asks Myungha if he's gay and is obviously intimidating Kyunghoon. Myungha says "I'm gay. So what." That's the confidence of someone who is very comfortable with themselves. I wonder if he was always that way, or if this is a manifestation of him already working through that part of his identity in the "real world".

Cutie Kyunghoon steps in between to protect Myungha 🙌🙌🙌. This is VERY important. Why? Because it's a dynamic shift. Myungha is collecting people in his life that care about him too and who will stand up for him even if it's risky. He's gathering "like minded friends" as well.

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Myungha kisses the bully.

Should I be laughing? Probably not. This is a forced kiss. But AM I laughing? 100% yes. And all of the bully gang not knowing how to respond is epic.

Blond guy is rightfully angry, and Myungha just scolds him for swearing. What I love about this interaction is that it quickly and decidedly shifted who was the "victim" in this interaction.

Blond guy - Tak ...Joonho? It'll eventually stick with me. Anyways, he punches Myungha and we see Myungha deftly assert his dominance. He threatens to kiss him again.

This is the second interaction where Myungha has really shown this guy to be pretty pathetic. As he seems to be a leader in this "gang", he's probably not going to react to this well. He wouldn't be able to keep power over his bully gang if he ignored things like this. I'd expect backlash soon. He'll either take it out on his own members or start targeting people Myungha cares about (Yeowoon, Kyunghoon). Potentially both. If he comes after Myungha himself, it will be sneaky style. He can't (or shouldn't) risk another direct confrontation like this one. He's already lost twice.

Teacher intervenes. Apparently Myungha has got some type of cleaning duty punishment.

Yeowoon is on the other side of the window being cleaned. I'm trying to figure out if Yeowoon had heard about the fight or he just noticed Myungha's busted lip. Either way, his expressions here are KILLING me. They are so earnest and so different than what we had in previous episodes. The rise in affection level has definitely had an impact.

Myungha tries to brush it off, but Yeowoon won't let him. "Who hit you?" Myungha tells him he doesn't need to know.

Yeowoon gets very serious. Just like that earlier interaction with Kyunghoon, this is actually very important. Yeowoon is asking to be seen as an equal. As someone that Myungha can rely on. He's asking Myungha to trust him. Ooh interesting. Yeowoon dropped honorifics.

Yeowoon drags Myungha to the nurse's office. It's a reverse of care. Yeowoon taking care of Myungha. I mean, technically Yeowoon had intervened before. However, this is DIRECT care. Yeowoon asks if he's really not going to tell him. Myungha responds "What would you do if you knew?". Yeowoon - "I'll kill him". 🥹 Yes, I'm taking the threat as a squee worthy moment. There was no hesitation. Just a direct assertion of "you matter to me that much".

Myungha rubs his head.

I'm going to have to think about this one. Why is this man's physical affection so hard for me to interpret? This feels like a parent/child interaction to me. Which...is possible. Is he in guardian mode? Trying to calm Yeowoon down while acknowledging that he's grateful for Yeowoon caring about him? Or do other people see this as just a friendly interaction? Because things would not end well if my friend rubbed my head and used that tone with me. I'd see it as condescending for sure. But cultural differences could be in play here. I'm going with guardian mode.

Myungha says that rather than hit, it's more like we kissed. And Yeowoon's reaction is amazing.

Myungha is flustered by Yeowoon's reaction. Yeowoon has to be cycling through all kinds of feelings. One - this gives him hope. Two - Myungha was kissing someone besides him.

So many thoughts running through this boy's mind.

He says he should ask Tak Joonho. That means he DOES know who was involved, but he wanted Myungha to confide in him on his own. "Can men kiss too?" "I want to kiss him" while staring at Myungha's lips and putting on the ointment. Baby boy is down bad.

We cut to Sangwon coming towards the bully gang. There's the "hi" again. Love it. But it does feel like he's out of the loop. It feels more like he's invading their space. @dropthedemiurge I see what you meant now. He's not part of the hierarchy of this group. The uniforms vs. plain shirt is visually depicting that as well. That does make me have some questions about the earlier rooftop scene, but I'll hold them for now.

Did he come because he had heard about the fight? Or is this just part of his routine? He does seem to do whatever he wants. Case in point - he didn't come to class just because he didn't want to. Skipping seems to be a regular occurrence for him.

Tak Joonho says that he's going to teach Myungha/Kyunghoon a lesson. Sangwon is trying to put the pieces together. I do find it odd that Joonho is openly admitting that Myungha kissed him. I would've expected him to threaten the others and keep that quiet. Unless he's expecting Sangwon to commiserate with him and understand.

Not happening though. Sangwon is clearly on Myungha's side in this one. I figure he knows Tak Joonho enough to know he instigated whatever happened. The chuckling of the other students as Sangwon pushes back has got to raise Joonho's ire.

Tak Joonho thinks Sangwon is teasing him, but he's actually angry.

I'm rewording this line a little bit in my head to fit better with that sassy head tilt that just made me so happy. In some ways, it's a lot like Myungha earlier. "Yes. I am. What are you going to do about it?" It's a statement and a challenge.

Unlike Myungha, Sangwon does punch Joonho and IMMEDIATELY puts his hands back in his pockets. LMAO. That's a dominance signal right there. He knows Joonho isn't going to immediately punch back. He doesn't see him as a threat.

Joonho says he's holding back because he's rich. Sure you are. Keep telling yourself that. Kyunghoon seems to be pretty rich too, and you tease him just fine.

Note - I do realize that they've said that Sangwon can get away with everything due to his family. I'm sure it does play some role. But it's not everything. Sangwon is exuding dominance in this situation. He's even leaning in a mock little bow and saying "thank you" in a snarky tone. God, I love him and his self-confidence. He has grown on me so much, and I'm only halfway through this show.

Joonho asks if he can't see that he's outnumbered.

Sangwon (in other words): Bring it.

I'm sorry. I've tried to ignore that hideous wall color this entire show, but now we've added what has to be one of the ugliest arrangements known to mankind in front of it. I'm sure there are people who like that kind of thing, but it just makes me wonder why someone thought a feather duster was appealing. Normally I would be trying to figure out if the red meant something, but I just can't. It's an eyesore.

Is Si-a considered part of our gaming party now. I'm not sure. 🤔 They're collectively worrying about Sangwon though.

Si-a asks if Myungha wants to be a model for Swoony (the brand). The pay is better after all. Pay is always an enticing thing.

Myungha tells Si-a to buy him dinner. I'm confused. Why does he want Si-a to buy him dinner? 🤔 Myungha doesn't do things without a purpose. What's the catch?

LMAO. It's because Yeowoon is here. He's giving her the fangirl moment. Yes, she better buy the meal. A good one too.

Wait. Her name has an "h" sound? The subtitles now say "Shi-a". Did I miss that before? No. I'm pretty sure that's a change in subtitles.

Yeowoon looks ticked. My guess is that he thought he was going to get to eat with Myungha alone. He wouldn't be reacting like this if he had known it'd be a fangirl moment. Yeowoon is being very terse. Yes, he seems to be a more introverted, private person. But this is what you do when you're thrown for a loop. Myungha, you really need to give us introverts a heads up for these types of situations. Especially true if you gave us false expectations and now expect us to socialize with someone we are not comfortable around.

I'm still bitter over there being no food at the company meal that I drove two hours to yesterday. Don't promise me food and then give me a non-alcoholic beer instead. Shared meals are sacred. Oh...it's probably this kind of stuff that prompted the anon's "what's with you and food" question the other day. I get it now. Sorry anon. I didn't understand what you were asking.

I'm squirreling. None of that's really relevant. Yeowoon is just upset because he expected alone time with Myungha (pretty sure on that one), and he isn't getting it.

This conversation is awkward. Si-a signals Myungha to please help. Myungha asks Yeowoon if he has any questions. "Are you two close?" I've said all along that I love how direct Yeowoon is with Myungha. If he has questions, he is going to ask them. It's admirable, but lol. He's not looking at Si-a at all. Yeowoon is grilling Myungha.

Myungha responds playfully and tries to direct the conversation back to Si-a. I actually see that as a way of trying to include her in the conversation. He was trying to create a fan moment for her after all. Si-a says they're just colleagues which Yeowoon smiles about. But then Myungha protests that designation.

Yeowoon didn't like that at all. 🤣 "Are you closer to her than you are to me?" I love that Si-a can see this is important to Yeowoon. She's giving Myungha this look that's like "You idiot. Don't you dare make my blorbo upset!"

Myungha says "I only have Yeowoon in my heart" which makes Yeowoon beam. Si-a takes the opportunity to ask for an autograph. Si-a, I know I struggled with you in earlier episodes. I'm sorry. I can respect your non-toxic, supportive fangirl side.

"What do you think of when you run?" "I imagine there's a big crocodile chasing me." Well...that would be motivation I guess. I never imagined what was behind me when I ran. I was always focused on the finish line. Different things for different people I guess.

Ok Yeowoon. Let's not manifest that energy. There are too many trucks of doom in dramaland. And I've had two of my family members hit by vehicles. They survived, but they still have side effects. My brother got hit by a car while he was INSIDE a building.

Anyways, Yeowoon is saying that the vision has changed. He now imagines that someone is waiting for him at the finish line.

Sweet. I wish I knew what his personal affection was at this point though. We're seeing the impact of Myungha's affection level changing in his mannerisms and dialogue, but has it impacted how he sees himself?

Si-a says that's romantic, and Myungha breaks eye contact and visibly shifts. Lol. He felt that one.

We cut to them walking home. Yeowoon tries to ask Myungha about Joonho again, but Myungha says that Yeowoon isn't allowed to say kiss.

We got confirmation that Yeowoon thought it was going to be the two of them. Myungha chastises him a bit saying he needs friends. That's really not the point Myungha.

Yeowoon said that he's annoyed. Myungha says "he's been rude lately". Did he drop honorifics?

Yeowoon says "I want to go play with you". My kinky brain takes that line a completely different way that intended. But he's asking him out really. I LOVE this frame. There's a blinding light of love, but it's mostly over Yeowoon. Yeowoon knows he wants to kiss Myungha. He knows he wants to spend time with Myungha 1-1. Myungha still hasn't come to that realization yet.

It's an amusement park near the sea. Myungha seems hesitant, but he says yes. Wasn't Myungha's mom near the sea? I wonder if that's part of his hesitation. Yeah, there's definitely something there. This means something more to Myungha for some reason. But he's agreeing anyway.

Well hello. 👀 She's pretty. She was hidden initially in the frame, but they've now exposed her as she's asking Si-a for help. Who is she? Is this the person returned from abroad that Kyunghoon mentioned?

We're now in a dream sequence. 100%. "Do it with me too. The kiss."

Based on the game interface, this is Myungha's dream. Fun. Realization is coming. It's a bit of a kabedon moment with the tree. I'm enjoying it, because as confident as Myungha was when he kissed Joonho, he's not confident at all here. He's flustered.

Myungha wakes up.

Yeowoon has been sending him messages. Apparently he woke up early. If you get messages from me at 4 am, it means I haven't went to bed yet. Not unusual.

Myungha has a message from an unknown number. It's referencing children's day, mother's day, and teacher's day. Myungha isn't sure who it's from though. My immediate guess is his mom. But that doesn't make sense. He hasn't had contact with his mom since he was really little.

Is it the heavenly senior? We know information about the game comes to Myungha through his phone. "But no time for me to meet you." It's reminding me of the poem I wrote for my grandfather following his suicide. It wasn't about holidays/time, but about hiking trails. That was our thing. "But no trail that brings me to you." Crap. I'm crying again. This has been a week of tears in BL land. For the record, I cry very little in real life. But I bawl like a baby watching shows. It's cathartic in some ways. I can't analyze this properly. I'm going to read things into this that aren't there. I'm sure this will become a reoccurring event. I'll wait until the next message to figure it out.

Yeowoon came to pick Myungha up, and it looks like he paid for the bus fare for both of them. Cutie. Myungha may not realize it, but Yeowoon is definitely taking him on a date.

The mural next to the bus is of the sea. I could get a better angle this time. Phone keeps translating different based on angle, but it's better than last time. Something about sacred and beautiful love. Something about a lighthouse.

I love that Yeowoon quickly says "Look at the seagulls". There were birds on the mural too. Seagulls are a trip down memory lane for me. I got handed a bone during my oral qualification exams and asked what I could tell the professors about it. It was a seagull bone.

Seagulls have so many different symbolic meanings depending on culture. I know there are a few different takes in literature. There are also a lot of different meanings for them in Native American lore. Some positive, some negative. It depends on the tribe. A lot of it has to do with their ability to navigate in a storm and overcome obstacles if I remember correctly. There might have been something about the connection between physical and spiritual realms which would be interesting given the premise of this show. Like a bridge or messenger between the two. I don't know what they typically means in S. Korea though. I'll dive into that later.

Yeowoon says he should've brought shrimp chips. They're not my favorite, but my sous chef loves shrimp chips.

Oh. We're feeding them to the seagulls? I mean, they'll eat it. It's a fun experience for the human. It probably doesn't give them the nutrients they need.

Myungha asks if Yeowoon likes the sea. Yeowoon says he likes the mountains more. I love them both, but I live closer to the mountains. I've asked my kids this question before. One chose sea. One chose mountains. One chose "Wherever Uncle Zach is". Yeah, I'm not the only one who thinks my brother is awesome.

They're planning to climb mountains. Yeowoon wants to climb "Kongryung". Based on Myungha's reaction, that must be a hard climb. Based on Yeowoon's reaction, I'm guessing it's a long one. "I'm happy to be with you." Myungha doesn't seem sure how to process that.

Yeowoon asks if Myungha has been here before.

This feels like a lie. It's going to be interesting if lying becomes a thing for Myungha. Well-intentioned lies. But lies nonetheless. It might not be a lie though. That's just my gut talking.

They're planning on going to a clam kal-guksu place. I enjoy noodle soups, but I've never had clams in any capacity. They're not very common here. I have dissected one and done an experiment on heart rate for a class though. Not important.

Apparently, Yeowoon doesn't like seafood. And Myungha slips up. He's using information from the manuscript. Yeowoon is rightfully perplexed and then amused that Myungha knows this about him.

"Sometimes it feels like you're someone that knows me."

Yeah, that's probably going to hurt when he realizes Myungha has known about him all along.

All of Yeowoon's little smiles are killing me this episode.

Yeowoon says he now understands why Myungha likes the sea. Did Myungha say he liked the sea? I don't remember that. 🤔 It could be in an earlier episode, or I could have overlooked it. If he likes the sea though - is that why we have a water sound? Yes, I'm still stuck there. My brain is still obsessing over a sound that probably isn't even what I think it is. I curse my brain sometimes.

Yeowoon says "I've come to like it too". Cut away to them sitting on the stairs in their coordinating blue/green shirts.

There is so much I could say about that closing frame, but I know that I'm out of images. Anyways, we're halfway up the stairs. We're building the relationship. We're sitting side by side. We're equal...in this moment at least. There's no railings on this part. It'd be easy to fall off the sides.

The blue/green combo I find interesting, because it's a shift. These two characters have worn a lot of black & white. What does the shift mean? Is it part of their relationship developing or the changing levels of affection?

Is this show even color coded? I'll have to think about that. Because Sangwon also wears a white undershirt. He's definitely not a "heavenly human" type. Wait...is Myungha the ONLY one wearing a different color undershirt as part of their uniform? Is he the only one in black? I guess that makes senses. He's from a "different" world after all. But why black? Actually, Yeowoon's running outfit was in black too when he had the -100 value. So Myungha isn't the only one in black. Nevermind. I was overthinking again.

This was a fun episode. I'm loving that Yeowoon is so open and direct with his feelings. Myungha isn't there yet, but he's beginning to react. Now I just need to convince my brain that it's 4 am and it needs to just let the water sound go. IS IT WATER?!?

Don't tell me. Because if it is water, that means it's important. And if it's not water, I'll eventually realize it wasn't important.

For now, I'll just distract my brain with a more pressing question - what happened to Sangwon?

[the-calico-codex]

do the outsiders smp enjoys fuck with my "Mohwee was on the side of the organiser since the start" theory or throw rotten tomatos at me from the pillory?

[benetnvsch]

y know, its silly to me how much misinfo I see floating around esp regarding canon skk stuff so I wanted to just rq list some things that I've seen to have it all in one place -

"I should have taken Chuuya [from the mafia] with me" -> Not real, false memory, commonly sourced as the latest stageplay. The person who came up with this was a twt users who just misremembered what happened in the latest stage play which actually never did. They have since publicly stated that this quote isn't Actually in Canon and rather just them misremembering

"Human or not, doesn't matter to me" -> Not canon, mis/fan translation, commonly sourced from stormbringer. This was from a twitter fan translation which I believe has also? since been deleted/disclaimed by the translator as not Real/accurate

The "Chuuya and Dazai are one soul in two bodies" quote from Asagiri- Real quote, just not from Asagiri. It was said by a director working on Dead Apple

"The person I trusted as a partner and protected as a boss suddenly committed suicide without saying anything to me" -> not real, completely made up, commonly sourced from Beast Movie (often said its from credits). This one came from a mistranslation from a Very Controversial SKK account on twt who has been heavily criticized by other BSD (translation) accounts for being inaccurate and biased. Completely made up. The actual closest thing to it is a bit where Chuuya is complaining how horrible and how much he hated to work with Dazai and that he's been wanting to kill him for years and wished he was the one who killed Dazai instead of Dazai just dying on his own- a Very different vibe

Chuuya being Dazai's next in command/right hand man in Beast -> I just see this sited/used in fics A LOT. Just want to just say that in beast Atsushi is explicitly called Dazai's right hand man and there's an executive higher in command then Chuuya (not stated who but there is one more at least)

[blue-eli]

Ink October day 27: Seldom

Not often; infrequently or rarely.

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.

[ramp-it-up]

Bolder

Summary: Bucky and Steve's relationship is practically perfect in any way. And then Bucky wishes for what would make it complete for his birthday. Happy Birthday Bucky Barnes!

Word count: 5.6 K

Pairing: Stucky x Enhanced!Reader (Sparrow)

A/N: This is another dream inspired by #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Another Year Older, Another Year Bolder. Althought I've written mfm before, I've not written Stucky. Let me know how I did. 😬 Please reblog, comment, and like!

Another note: This is canon divergent in the events of Endgame, Steve returns from replacing the Infinity Stones, but he still gives Sam the shield.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Bucky and Steve. That should be the entire warning, but it's not. Grumpy Steve and, cock blocker Sam. Poly sex acts, angst, emoting, wild thoughts, a birthday wish, which leads to birthday sex. Birthday sex: Captain and Sargeant kink, fingering, voyeurism, nipple play, oral (female receiving), raw p in v, two sex acts simultaneously (not dp) cock denial, creampie, squirting. I wish I could say this was a one shot, but... well, let me know if you want another part.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The way Bucky pushed back against Steve’s command and control, subtly at times, outrageously at others, was a sight to witness.

The order and restraint that defined the former Captain America trembled in Bucky’s presence.

And Steve made Bucky come alive, fully awake for the first time in years. 

Steve belonged to Bucky and Bucky to Steve, for almost a century, even when he couldn’t remember his own name. After all they’d been through, they finally had the time and space to proclaim and celebrate their love.

They were the most beautiful couple you’d ever seen. 

When you first joined the team, you were starstruck not because they were some of the most famous Avengers, the hero and the villain, but because they were sun and moon, yin and yang, and seemed utterly perfect and complete in their relationship.

They were nice to you, respectful and curious, as you were the most like them. But you were so very different. You’d wanted to serve your country as a volunteer for a 20 week trial of the serum, the effects of which you were assured would be reversed.

Turned out, the people doing the assuring were HYDRA in disguise.

Now, here you were, another supersoldier and newbie on the team, and that caused them to drift toward you naturally. Skittish at first, you warmed up to them and became the third musketeer, training, working together, and hanging out.  

Your code name was Sparrow, because you were small yet fierce, which Steve admired, and handy with sharp implements, which made Bucky smile, which was a feat.

With this team, you third wheeling became a running joke. Although you didn’t admit that you would jump at the chance, you could handle the ribbing, mainly because you thought you were in no danger of having your deepest fantasies fulfilled. 

Of course it was a joke, because what would they need with you?

It was a question you were beginning to ask more in the past few months. It had almost been a year since you joined the Avengers and everyone was comfortable with you now.

Especially Bucky and Steve. 

As time progressed, way they acted with you was more than familiar and you began to feel something…else in the way they interacted with you.

When he looked at you, Steve’s gaze was steady, with heat simmering just beneath it. You admired the way he shared command of the team with Sam easily, his restrained and disciplined demeanor the default until he was pushed.

And so you did it, because you wanted to see that control crack for you like it did with Bucky. 

You disobeyed Steve on a routine mission, but the actions you took put you in slightly more danger than was planned. Steve snapped and chewed you out so thoroughly that you were wet for the entire seven minutes that he lectured you on protocol. It was a thorough dressing down, and it made you want to get undressed for him.

After, he retreated to the other side of the room, looking at you like he was considering all the ways he could break you apart and put you back together. You stared back at him, silently daring him to.

He would have bent you over the desk if Sam hadn’t told him to give you a break. He stalked out and you wanted to follow him and submit to anything he wanted, but Sam followed him instead.

Bucky didn’t hold back that day either. His hunger was blatant, carved into the smirk that tugged at his lips, in the way he leaned just a little too close, testing, demanding.

His voice dropped when he spoke to you, low and rough, thick with the promise of something dark and dangerous. 

“What you did wasn’t too smart, Sparrow. You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that. Better be careful, before Steve takes it out on your ass.”

Bucky devoured you with those sharp and knowing eyes, like he already knew how you’d sound when you moaned his name and how you’d feel beneath his hands.

“Something tells me that you wouldn’t mind that…”

Sam came back into the room and cocked blocked yet again. This time you escaped the situation. 

After that, you were caught in a storm of tension so thick it was dizzying. You knew what Bucky and Steve were to each other, two halves of something unbreakable that was forged through war and loss and survival. 

And yet, somehow, they’d turned their attention on you.

The heat between you was filled with unspoken promises that these two men would destroy you in the most exquisite ways. 

And God help you, you wanted them to.

—-

Bucky’s birthday rolled around not too long after that, a crisp March day bright with newfound sunlight and celebration.

Steve had apologized to you and you to him, yet there was something unfinished there. He still held you at arms length.

Nevertheless, you were able to have a fun day celebrating your “old man,” as you joked about Bucky. Steve’s eyes flashed and Bucky’s jaw clenched when you said it. 

And when you kissed him on the cheek after wishing him happy birthday, Steve’s cock hardened when he noticed the way Bucky’s fingers twitched on your lower back.

Bucky had never been one for birthdays. For too many years, they were just another mark on a calendar he didn’t remember, a reminder of how much time had slipped through his fingers like sand.

But now, things were different. Bucky was bolder now.

The older Bucky got, the more he leaned into asking for what he wanted. And for what he needed.

Because of that newfound boldness, now he had Steve.

And this year, he had you.

Was that right?

Maybe he should’ve questioned the way you had slipped into their lives like you were always meant to be there, and the way his body recognized your presence before his mind did.

But it was all so obvious.

He noticed it in the way Steve looked at you, that quiet hunger he tried to reign in but never quite managed to. He felt it in himself, in the way his pulse jumped when you laughed, in the way his fingers twitched with the need to touch you. It was also in the way his stomach tightened whenever you looked straight through him into his essence.

Only Steve had been able to do that before. 

And Steve was lost, too. His eyes followed you when you walked out of a room, like he was waiting for the moment you'd return. 

Strangely Bucky wasn’t jealous, but at first he was alarmed when he noticed the way you looked at both him and Steve. Like you were just waiting for one of them to finally say it out loud.

But then he realized that he just needed to ask for what he wanted. For what he and Steve both needed.

So Bucky did.

It was 2 AM of the morning after night of his birthday, the three of you the last hangers on in the living room of their apartment. Each time you made to leave, one of them drew you into another conversation.

Finally, Steve lit the match.

He asked Bucky what he wished for when he blew out his candles.

Bucky didn’t even hesitate because he wasn’t good at pretending. Never had been.

"I wished for Sparrow to join us," he said simply, leaning back against the couch, watching as Steve processed his words.

Neither you, nor Steve, had to question what he meant. The meaning was painfully clear.

Steve’s blue eyes flickered with something unreadable. His jaw tightened as his fingers flexed against his thigh. Bucky could tell he was already overthinking, probably considering a dozen different ways this could go wrong. 

That was just the way Steve was, always careful, always considerate. Even to the point of denying himself.

But Bucky knew Steve wanted this too.

Across from them, you stilled. Then, slowly, like you wanted them to see, you tilted your head and uncrossed your legs in your short skirt, just to cross them again, the smooth slide of your thighs against each other made Bucky’s mouth go dry and Steve’s pulse race.

A smirk played at the edge of your lips, but your eyes gave you away. There was curiosity there, something that said you’ve thought about this too.

Bucky pretended to be cool even as tension and heat coiled tight in his gut. 

"It’s my birthday. And I figured—why not make it interesting?"

Steve exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand through his golden hair, his ears tinged red. Bucky knew that look. 

He had seen it in battle, right before Steve made a decision that would change everything. 

He’d seen it in private, right before Steve begged for his cock.

Steve’s gaze flickered to you, then back at Bucky, then at you again. He and Bucky had built something solid between them, something unshakable, but he couldn't deny there was a certain pull whenever you were around.

The tension, the glances, the way you fit so seamlessly into their lives. It was heady.

You sat watching the scene, eyes flickering between them with interest.

"You don't have to say yes," Bucky said, giving Steve an easy out. 

But he smirked anyway, because deep down, he already knew what the answer would be. Steve was flustered, Bucky could tell, but not upset. 

No, this was something else.

"You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?" you asked Bucky, your voice smooth, teasing.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea," Bucky chuckled.

You gasped as if those words alone sent a jolt through you. Then you hummed trying to remain calm as you tapped a finger against your knee, eyes flickering toward Steve. 

"And you, Captain?"

Steve’s breath hitched just slightly as he gazed at you. Small, but Bucky caught it.

And when Steve’s gaze landed back on him, slow and deliberate, Bucky felt it. That heat. That unspoken understanding. 

Bucky saw it happen in real time, the shift in Steve’s expression, the way his pupils blew wide, the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to reach for you right now.

Steve smiled and his voice was a low rasp when he finally spoke.

"Happy birthday, Buck."

Bucky grinned.

—

The second Steve said it, the air in the room changed.

You didn’t move right away, just watched them, your breath just a little uneven. Bucky could feel your body heat, close enough to touch. Close enough to ruin.

He’d imagined this. Countless times. 

What it would be like to have you here, caught between him and Steve, wanting them.

But reality was so much better.

Bucky reached out first, metal fingers around your wrist, pulling you up and forward until you landed on his lap with a soft gasp. His other hand found your waist, grinding you against him. Your body was warm, soft, and pliant in all the ways he had dreamed about.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" he murmured against your ear, his lips just barely brushing the sensitive skin there. 

His voice was rough and hungry.

You shivered in his grip. 

"I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t."

Bucky let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening. 

"Good."

Behind you, Steve shifted, so close Bucky could feel the desire radiating off him. When he spoke, his voice was thick.

"You look good like this," Steve murmured, and when you turned your head slightly to look at him, Bucky caught the way Steve's face changed to a look of pure lust.

Fuck.

Bucky had always known Steve wanted you, just as much as he did. He’d seen it in the way Steve watched you, in the way he tried to be respectful, to keep a distance, even though everything in him wanted to close it.

Not anymore. He was going to help Bucky thoroughly defile you.

Bucky leaned in, pressing his lips just beneath your jaw, smirking when he felt your pulse racing beneath his lips.

"You gonna let us take care of you, Sparrow?" he rasped. "Since it is my birthday, after all."

Your breath was uneven, but you didn’t hesitate. You turned slightly in his lap, your fingers reaching up to fist in Steve’s shirt, tugging him closer.

"Yes. I want you both to take care of me tonight.”

With those words, the space between all three of you disappeared in an instant. Bucky felt your body press against his, your breath warm against his neck, and it took everything in him not to lose himself right then and there. 

He wanted to take his time. He wanted to feel this, wanted to drag it out until you were breathless, until Steve’s control cracked, until all three of you were left trembling in the aftermath.

Steve’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath uneven. Bucky watched, enthralled, as you stared up at him, eyes dark and half-lidded.

"You absolutely certain about this?" Steve asked, voice low and thick with something deeper than just desire.

You reached up, moving your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down until your lips brushed his. 

"Never been more certain of anything."

Steve groaned softly, capturing your lips in a slow, hungry kiss. Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt you melt between them.

Holy shit, this was happening.

Watching you kiss Steve, watching the way his hands skimmed over your sides and the way your body responded, Bucky swore he could feel it in his own skin.

When you finally pulled away, your breath hitched, and your lips were swollen as your eyes flickered toward Bucky. He smirked, tilting his head slightly, fingers grazing your jaw before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his own.

While Steve’s kiss had been slow and languid, Bucky’s was something else entirely.

Possessive. Starved.

You let out a soft sound against his mouth, your fingers tightening in his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his metal hand trailing up your spine, cold against the heat of your skin. You shivered, arching just slightly, and hell, that was enough to drive him crazy.

Behind you, Steve let out a low chuckle, pressing closer, his lips grazing your collarbone. 

"Didn’t think you’d be the greedy one, Buck," he murmured, amused.

Bucky smirked against your lips. 

"Oh, I know how to share." 

His blue eyes flickered between both of you, dark and full of promise. 

"Especially when it’s something this good."

Your breath came in shallow pants, eyes flickering between them, heat pooling between the three of you, thick enough to drown in.

Steve’s fingers traced the curve of your jaw, tilting your face back toward him, his lips barely ghosting over yours as he whispered, “You sure you can handle us both, Sweetheart?”

His voice was teasing, but beneath it was reverence, like he needed to be sure before he let himself fall. This was the fourth time they’d asked for your consent.

They were really about to ruin you.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” you murmured.

A soft, delighted hum rumbled in Steve’s chest behind you. Bucky caught the way your body shivered at the sensation of the warmth of Steve pressed against your back and at the weight of Bucky in front of you. 

Sandwiched between them, you fit perfectly, like you had always belonged here, like this was inevitable.

“We should take our time with this,” Steve murmured against the skin of your neck.

“Make sure she knows exactly what she’s gotten herself into.”

Bucky smirked, sliding his metal hand up your spine, relishing the way you arched into his touch. 

“That sounds like a plan, Stevie.”

The way they were talking about you as if you weren’t there served to make you wetter than you already were. You wanted to be used by them for their pleasure.

For yours. 

The two men looked at each other in a silent exchange that didn’t need words. It had always been that way between them. Decades of understanding built through war, through loss, and through finding each other over and over again despite the odds. 

But this?

This was new.

Sharing something, someone, this intimately wasn’t just about lust. 

It was trust. It was knowing Steve would move when Bucky moved, and that Steve would read him the way he always had. It was knowing that they could balance each other, even in this.

And you were centered in it, the tether between them, the unspoken possibility they had both been too afraid to touch until now.

Bucky slid his hand to the back of your neck, guiding your lips back to his. He kissed you slowly and deeply, savoring the way you melted into him, the way you rolled yourself over him. 

The sound of your soft sigh sent heat curling in his stomach, and just as he deepened it, Steve’s hand slid over your hips, grinding you down harder on Bucky’s lap.

“Fuck, you feel s’good, Bucky”

You were already lust drunk, the thought that you would have them both electrifying your body. And your mind.

“Think she likes this,” Steve mused, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt.

“What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark, searching. You were breathless, caught between them, pupils blown wide.

“Oh, she loves this,” he murmured, dragging his metal fingers down your spine again, watching the way you arched your back, feeling the heat pool between your legs.

Steve hummed in approval, his grip on your shirt turned to pulling it up and over your head. Bucky’s eyes widened at the fact that you didn’t have on a bra. Well, he’d guessed at it earlier as his eyes took in your body, but seeing you in the flesh, and in his face made his blood heat. 

When Steve grabbed your tits and, softly at first, then more urgently pulled and rolled your nipples, Bucky licked his lips and glanced over your shoulder before he leaned down and sucked you through Steve’s fingers. 

You threw your head back on Steve’s chest as you rode Bucky’s straining jeans covered cock.

Oh, this was heaven.

“Open your eyes, Sparrow.” 

You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. You opened your eyes as Bucky’s hands went to your thighs and spread you wider against him. The move bunched your skirt high up around your hips, leaving you with only your panties covering you. 

Steve watched as Bucky pulled your dress higher yet and then palm your pussy through your panties. He reached down and together, the two men tore your panties and tossed them aside like they were made of tissue paper.

“She’s so wet, Stevie. Wet and…” 

Bucky slid his hand to your pussy and pushed two fingers into you.

“…Tight. Holy fuck she’s going to feel so good.” 

You rocked your hips to take his fingers deeper, but he gripped you with his metal hand, forcing you still.

“"M gonna fuck you first since it's my birthday. But should we show Steve what he’s missing?” 

Bucky’s touch, while authoritative and demanding, was nothing less than reverent. And Steve’s gaze was on you as much as it was on Bucky. 

You made a noise that must have been enough for Bucky, because he turned you around on his lap as Steve backed up for a better view. Bucky palmed and finger fucked you for Steve’s benefit.

And yours.

You moaned and squirmed in his clutch, while the only reaction from the blond was a tightening in Steve’s jaw and his blue eyes going molten steel. Bucky laughed softly. 

“I’ll tell you a secret, Sparrow. I’ve never met a man with better control than Steve. It’s downright supernatural. It’ll take a better show than this to get him over back over here to put his hands all over you.” 

He nipped your earlobe. 

“If you make it very, very good, I’ll even let him use his mouth.” 

There wasn’t enough air in the room. There couldn’t be. Your breath hitched in your lungs, and it took you two tries to force words out. 

“What–what if I want his cock?” 

This time, Bucky’s laughter filled the room. He sat up, taking you with him, and positioned you with your legs on either side of his thighs. 

“Tell her, Stevie.” 

The other man crossed his arms across his broad chest, his features cold. Why did that turn you on so much?

“After what you did on that last mission, you have to earn my cock, Sparrow.” 

His arrogance should have been a turnoff. It should have made you want to put him in his place and make him earn access to you. Instead, a part of you that you just met whispered in your brain.

I want to earn your cock, Steve. Just tell me what I need to do. 

You slammed your mouth shut hard enough that your teeth clicked to avoid giving voice to those thoughts. You took a breath, and then another, then leaned back against Bucky more firmly. 

“Then let me play with you, Sargeant.” 

Bucky didn’t laugh again. You were a team now, testing Steve’s restraint. He let you stand and guided you out of your clothes.  A few seconds later, his shirt joined the growing pile, then he sat you back down on him again. 

The shock of his bare skin against your own drew a small moan rom your lips. There wasn’t a soft spot on his body, and he caged you with his chest and arms, one flesh and one metal, holding you open for Steve’s perusal. 

You twisted to offer him your mouth, needing to taste him again, and Bucky didn’t hesitate to give in to your unspoken request. His tongue tangled with yours, and he cupped your bare breasts and pinched your nipples to aching peaks. Bucky spread his thighs, forcing yours wider.

You felt Steve’s gaze all over you: On the curve of your neck. Following the path of Bucky’s hands. Centering where your pussy was exposed.

You felt it as if he’d reached out and touched you. 

Or maybe it was Bucky responsible for those sensations. It was too much and not enough and you whimpered against his mouth. 

“Stop teasing and touch me.” 

You grabbed his hand and pressed it between your spread thighs. 

“Please, Bucky. I’m gonna die if you don’t make me cum..” 

“Can’t have that, can we Stevie?” 

He looked him in the eye as he drew your wetness up around your clit with a single finger and circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, easily finding the motion that made your entire body go tight and hot. You opened your eyes and met Steve’s gaze as your orgasm spiraled closer and closer. 

A challenge rolled around your brain.

I’ll get what I want, and you’ll have to watch while it happens, knowing you could have been a part of it.

Bucky, damn him, seemed to know exactly you were thinking. He slowed his pace, dragging it out. You whimpered.

“You see how he looks at you? He’s seconds away from stalking over here, smacking my hand away, and licking that pretty pussy until he takes your orgasm for himself.” 

You made that soft whimpering sound again. The whole situation was overwhelming your senses, dragging you into a place where every part of you centered around these two men. 

“Please!” 

You didn’t know what you were pleading for. An orgasm. Bucky. Steve. All three. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Sparrow,” Bucky murmured in your ear, his finger never stopping its slow circles that seemed designed to keep you on the edge but never take you over it. 

“I’ll let you choose this time. Who do you want to gift this orgasm to?” 

“Both!” 

The answer tore itself from your lips, too honest for your own good. Steve grinned. His white teeth flashed and his eyes lit up with amusement, the whole effect knocking him from just handsome to downright dangerous. 

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into, you thought. 

Bucky kissed the back of your neck.

“Good girl.” 

He slid his hand away from you cunt as you grunted in displeasure.

“Stop playing and get over here, Steve. We’ve got to take care of our girl.”

Steve walked toward you and stopped to tip up your face, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip.

“This mouth was made for one thing.” 

You caught his thumb between your teeth and bit him, just hard enough to get his attention. You felt off-center and floaty and needy, but you weren't weak. 

You lifted your chin at the same time you looked at the bulge in his pants.

“Then do something about it.” 

There it was again. The heat radiating off of Steve that made you sure he wanted to ruin you. You shifted, but Bucky held you, caged and spread by your thighs and your elbows behind you.

You rocked your ass back against his cock, desperate for him to lose control the same way you were on the verge of doing. 

Steve just stood there, staring down at you with his mouth quirked in a smile. He released your mouth and shook his head.

“You haven’t earned my cock and you damn well know it.” 

He kneeled and braced his hands on Bucky’s legs. His knuckles dragged along your inner thighs, close enough to where you wanted him that you felt his heat near your clit

Steve leaned towards your face, his dark eyes intent, and you braced for another kiss. 

But he didn’t kiss you. He dragged his rough cheek against yours, and you twisted as best you could to watch him take Bucky’s mouth. 

You stared in shock as they kissed right next to you.

No, calling it a kiss was too mundane.

Steve and Bucky came together like two titans clashing, like opposing forces of nature, where one had to submit or they would destroy each other. Bucky shifted his grip on your elbows to one hand and used his free hand to tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

He disconnected the kiss, and Steve groaned softly. You felt it as intensely as if it had come from your own throat. Bucky raked his teeth over Steve’s bottom lip as they parted, his blue eyes darker than they’d been before. He ran his thumb over Steve’s bruised mouth, mirroring what Steve had done to you. 

“You give her your cock when I say you do. Not before.” 

Through some unspoken agreement, they reversed positions. Bucky released your arms and Steve caught your wrists in a single hand before you had a chance to fully appreciate your freedom. He dropped onto the couch with you sprawled on his lap. 

You huffed out a breath. 

“I can move on my own, you know.” 

“We like moving you.” 

Bucky knelt between your and Steve’s spread thighs. 

“And you like being moved by us.”

He looked up at you and whatever smartass comment you were thinking of disappeared into thin air.

 “Wider, Stevie. I want to see all of her.” 

Steve responded, spreading his thighs and parting your legs further. Bucky ran his thumbs up the dip where your thigh met your pussy, exploring, his expression intense as if committing every bit of you to memory. 

He glanced at Steve, and that was all the other man needed to guide your hands down to the couch on either side of his hips. 

“Don’t move.” 

Steve spoke softly in your ear, as if too much volume would break through the spell Bucky wove around you three with his touch. Steve released you and you realized that he wanted his hands free, too. 

Lust made your head spin. 

You nodded, “Okay.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the quirk of his lips. 

“Good girl.” 

Steve ran his hands up your stomach and cupped your breasts as Bucky dipped his head and dragged his tongue up your center. Your body went hot and cold, tight and unfurled, all at the same time.

You gripped the edge of the couch cushions with everything you had and bit your lip hard. It was only when Steve nudged you back to lean fully against his chest that you realized you were frozen in a half sit-up, waiting for Bucky’s next move.

The man between your thighs chuckled, the sound vibrating across your skin to your clit. 

“Let Steve watch, Sparrow.” 

Steve moved your thick hair to the side with one hand and dragged his mouth along the line of your shoulder up to your neck. His beard prickled against your skin, which only made the smooth slide of Bucky’s tongue even more intoxicating. 

Your brain couldn’t handle the onslaught of sensation. 

Bucky’s hands gripped your thighs as his mouth worked your pussy. Steve played with your nipples as he sucked on the pulse point in your neck. A sound came out of your mouth that you’d never heard before, a keening cry that was more animal than human. 

“There you are,” Steve murmured.

Bucky speared into you with two fingers, and then a third, spreading you almost painfully, the sensation completely at odds with the way he sucked your clit. He met your gaze and then looked over your shoulder, and you knew he and Steve were watching each other as Bucky ate your pussy. 

The realization sent you hurtling into an orgasm that blanked what few thoughts you had left in your head and bowed your back sharply enough that you would have fallen off Steve’s lap if both men hadn’t held you down. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh my god, oh shit.” 

You were just saying words as you experienced the feelings.

Bucky brought you down gently, giving your clit one last thorough suck and shifted to ever-widening circles as your pulses slowed down. He nipped your thigh and sat back on his heels. 

“We’ve barely gotten started.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I don’t know if I can survive more.” 

“You can take it.” 

This from Steve. He reached down and cupped your pussy, his fingers huge and causing you to dream of his cock.

“Change your mind yet, Sparrow?”

“Is that a trick question?”

They had gotten you off harder than you’d gotten off… well, ever. You weren’t about to stop now.

“I want this.”

Bucky didn’t take his gaze from your face as he unbuttoned his jeans and underwear and replied, “Good.”

You weren’t as polite. You stared at his cock.

Holy shit, you thought.

You’d known he was big, but he wasn’t just big, he was big.

“Oh fuck,�� was what you said aloud.

“That’s the idea.”

Steve lifted you and turned you around as Bucky caught your hips. You ended up with your hands on the back of the couch on either side of Steve’s head, your legs wide on the outside of his thighs as you were bent over, tits very nearly in his face. 

You looked from his beautiful eyes down to his jeans, to where his large cock was straining against the heavy material. You licked your lips, but Steve used a single finger to tilt your chin back up.

“Not. Yet.”

Bucky stroked his metal hand down your spine and gripped your hip as he lined up at your entrance and you tensed, thinking he would slam home in one thrust.

Or maybe you were hoping.

Instead, he held you tightly so that you couldn’t throw it back on him, and teased you, one delicious inch at a time. 

“More, Bucky, moreeeee…”

You were desperate.

Steve shut you up with his mouth, his tongue twisting over yours as Bucky shoved into you to the hilt. Steve cut the kiss off prematurely, then sat back with a smirk as Bucky started fucking you.

“Oh. My. GOD!”

Bucky drove into you again and again, making you sob. He felt so fucking good. Pleasure spiraled through you, and you didn’t know if it was Bucky’s cock, or the way Steve was watching, or both, but you were so close so soon.

Bucky stilled, buried deep, then leaned over and braced his hand on the back of the couch, caging you in with his chest to your back. 

Steve moved, sliding down to sit on the floor.

“What are you…? Oh fuck…”

The words choked out of you as Steve captured your hips, his and Bucky’s hands entertwining around you, and then his mouth was on you.

“OH GODDDDD.”

“Not God, Sparrow, Steve.” 

Bucky started moving again slowly, and you weren’t able to do anything but take what they were doing to you.

Steve was relentless, and there was nothing restrained in the way his mouth moved over your pussy. He tongued your clit even as Bucky fucked you, and their hands clasped you so hard, that you were sure there would be bruises later.

The thought brought you closer to the brink.

You were gripping the couch so hard that your knuckles went white, and the wood inside was cracking from your strength.

The sight of Steve's golden head between your thighs, of knowing exactly how close it was to Bucky’s cock sent you speeding toward the edge.

Bucky seemed to read your mind. 

“Another time, and it would be a stroke for your pussy and one for his mouth,” he chuckled as he palmed your breast and rolled your nipple.

“You’d like that.”

“Yes!” you gasped.

Like didn’t even begin to describe how that image made you feel. And when Bucky’s fingers laced through Steve’s hair, holding him to your clit, it was too much. You could only imagine what Steve was doing to Bucky as well as you. And the image tipped you over the cliff.

Your orgasm buckled your knees and it was Steve and Bucky that kept you on your feet. They held you in place as Bucky kept fucking you, his strokes becoming wilder.

How could one person endure this much pleasure?

The pressure built until you couldn’t hold it any more and then the pleasure caused you to release, squirting all over Steve and all of you melted into a puddle on top of him.

You were speechless, as both Bucky and Steve soothed you with their hands, and words that were meaningless murmurs because of the blood rushing in your ears.

There was no mistaking that this wasn’t over yet. And that you didn’t want it to be.

Bucky stood up, and lifted you in his arms, looking at you for a minute as Steve started down the hallway ahead of you, stripping off his clothes.

You heard the shower start as Bucky murmured.

“Been one hell of a birthday so far. Stay with us tonight?”

“Yes,” you managed to whisper as Bucky claimed your lips again.

“Happy Birthday Bucky Barnes.”

——

Let me know if you liked it! 🥰

[littlcdarlin]

Into Temptation

summary: old!Joel obsessively watches sweet reader from across the tipsy bison each night, until one day he walks her home. read on AO3 warnings: girthy age gap (reader is 20, Joel’s age isn’t mentioned but I imagined late 50s), daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy (Joel wants to knock her up so bad), naive/sweet reader, Joel calls reader “kiddo”, Joel is a bit of a pervert but so are you for reading this

note: this is written in head-canon format but sort of reads like a cohesive story. It allowed me to churn this out much more quickly than writing it my usual way!

He watches you from his spot at the bar, across the tipsy bison, how you laugh with your friends, how your cheeks gain colour with every drink, how you politely refuse any man who makes advances

He knows you’re barely in your twenties, all fresh-faced and so sweet looking, the world can’t possibly have gotten to you yet — that’s what intrigues him, how untainted by cruelty you seem

Tommy catches him staring and scolds him for it — she’s off limits, Joel, there’s a million men better suited for a girl like her

Yes, a million men who you refuse, night after night, offering them your sweet apologetic smiles, and returning to playing cards with your friends. He can’t help but wonder if you’ve got a man already, if that’s why you refuse everyone

One night you make your way over to the bar, stumbling in your cowboy boots, your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol, your movements a little fuzzy, a vague smile on your face that he recognises from his own youth — the kind of smile only brought out by carefree evenings in bars, cigarettes, and flirting without a goal

You ask the barkeeper for another drink, and accept his wink with a sweet smile when he puts the glass down in front of you. It bothers Joel, this new development. You’re supposed to refuse everyone here

That guy cheats on his wife, he tells you, and your big Bambi eyes land on him, surprised. You two haven’t spoken before. Thought you oughta know.

You cock your head curiously, and lift your glass to your mouth. It’s sweating from the ice, pearly drops of water drooling over your fingernails. You know everyone’s business, Mr. Miller?

You know his name — Joel’s spine tingles. For a sweet girl, you sure manage to hold his gaze, most people would have looked away by now. He’s not known for his pleasant small talk

He wants to ask you to come home with him, but he can feel the eyes of your friends on the two of you, so he restrains himself. Your small hand comes to rest on top of his shoulder, and the touch sends a bolt of electricity through him

I wasn’t flirting with him, Mr. Miller, just being polite. You’d know if I was, you say, and then you’re gone, off to your friends again, your dress swaying around your thighs and for a second he has to fight the impulse to drag you back over to him and sit you down on his lap

But he can’t do that, won’t do that, not when you’re so young and half of Jackson would want to see him hang

From then on, you talk to him every time you get a drink — and you start getting them for your friends, too. Any more town secrets to spill, Mr. Miller? How’s that whiskey for the eighteenth night in a row, Mr. Miller? Mr. Miller, I heard Tommy’ll be a Daddy soon — looking forward to being an uncle?

So what if he indulges you? He’s making conversation, people can hardly judge him for it — so long as they don’t know about what he does when he gets home from the bar each evening, imagining it’s your little hand instead of his own

You keep denying all of your admirers, which are more than Joel would like to admit, ever friendly about it. They leave with bruised egos, but glad you were polite about it — all but one. A tall kid, a little older than you but barely 25, and he keeps pestering you night after night. Joel watches the way your brows furrow, the corners of your mouth turning downward rather than up into that sweet smile he adores

The fifth night, the boy touches your shoulder, and your friend pushes his arm away, but he persists. Before Joel can stop himself, he’s on his feet. There a problem here?

Your eyes are round and relieved when they find Joel, and even subconsciously you move towards him. It’s fine, we’re just making conversation, the kid says, so Joel looks at you. You shake your head so slightly he almost doesn’t see it, but it’s all it takes

How ‘bout you ‘n I make some conversation outside? The boy is gone before Joel can put his fist to his jaw, which he’s been itching to do for days now, but after he gives you a slight nod, and you thank him, he leaves your table again to make sure the boy won’t be back as soon as he’s gone

Before he can step outside, he feels your little hand on his arm, and he turns around to look at you. Could you walk me home, Mr. Miller?

He can’t possibly refuse you, doesn’t want to, so he gets your jacket from the coat rack by the door — you don’t question how he knows it’s yours — and leads you outside with a heavy palm on your shoulder

You don’t speak much, but you walk closer to him than you have to, and a sick satisfaction pools inside his belly. You feel safe with him, you trust him to get you home safe, you want to be near him

Right before you reach your house, you look up at him, the apples of your cheeks violently flushed by the cold, snow dotting your hair. Stay a while?

He can’t, he really shouldn’t, not when you’re clearly desperate for him to do so, not when your eyes are all hopeful and innocent and unknowing of what you’re asking of him. Please, I get so lonely at night.

Now, he can’t have that. Sweet girl like you, anyone would be happy to keep you company, and yet Joel’s the one you’re asking. So he agrees, and you open the door into a warm corridor that smells of cinnamon and apples

You take off your boots, revealing your bare legs, only covered by a pair of white stockings to keep you warm, and one of your cotton dresses that can’t possibly keep you warm in this weather. He wants to wrap you up in a blanket and rip it all off at the same time

He stays to ease your mind after he incident at the bar, and after a while you dose off to sleep on the couch, your head drooping and snapping upwards again every few seconds. And he knows you need your sleep, you’re still only twenty after all, so he picks you up to carry you upstairs, but you stir in his arms

Come on, let’s get you to bed, kiddo, he mutters, and in your sleep-drunken state, you rest your head against the crook of his neck, your soft mouth pressing a wet kiss there, and he’s done for, beyond help

When he puts you down on your bed, your eyes open, and he wants so badly to kiss you, to claim you. Sleep with me, you mumble, and God help him, he gets into bed with you, still wearing his jeans

You cuddle up to him, stealing his warmth, his scent, dizzying him with yours. He doesn’t get a wink of sleep, not with the sweet sounds you make while you dream and the way your body molds so perfectly against him

In the morning you smile up at him like you can’t quite believe he’s still there, and then you kiss him, and he knows there’s no turning back from any of it now, not when he’s got you rested and pliant and warm in a bed, not when your legs are wrapped around his thigh so sweetly

So he does what he’s been wanting to do, climbs on top of you, his body weight pressing you into the mattress and pulling the sweetest sounds from your pretty throat — your hands grasp at his shoulders, his back, his arms, when he kisses and licks and bites whatever part of you he can reach

You’re so responsive, like this is the first time someone’s touched you like this, and the thought makes him dizzy. You’re whining for him and he hasn’t even gotten you out of your little dress yet. By the time two of his fingers find your clit, you’re positively trembling under him, and he watches in fascination as you shake and come for him so easily, like you’ve been waiting to do just that, like it’s been building all night. Good girl, my sweet, good girl.

That makes you twitch for him, a broken sound coming out of your mouth that he knows is supposed to be a word. Speak up, kiddo, can’t hear ya.

You do, your hips still moving after your orgasm has faded. D-daddy. His blood starts to boil, and it’s all it takes for him to roughly open his belt buckle, ignore the way his joints pop at the movement, hike up your dress, pull down the cotton panties you’ve soaked, and press the tip of his aching cock against your dripping entrance

When he finally presses himself inside of your tight body, you mewl for him with wide glassy eyes, and it takes all his strength to not just slam into you. He knows you need to adjust to his girth, especially if he’s right and this is the first time someone has fucked you

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, your breathing comes in little pants, and you throb and clench around him. It makes him want to come inside of you, fuck you until it takes, until that little pussy has what it’s so desperately trying to drain from him

He starts fucking you deeply, as deeply as he can, and you cry for him with every thrust, sweet chants of DaddyDaddyDaddyDaddy. You don’t just want it, you need it, eyelids fluttering and your soft red mouth slightly agape. Your hands tangle into his greying hair, tugging and trying desperately to hold onto something

When you come for him again, he rubs at your little clit until you’re done, but even then, you keep letting him fuck you, his cock moving in and out of you easily, your whole body shaking with overstimulation. Want it inside please, Daddy, you moan, your muscles limp. He grips your hips, and empties his balls deep inside of you, keeps thrusting until he’s sure his spent can’t possibly be deeper inside of you

You smile up at him when he calls you his good, sweet girl, a blissed out and happy look on your face

So he stays, fucks you again and again that day, barely lets you leave your bed, until Tommy knocks on the door and tells him he missed patrol and the whole of Jackson is talking about you and him. But Joel doesn’t care, not when the second the door is closed you kiss him

People stare when the two of you walk through the streets of Jackson, your hand in Joel’s, smooth fingers against weathered, calloused ones. You don’t mind, kiss him in the tipsy bison in front of everyone, ignore even Tommy and your friends when they tell you to take some space

He knows it’s bound to get worse once your belly starts to swell, which is inevitably going to happen with how often he pumps you full of his load, his back aching and yours arching off the bed. He pays it no mind, though, not when you beg him for it so sweetly every night, please Daddy, want it inside.

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot. 

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan. 

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him. 

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope. 

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time. 

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name. 

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours. 

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you. 

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero. 

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow. 

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat. 

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life. 

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being. 

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed. 

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable. 

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.  

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts. 

His heart especially, and now it aches. 

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless. 

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds. 

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. 

“Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years. 

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes. 

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it. 

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member. 

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something. 

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void. 

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly. 

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost. 

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier. 

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it. 

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle. 

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him. 

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness. 

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.” 

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline. 

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground. 

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further. 

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much. 

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable. 

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look. 

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!” 

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead. 

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too. 

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves. 

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks. 

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless. 

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea. 

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air. 

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it. 

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea. 

He does anyway. 

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size. 

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands. 

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his. 

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile. 

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt. 

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine. 

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough. 

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be. 

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate. 

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going. 

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture. 

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest. 

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that. 

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door. 

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking. 

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm. 

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his. 

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it. 

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear. 

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze. 

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling. 

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system. 

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him. 

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug. 

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh. 

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma’,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice. 

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead. 

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with. 

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle. 

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show. 

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one. 

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold. 

“I’d like that,” he manages. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee. 

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again. 

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it. 

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

He sleeps pretty well nowadays. 

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace. 

“Same as usual?” 

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened. 

“Oh!” you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion. 

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you. 

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week. 

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again. 

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything. 

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise. 

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this. 

You’d show your Logan off to the world. 

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly. 

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile. 

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development. 

He comes around more and more often. 

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten. 

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you. 

It’s a picture of the two of you. 

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out. 

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with. 

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides. 

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well. 

But not any more. 

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about. 

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it. 

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look. 

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment. 

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you. 

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness. 

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him. 

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory. 

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken. 

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same. 

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass. 

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool. 

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh. 

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning. 

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp. 

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe. 

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him. 

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life. 

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt. 

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.  

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily. 

“Old man,” he chuckles. 

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.  

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands. 

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel. 

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…” 

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate. 

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight. 

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss. 

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for. 

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here. 

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods. 

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove. 

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle. 

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him. 

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces. 

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work. 

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you. 

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life. 

“This is a great one,” you declare. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you. 

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again. 

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[invincibledc]

ᝰ.ᐟ𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖

────୨ৎ────

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐎!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

✦ Summary: he can’t ever ignore you, no matter how angry he is. He can never ignore you, he yearns for you desperately.

✦ Genre: drabble/reverse comfort

✦ Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. I got bored. Reader is the twin brother of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome.

✦ Word count: 598

When Jack is enraged, every word in the dictionary transforms into a manifestation of anger. He shuts out everyone, even his mother, Harley. She’s determined to cheer him up—cooking his favorite meal, trying acrobatic tricks she never mastered, and intentionally failing to entertain him as she used to when he was little.

But none of it works. Jack remains sprawled on his bed, his brows knitted together in a storm of frustration, refusing to unleash his feelings on anyone. In that sense, at least he has some restraint.

Harley sighs, utterly defeated, and exits her son’s room. “Well damn, this is tougher than I anticipated.” She leans against the door, sliding down to sit, rubbing her head, and pouting before a spark of inspiration hits her. She grabs her phone, scrolls through her contacts, and selects “Bats.”

Bruce answers the call, eyebrows raised in his study. “Harley?” he responds, immediately met with her lively voice. “HEY BRUCE! Can your son come over to lift my sweet pea’s spirits?” Bruce exhales, knowing he has several sons, but one in particular is dating hers.

“I’ll let him know.” Bruce hangs up after receiving Harley’s thanks. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then calls for one of his sons.

“Y/N!”

♤

And now, here you are, standing at the door of the Quinn household, welcomed by a sign that reads “Welcome to the Quinns!” You knock, listening intently in anticipation. From what your father mentioned, someone in this house is being a real sourpuss.

The door swings open, revealing Harley with a radiant smile, accompanied by Bud and Lou, her pet hyenas. They circle you as you step inside, and you can’t help but smile while scratching under their necks, eliciting adorable sounds before they dart off.

“Thanks for coming, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.” Harley pulls you into a big hug, her expression filled with gratitude. “You know where Jack’s room is. Just crack a smile or something—his mood is ruining the vibe.” She directs you toward his closed bedroom door before leaving you to handle the situation.

Most would wait before entering, but you aren’t like most people. You stride into the room, spotting the blonde-haired boy with emotionless blue eyes, his jaw tense as he stares at the ceiling, totally ignoring your presence, likely mistaking you for his mother.

“Beloved,” you say softly, moving closer to his messy bed. Jack's eyes widen, a spark igniting within them.

“B-babe?!” he exclaims, his raspy voice cracking slightly, his slightly tanned cheeks flushing a light pink as he quickly kicks the clothes off his bed without your noticing. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“I came to check on you. Word is you’ve been feeling a bit down?” You cup his face in your hands, watching him melt under your touch as he closes his eyes. His breathing slows as he inches closer to you.

“Yeah… more like angry,” he replies quietly, his gaze intense as he opens his eyes to lock onto yours. “C’mere.” He pulls you onto him, one hand nestled at the small of your back, the other securing your waist.

You chuckle softly, “I thought you were going to ignore me.” Jack rolls his eyes, then captures your lips with his in a kiss. As your mouths meet, his hands wander low, prompting you to break the kiss with a pointed look.

Jack chuckles, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry, Prince. I can’t help it—my boyfriend is just too cute,” he murmurs, planting another kiss on your cheek.

“Besides, love, I can't ignore you.”

Jack Quinn tag: @xxxryukifukuxxx @lockofspades @sramoonlight @darkfaethedestroyer @gayartisticandlonely @sleeping-l0s3rs @itsmonicabc @dead-ry-walking @fanaticf1fan @cxcilla @wolffrankie @jellystar-star @nayykura @nickithearticorn @deadwillow240 @nightblanc @winter-world @valyntime @luxylucylou @timeastronomerdrawer @existingtoreadfanfics @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @jjoppees @qhevy

[airybcby]

Now I'm Covered In You

(bllk boys as boyfriends)

a / n — thought making another post in this form would be fun, so i hope you enjoy!

content — bllk characters x reader, gn! reader, pet names used in a few parts, sadly canon otoya i fear, misspelled words are there for a reason i swear, cheater! otoya and oliver, some characters repeated, lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis — bllk boys and what type of boyfriend they'd be

✿.｡. “ how's one to know? ” .｡.✿

—The Romantic One

is always planning surprises for you, and i mean always. there's not a single week where you aren't being taken on 'adventures' that always lead you to a different restaurant.

what's the point in having all this money and not spending it on you?

they are constantly writing you love letters and poems. well, they try to anyway. they're not the best with their words and with many spelling mistakes, rather liking to show with actions, but they tried for you.

usually their poems end up something like this

' roses are red

so is my heart

my darling

my deer

my sweet buttercup

you taste just like a

tasty soda pop '

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ISAGI YOICHI, shido ryusei, jyubei aryu, ALEXIS NESS

— The Player

you know the famous saying, "how you get them is how you lose them?" yeah that's exactly how this relationship is.

you'd been one of their many side quests while they had a relationship going on. eventually after they'd ended said relationship, they'd chose you as their next partner.

they do spoil you with many gifts, mostly after you catch them cheating on you for the umpteenth time, but you stayed because they 'loved you'

sure they told you they loved you, but that wasn't really the case when they'd broken up with you because you were 'boring' them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ OTOYA EITA, oliver aiku

— The Protector

is constantly worrying about you and is looking out for your safety.

with them being this 'big bad' soccer player, many people refuses to even look you in the eyes when you were with them. but if someone dared to hit on you when they walk off for a second? please pray for them.

some guy could be asking you for directions and he'd come up behind you and wrap an arm around you without even uttering a word. you didn't have to look at them to know the look they were giving the man was nothing but deadly.

some may call it controlling, but you knew them, they just wanted to keep you safe from all these men.

you had him, who else would you need?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, rin itoshi, SHOEI BARO, tabito karasu

— The Funny (insane) One

is constantly making jokes- some that aren't funny - but you laugh anyways.

everyone always asks you how your relationship is doing so well, and the answer is always, " i don't know," because you genuinely don't. yes, the two of you get into arguments, and sometimes the two of you get heated enough to have to take time apart from each other, but you always come back together.

how?

because they always forget what the fight was even about and come back into your space to show you some cat meme they believe you would like.

and the two of you laugh until you feel better again.

maybe you don't know how your relationship is so healthy, but you know why you're happy.

because they take the time to make you laugh.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ BACHIRA MEGURU, RYUSEI SHIDO, gin gagamaru, seishiro nagi

— The Traditional One

dates. Dates. DATES!!

they took you on soooo many dates before officially asking you to be their partner.

they definitely give the vibes of "my mom taught me i needed to..."

just the best gentleman!

you need to step over a puddle? they're putting their jacket down over it for you (it wasn't necessary, but they insisted on it)

you talked about wanting to see a movie once? he's already bought the tickets.

if you get married? he's insisting you stay home

" a pretty face like you doesn't need to work, i'll provide us everything." in his words

will do anything for you, really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ YUKIMIYA KENYU, michael kaiser (pls ignore the mom part), REO MIKAGE, oliver aiku (again)

✿.｡. “ i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bone ” .｡.✿

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[mentalmeles]

Was listening to Star Spangled Man With a Plan (as one does) and it got me thinking about Steve during his USO tours--mainly Steve and his relationship with the USO girls.

At first, the USO girls are all business and are only polite to Steve when they have to be. They're not cold to him, but they're not particularly friendly or warm either. They just stay in their lane and he stays in his. Maybe, after a bit of time, one or two of em decide to test their luck and flirt with Steve, but he declines their advances every time. (I know that the MCU says it's canon that Steve lost his virginity to one of em or something like that, but I'm actively choosing to ignore that he had sex with any of em at all lmao)

But then, after doing a handful of tours, one of the USO girls decides 'fuck it' and decides to throw Steve a bone;

"Can you help me zip up my outfit?" She asks.

Steve flounders a bit at first, but she assures him that she doesn't mean anything by it. She only wants his help. She's letting him help. So, he does. Suddenly, from that moment on, the majority of the USO girls begin to ask Steve for help too--whether it be for their outfits, their hair, or their makeup. Maybe it's because they've realized he's not going to try anything. Maybe they've realized just how lonely he really is. So, over time, they begin to let him in on their card games, their smoke breaks (even though Steve himself doesn't smoke, since it doesn't do anything for him now, anyway), and talks about home. They even teach him some dances and acrobatics. Eventually, Steve gets comfortable enough to tell them about Bucky. He tries not to say too much, lest he give away the true depth of their relationship. He's not the best at lying, so he speaks in half truths. He's always very careful. He has to be, after all.

But then, maybe, one of em figures it out anyway.

"You're sweet on him, aren't you? Your friend?" She asks. It's the girl who first asked for his help. The one who first let him in.

And Steve is so fucking scared all of a sudden. He doesn't know how she figured it out. He thought he'd been hiding it well. He had been so careful. So careful. Fuck, what will he do if she tells people? If she tells people what he is, it's all over. They'll send him home and he'll lose his one actual chance of potentially getting out on the field and helping Bucky. And Bucky... If word somehow gets to the army... What will they do to Bucky?

But then, suddenly, she drops another bombshell;

"I have a girl back home," she says quietly. "I had a feeling you were in the same boat as me, what with the way your eyes look every time you talk about him. Her eyes do the same thing when she talks about me. Everyone back home thinks she's just my best friend. But she's worth a helluva lot more than that."

Steve can only stare at her. For a moment he wonders if she's lying, but everything about her--all the way down to her voice, her expression, and posture--tells him that she's being honest. He gives a broken laugh, suddenly feeling very, very small.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is too. Worth a helluva lot more to me than just a friend, I mean..."

She nods. "Does anyone else know?"

"I think one of his sisters might. But, other than that, it's just you." He pauses. "What's her name?"

"Hilda. I call her Hildie."

"That's right. You've mentioned her a couple times... She sounds wonderful."

"She is." She pauses for a moment before speaking again. "You know, you can talk to me about him. Whenever you want or need. People like us...we gotta stick together, ya know?"

Suddenly, Steve doesn't feel like he's talking to a friendly coworker. He feels like he's talking to a friend.

So, he gives her one of his increasingly rare smiles, real and warm. "I think I'd like that," he says. "Thank you."

[asksonicverse]

You dont need to answer but I just wanted to tell you I adore Paradox being like "I hate all of them except" and then listing everyone except like 2 guys, honey you don't hate *all* of them you expressly don't hate *most of them*

Extremely charming characterization i adore it

[Creator Special number 2!]

So glad someone noticed that, I was originally going to have him name EVERYONE except Boost but then I was like “nah, Mania is just too annoying for Paradox to tolerate him”

And thanks! I’m trying to be… consistent with my characterization of each of them and stay in line with canon but like… URGH sometimes I want to deviate so bad just to indulge but I resist!

Needless to say tho, prism is probably going to get more affectionate later on. Rewatched Sonic Prime again and bro is a cutie patootie!

Headcanons… headcanons… hmm

Well, starting with the obvious, Paradox goes to therapy as I’ve mentioned which I think is hilarious. He and Lance are the only Shadows who really have their shit together which is why I think Sonadow works well for them? (we stan healthy relationships guys)

I do head canon that Eight doesn’t like being touched really at all anymore. After the metal virus, he grew so used to the fact that he couldn’t touch anyone that it sorta just stuck. He does it to save people, but not anything more. :(

And while I’m a sucker for the Trans Sonic HC I decided not to implement it in this particular AU!

I really want to include Captain Sonic and Shadow, but I haven’t played nor watched a serious play through of the game. (I’ve only really listened to a bit of the Snapcube dub..)

can someone tell me if Shadow is a Barista or a Mechanic in that game btw?? I google it, nothing pops up. I could’ve sworn there was something about a mechanic.

Uhh I LOVE Sonic Frontiers, fire game. If I include that one, it’ll ALSO be Sonamy since I’m pretty sure that game takes place before SA2 in canon?

I’m trying to keep the Sonics and Shadows balanced but I’d love to add Generations Shadow and Sonic. Just thinking of names already I get “Doom” for Shadow and “Emerald” for Sonic. (Referencing the fake emerald from their interaction in the shadow story)

Unfortunately I haven’t seen the Archie comics or Sonic Underground so I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Someone also asked about if I’d ever include different AU’s: maybe if those AU creators gave me permission I’d be down to do a collab for a few asks or something!

Nope!

I dunno I just..! … how do I do? I’m fast. And you’re slow. That’s how I did it. /ref

Ahahah just kidding! But I am very fast. A few years ago I convinced myself I was a “slow drawer” because I was in a discord server with someone I looked up to (and holy cheese they could draw out fully articulate sketches in like 30 seconds!)

So I got insecure and taught myself to draw really fast. So now I just.. zoom! This does have a terrible draw back where I will very frequently forget smaller details.

Like if you look at half the posts, Shadow is missing his eyeliner and other markings frequently.

THIS IS JUST HILARIOUS TO ME YOU GUYS. PLEASE—

I’ve gotten SO many asks in my box about using Maria to calm the Shadows down or trying to give Shadows “Maria plushies”

Imagine you’re having a bad day and you get a plushie of your dead sibling thrown at you??? LMFAOOOO

I CANT I CANT I CANT PUT THEM THROUGH THAT 💔 Also I see every single ask.

“Do you all like Latinas” and “sonic which shadow is the hottest/shadow which sonic is the hottest” have all been engraved in my brain

Was joking with a friend on how that second question would come out LMFAOO

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