#all with the same name for recognition •>•

[sorrowsofsilence]

intimate silence I • n.s

pairing: Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

words: 7.8k - part 1/2 - read part two here

warnings: (general warnings for part 1 and 2) 18+, angsty shiz, (years of unsaid feelings), smut, making out, fem!receiving, male!receiving, p n v, creampie, mentions of drinking, friends to lovers

prompt: After seeing each other for the first time in years, all the old feelings you tried to bury come flooding back. Noah admits he regrets not choosing you, especially when he’d felt the same way all along. Perhaps years of intimate silence weren’t the end… just the prelude to everything you were always meant to be. (This is like* a part 2 of desolate love - same vibes and storyline-ish.)

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THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

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You hadn’t anticipated him being at the pub as you walked in. It had been years since you last saw him, and surely many more since he last thought of you.

Yet, when you followed the server to your designated booth, only to pass his- his gaze latched onto yours. Your lips parted with recognition, heart immediately racing when his smile made way to his eyes.

It was hard to decide whether to stop amidst the bustling tables and scattered voices in the restaurant; but when he reached out his hand to touch your arm, hesitating for a mere moment before turning it into a subtle wave- you stopped.

"Noah?" you breathed his name as he took in your face with his dark eyes, unsure whether he was searching or reminiscing over past memories. You glanced at the others at his table, offering a brief nod before looking back at him shyly. He chuckled softly, disbelief colouring his expression, as he leaned his elbow on the chair's headrest.

"Date night?" he asked, his gaze shifting to the man behind you, prompting an awkward cough as you stepped aside, letting your friend join in. Shaking your head while exchanging a glance with the hostess at your booth, you laughed nervously and looked away from Noah.

"No-just drinks with friends." Your mind spiraled with the accusation, and the hint of something lingering within his words tugged at your throat.

The brunette noticed you fidgeting with your sweater sleeve and nodded, "Well, it's nice to see you. It's been a long time."

Meeting his stare, you offered a stiff yet warm smile, "Yeah, it has."

You glanced at the hostess again, apologetically raising your hand before heading toward your booth, leaving behind the tangled threads of old emotions. "I—I shouldn't keep her waiting. Nice seeing you, too."

As you walked away, there was an unspoken sentiment that seemed to surge between you two. You felt Noah's gaze linger on your retreating form, and despite the peculiar stirring of forgotten feelings, you were gently cocooned back into the familiarity of your friends’ laughter as you slid into the worn leather of the booth.

You tried to shake off the flush of surprise that still heated your cheeks, and across from you, your friend observed the disarray with a curious gaze, his brows furrowing as he leaned in.

"You okay?" he asked, dropping his voice so the clamor of the pub's crowd swallowed his words.

You met his eyes and nodded stiffly. "Yes, just... haven't seen him in a long time."

"I can see that," your friend responded, his gaze flicking momentarily in the direction you had come from, then returning to you with a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was a gentle tease, immediately soothing away the tension that knotted your heart.

Across the room, a new round of drinks arrived at Noah’s table, followed by a chorus of laughter. Glancing over, you watched as he lifted his glass in a toast, his gaze straying once again towards your booth. The soft glow from the pub lights made his features appear less harsh than you remembered, shaping half-forgotten memories into something akin to nostalgia.

"Old flame?" Your friend's words snapped you back from your thoughts. There was a taunting lightness in his tone that said he guessed more than what he dared to ask outright.

"Something like that," you admitted, idly toying with the flimsy drink coaster before you.

"He never really left your thoughts, did he?" His words tinged with curiosity.

Your face warmed at his comment, subconsciously glancing over at Noah once more as if to confirm something you hadn't voiced out loud in years.

"Not really," You confessed, heart clenching as you sucked in a breath- something that felt harder to do now that Noah kept flicking his eyes back to your table.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with your drinks; a timely distraction. But as jokes flitted across your table and ice clinked in your cocktail, a shadow of melancholy slipped into your chest.

Your friend's voice cut through the low hum of pub conversations, contrasting the bought of laughter from Noah’s table. “Did you ever date?” He asked nonchalantly.

You gave him a curt shake of your head, savoring the tartness of your drink. “No," you replied, with a rueful smile.

"But you wanted to?"

His question was more a statement and you could only nod, the sudden knot in your throat making words impossible. He watched you in silence, allowing you a moment to regain your composure.

"He didn’t choose me," you finally managed, swirling your drink in your glass. "He liked someone else at the same time. Things were complicated.”

Your eyes scanned the pub's old wooden ceiling, following a vague pattern in its grooves as if it held answers. Suddenly feeling Noah’s gaze on you again, the tight fluttering in your chest resurfaced.

"Does it still feel complicated?" Your friend asked gently.

"Uh…No..." The lie came out hollow even to your ears, and the man across from you rolled his eyes.

"You're a terrible liar," he reproached lightly, reaching across the table to pat your hand, causing you to sigh.

"He is part of my past," you reasoned out loud, more for yourself than to convince your friend. “I moved on to date Erin, until well… you know…and as far as I know Noah is still with his girlfriend of three years.” The words fell heavy against the illuminating candlelight flickering in between the two of you.

"You don't hate him though?" He asked. A question you knew wasn't really a question.

"Hate him?" you shook your head as you scoffed, almost bitterly. “I tried to.”

Your fingers traced the outline of the coaster as you continued, "But hating him would have meant to forget all the good times- remove all the annoying memories of him that still seem to live in my mind. And...I didn’t want to do that. I don’t want to do that." you confessed, fighting the lump forming in your throat. "I'd rather remember and hurt than forget and feel hatred."

There was a pause as your friend digested your words, looking at you as if he were seeing a different side of you, one he never knew existed.

"But doesn't it just hurt," he began carefully, “to keep remembering?”

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you watched the bubbles gently float to the top of your glass. "Sometimes," you admitted, turning your gaze back to Noah. His laughter echoed across the room, drowning out the music momentarily. A smile tugged at your lips unknowingly.

"Then why keep doing it?" he questioned further.

It was when Noah made another loud joke to his friends that he turned once again, meeting your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night- that you caved.

“Because the way he has looked at me never changed. Not through relationships, not through time apart- never. There is always that same annoying and infuriating look of hope.”

"Hope?" Your friend repeated, tilting his head as he wrapped his hand around his glass, fingers tapping lightly against the surface.

You nodded, stealing another glance at Noah. He was leaned back in his chair now, a relaxed smile on his face that countered your turmoil, unravelling you with every gaze he cast your way.

"It's the kind of hope that asks 'what if'," you explained, voice low and barely audible over the commotion of the pub around you. "What if things were different? What if we had chosen each other? Like an opportunity lost, but not entirely forgotten."

The man across from you was contemplative, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink before leaning in closer to you. "What does that look like? This hope you see in his eyes?"

You pondered over his question, swallowing thickly as you tried to form words that would make sense to him, let alone you.

“It’s like this lidded gaze- a soft shine of longing subdued by realism that has never entirely disappeared. It’s a look that says he still sees what he saw in me when we were just kids in high school- like I’m still important to him, in some way. It tells me he understands that even when it seemed like I moved on, he knows deep down that I really didn't. And neither did he. And it's not right. But it’s too late."

It was silent for a moment as you fought the water treading within your eyes, chugging the rest of your drink as a distraction.

"That's a lot to collect from a look," he said eventually, observing your flustered expression with raised brows.

"I’ve had a long time to think about it," you conceded with a shrug, ripping the edge of your coaster absently. But inside your chest, your heart beat a frantic rhythm that suggested it agreed with your words.

Your friend glanced towards your unease, watching how Noah pretended he was never really looking over at your table. "And if he weren't in a relationship now? If circumstances were… different?"

Your reply, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "Doesn’t matter," you lied, heart pounding against your ribs as the truth nudged at your denial.

"Even if things were different… he never chose me. Refused to. Told me he promised someone else his heart after high school."

"And you still hold it against him?" The question hung heavy in the air, though your friend's tone was light, almost indifferent.

"No," You denied, feeling a twinge of pain claw at your chest. "I suppose... I have come to terms with it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to choose me. He never had that high school girl anyway, either. She moved on before him."

"But you haven't moved on." The words slipped from your friend’s lips as an affirmation. His gaze wandered back to Noah, where another round of laughter punctuated the air.

You stared at your empty glass, chewing on your lower lip as the silence festered. For a moment you considered denying it, but what use was there in pretending when the truth was palpable in every word?

"No," you sighed, looking back at Noah. "I guess not. Not really."

Your friend nodded understandingly, tossing back the remaining contents of his glass before placing it back onto the table.

“Well,” he started, and you turned to look at him as he refilled his drink from a bottle that had been ignored until now. “In this life, we rarely get second chances with things that truly matter.”

It was then Noah stood up from his table, turning to cross the room. His stride was slow, confident, a stark contrast to the unease in your chest. His eyes were on you, and you pretended not to notice. Your friend did, though.

A sudden feeling of dread crushed your heart as you followed his frame out of the corner of your eyes, the shadows stretching out on the worn-out wooden floorboards.

"Why is he heading here?" you whispered, not daring to voice your suspicion too loudly, as if to break the bubble surrounding both of you.

Your friend merely shrugged, a sly grin replacing his earlier curiosity. "No idea. But I am eager to find out," he said, leaning back into his chair and taking a sip from his drink, all whilst watching Noah’s approaching figure as though it were an intriguing spectacle. As Noah got closer, your pulse quickened its pace, pounding rhythmically against your chest while your mind raced in frantic circles.

He smiled at you for a moment before nodding at your friend, flicking his short brunette strands out of his eyes.

“Uh hey, my friend’s are about to head out…” He said, throwing a thumb back to the crew that was now throwing him half amused glances and thumbs-ups. He glanced back at you, "and I'd really appreciate the opportunity to catch up. Would you mind if I joined you?"

Your friend looked at you, your widened eyes meeting his amused gaze before he shrugged and gestured to the vacant seat next to him, sliding further into the booth, “By all means,” he invited.

“Thanks.” Noah nodded gratefully, taking the seat beside your friend, and now sitting across from you.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he added, glancing back and forth between the two of you.

“Not at all,” your friend assured him, though his eyebrows remained slightly arched.

You gripped your empty glass tighter in your hand, swallowing down the sudden dryness in your throat. “Yeah, Noah… it’s been forever,” you managed to croak out in what you hoped passed for casual indifference.

He flashed a quick smile at your words, his eyes crinkling around the edges. Beneath the guise of casual banter, the years that had passed were muffled whispers hidden in plain sight.

"Yes, it has been," Noah responded, while his gaze danced over you, "How’s life been treating you?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to cloak your nervousness under feigned ease. "Oh you know, ups and downs. Mostly well."

A smile played on your friend's lips, a look of knowing graced his features as he stared at the exchange between you two.

"Same here," Noah replied, sipping from his glass.

A skillfully avoided conversation unfolded between you, where inquiries about work and general well-being served as shields against the veiled curiosity itching to break free.

Your chest clenched again, and as the waitress came over to give you another drink, you took the opportunity to head to the washroom.

Your friend watched you rise from the booth, catching your eye in a silent exchange that offered reassurance. Noah politely nodded as you slipped out of the booth and disappeared into the crowd.

Locking the door behind you, you took a moment to collect yourself, splashing water on your face in an attempt to steady your racing heart.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how Noah just waltzed back into your life after all these years, bringing rainstorms of feelings you had worked so hard to forget- yet really didn’t.

In the reflection of the bathroom mirror, you saw a ghost of your younger self, the one who spent hours decoding Noah's glances and gestures. The one who would stay up late just to watch his favourite shows so you had something to talk about. The one who would wear his sweaters because he said they looked better on you. The one who obsessed over his lingering touch and flirty banter.

The one who was not good enough.

Overwhelm washed over you like cold water, stealing your breath. You pressed your palms onto the edge of the sink, clenching your jaw as you wrestled with the torrent of emotions that roared through your veins.

With a quiet sigh, you patted down your face with a rough paper towel and straightened your sweater. Ducking your head, you drew another deep breath.

This was just Noah. Just a boy from your past. Just Noah.

Slipping back into the booth, you offered them a small smile before turning towards Noah who seemed genuinely involved in the story your friend was narrating. The air was lighter now; there was an ease that settled around the table as rounds of laughter traveled between the three of you while your friend indulged Noah in stories about a mutual friend who had recently moved out of town. You took occasional sips from your drink, contributing where necessary while primarily focusing on observing the somewhat restrained interaction between Noah and your friend.

You welcomed the change in atmosphere. No sparks were flying around or deep murmurs floating in the air, nor heavy gazes locked onto each other. It was simple, casual – as mundane as any other night at the pub could have been.

Yet in the lulls of conversation, Noah's gaze met yours; keenly observant but surreptitiously so. There remained a certain intensity that made you uncomfortable and yet to evade it, felt unnatural. It was like there was an undercurrent running beneath his apparent nonchalance, manifesting as veiled glances and half-crafted jokes aimed to get that entrancing laugh from you.

“Guys, it’s been real, but I am gonna call it a night," your friend announced, a yawn stretching from his mouth.

"Already?" Noah questioned, sparing you a glance as though to silently ask whether you too were planning to leave.

"Got an early start tomorrow." Your friend assured, pushing himself out of the booth and giving a cheeky wink in your direction.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he left a void beside Noah, and a shiver of nervousness ran down your arms.

After bidding goodbye to him with an amused half-smile, Noah turned his attention back to you. His expression was unreadable, a cryptic mask that did nothing to ease your anxiety.

"Do you mind if I stay awhile longer?" He asked softly, his gaze meeting yours across the table.

You paused for a moment, finding your voice caught in the back of your throat. You could turn him away, tell him you'd rather be alone. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. You didn’t want him to go.

"No, not at all," you said, trying your best to sound as neutral as possible.

Noah shifted in his seat, leaning back with a distant look in his eyes before returning his gaze to you. His inked fingers drummed lightly against the wooden table top, suggesting a nervous energy beneath the seeming calm in his demeanor.

Shading his eyes with the back of his hand, Noah contemplated for a moment. “You know… life is strange sometimes,” he began haltingly and flashed a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

You quirked an eyebrow in question but did not interrupt, welcoming him to fill the silence that had fallen over the booth.

He let out a sigh, his fingers tracing the rim of his still fresh drink. "Sometimes," he started again, his october eyes fixing on yours, "we find ourselves living in a constant cycle of 'what ifs' and 'what could've beens'."

You swallowed hard as you tried to untangle his words. "And where has that cycle led you?"

Noah's gaze dropped from yours to his hands, "It led me here...sitting across from you after years, yet feeling as though I've never left." He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head a little. "It's funny how life works."

You found yourself nodding, the corners of your mouth twitching at his admission. "Life has a strange sense of humor, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does."

He took a sip of his drink, eyes twinkling under the dull bar lights. There was comfort in his silent observation; a mirroring dance between two people separated by years and experiences yet wound together by obscured ties.

"Can I ask you something?" Noah asked, his fingers idly drumming against the table's wooden surface.

Raising an eyebrow, you shrugged nonchalantly in response, not daring to trust your voice to betray the sudden discomfort stitching itself into your chest.

Taking your silence as approval, he leaned in, elbows resting on the table. A stray lock of hair fell onto his forehead as he leveled his gaze with yours. You took that moment to reminisce how long his hair used to be. Reminisce in the feeling of it tangled between your fingers when he asked you to play with it; or put it in a bun.

"Do you ever feel... like we missed out on something?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if he feared someone might overhear the intimate nature of his question.

There was a moment's silence as you held his gaze, your heart hammering an erratic beat against your chest. Your mind raced to find a reply; a sentence that would adequately encase the pain, longing, and disappointment that had been the backdrop of your heart after Noah had been written out of it.

"Noah..." you breathed out, throat tightening.

"I mean," he hurriedly continued before you could voice any objection or sentiment, "it's just... Have you ever wondered how different our lives might've been if we..." He trailed off, seeming unsure of how to complete his tangled thought.

"...if I had chosen differently?" The last word of his sentence dissipated. His dark eyes were vulnerable, more than you remembered as they bore into yours.

"I..." You hesitated, stammering over your own words as an uncomfortable silence stretched between you two.

It was filled with unspoken regrets, unsaid words, and all those missed moments that formed a silent echo in your hearts.

"Yes," you finally admitted, sipping from your glass to wet your dry lips. "I have thought about it."

Noah let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders dropping with the release of tension. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he looked down for a moment before meeting your gaze once more.

"But we can't rewrite the past, can we?" he said dryly, sipping from his glass.

"No, we can't," you agreed, your pulse dancing in your ears. You leaned back in the booth, turning your gaze away from Noah and towards the crowd of others around you. The music filled in the gap left by your silence.

"You know," Noah began again after a few moments, turning to face you fully, "I was happy to see you tonight."

"I'm...glad to know that," you replied uneasily.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt anxiously, taking in another breath. You watched as his fingers seemed to tremble, clawing at his tattooed neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You swallowed, nodding as you gave him a soft smile, “I’ve missed you too.”

And when it was silent again, neither of you could look at each other.

“So how’s Hannah?”

When you asked, his body stiffened momentarily before giving you a tight smile.

“We broke up a couple months ago,” He said, tilting his head to the side.

Your brows furrowed in an attempt to look sad; but the way your stomach began to spin in circles told a different story altogether.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, despite the fluttering inside you. “Hope things are better now.”

"Yeah," he gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "Things happen. We're on good terms, so it’s alright."

Nodding, you waved the server over for another drink; this time asking for something stronger.

"Your turn," he gestured towards you with an encouraging smile. "How’s Erin?"

You didn’t miss the way your ex’s name sounded sour on Noah’s tongue.

"We broke up too," you admitted, finding solace as his reaction mirrored yours- surprise and awkwardness intermingled with a caring depth.

“I’m really shocked,” He said, blinking repeatedly before running his fingers through his hair, “You were together for eight years. Right since the end of high school.”

Nodding you chewed on the inside of your cheek,

"Yeah," you acknowledged, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. "But things change, people change. I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

Noah was silent for a moment. It wasn't hard to see the shock in his eyes as he processed your words- after all, he had known Erin too.

"You... okay?" he asked softly, daring to meet your gaze again.

Nodding, you shrugged slightly, "Yeah. Took some time but yeah, I am."

Neither of you said anything further then; the server arrived with your drinks and the concentrated clinks against the mugs filled up the silence. You thanked her with an absentminded nod before she retreated back into the crowd.

“Want to get out of here?”

Noah's question hung in the air, and you blinked, taken aback.

"Where to?" you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, the side of his lip twisting up in a lopsided smirk. "Somewhere quieter?"

You looked at him, heart thudding against your chest as you considered his offer. Whatever doubt resurfaced about this spontaneous venture was silenced by the surprising hope lighting up his eyes. The same, annoying, stubborn hope that seemed untouched by time. And perhaps it was enough to convince you to take that leap.

"Sure," you agreed reluctantly, avoiding eye contact as you slipped yourself out of the booth, placing some bills on the table next to your untouched drink.

The night felt different as you both stepped out of the pub and into the lightly lit streets. The breeze brushed past your face, carrying with it a scent of rain soon to come. Walking side by side, you could feel the palpable quiet weaving a comfortable cocoon around you.

"No regrets?" he murmured, hands slipped into his pockets as he glanced down at you.

"No regrets," you echoed, more to reassure your own trembling heart than to provide him with closure. He nodded, falling silent once more as your steps echoed against the cement streets.

“You never used to be this quiet,” Noah broke the silence, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Couldn’t shut you up half the time.”

You laughed gently at that and glanced aside, “Well, life...” your voice trailed off, shrugging at your failed attempt at an explanation.

“I get it,” Noah hummed and nodded. He didn’t press for more; he never did, even back then.

A few paces ahead, Noah's car sat serenely below the dim glow of a streetlamp. As he unlocked the doors and you slid into the passenger seat your heart raced faster. It was just the two of you- after so long.

The soft hum of the car engine filled the small slice of your shared reality while Noah navigated through the late-night streets. Your eyes danced over the passing buildings and strangers walking, avoiding to look anywhere but at him.

Suddenly, he turned up the volume of the car's stereo, cutting through your contemplations. An old song wafted through the speakers, a whisper from years ago that wrapped around you both. The familiar melody made your heart twinge with nostalgia.

"Do you still like this song?" you said suddenly, blinking away unseen tears as you looked at the words slide across the small radio screen.

“I do,” He said softly, thumbs beginning to tap along to the melody.

A gentle smile pulled at your lips as the chorus began, your voice barely audible over the strumming of the guitar and drums. “We danced to it once. At that fundraiser thing.”

Noah glanced over at you, expression unreadable but the sparkle in his eyes betraying a mutual remembrance. "Yeah,” he murmured. “I remember.”

Memories began to float back, images flickering behind your damp eyes. That high school dance where you purposefully bought that floral pattern that made your skin pop- your eyeshadow contrasting the dark hues. Your hands were clammy as Noah approached you for a dance, saying it’s what ‘friends do’. You remembered the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your waist and back, delicately placed as if afraid you’d burn him- your hands resting behind his neck, while you two swayed.

I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.

You’re my wonderwall.

The song faded out, replaced by another unfamiliar one whose words became background noise to your racing thoughts. Noah’s inked knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as a sigh slipped out from between his lips.

“Um, we're here," Noah finally broke the silence. The car came to a halt, the engine purring low before dying out completely. You blinked in surprise, trying to figure out where you were.

Looking around, you noticed that you were parked on top of a hill overlooking the city. You could see all the lights twinkling like stars; the night sky framed by the silhouette of towering skyscrapers and flowing ribbon of highway tracers in the distance.

"Well, this is quieter indeed," you mumbled, mostly to yourself. A chuckle escaped Noah as he reclined back into his seat.

"Yes," he murmured looking out through the window at the shimmering spectacle below. “Remember when I used to tell you how people always made out up here? And then you told me you didn’t know how to use tongue? And then I used to tease you?”

You blushed, a soft laugh escaping your lips at the memory. "How could I forget?" You shook your head slightly, feeling more loosened now. "You never let me live that down."

"True," Noah chuckled, a reminiscent glint in his eyes. "I believe you also made me swear that I would never make out with anyone up here because it was so cliche."

You rolled your eyes at him, a grin tugging at your lips. “Sounds like something I’d say.”

"Was Erin your first kiss then?" He gently nudged a question into the silence.

"Yeah" you confessed after a moment's pause. His gaze flickered to yours, curiosity mixed with surprise evident, “I didn’t want to kiss anyone unless I loved them.”

He nodded slowly, processing your words. "That's... admirable," he concluded with a soft smile.

"Is it?" you muttered, feeling the warmth rise on your cheeks as you laughed, ready to pester him, “Because apparently it was a joke I couldn’t kiss with tongue due to lack of experience.”

"No, no," Noah chuckled, leaning back against the headrest of his seat, staring out at the cityscape. "I only teased because you were somehow so sure that tongues were not involved at all."

You laughed, the twinkling lights reflecting in your eyes. "Well, how was I supposed to know!?" You mockingly defended yourself, playfully punching him in the arm.

He laughed heartily, his voice echoing within the confined space of the car. His laughter was a warm sound, a comfort from distant memories that wrapped itself around your heart. It was something you didn’t know you missed so much.

Once his laughter had subsided into a chuckle, he looked at you for a moment too long. The intensity of his gaze took your breath away. You could see hints of affection and longing there- an open invitation to walk down memory lane yet again.

"I was a jerk then. I bet you turned out to be an amazing kisser."

Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red at his words, and you found yourself turning away from his gaze, too flustered by the sudden compliment. He chuckled lightly, licking his lips briefly.

"Guess you'll never know," you retorted, burying your flaming face in your hands, “But no, not really.” you protested half-heartedly, looking out of the window to hide the warmth that was creeping up your neck.

"Still got that blush," he observed teasingly, causing your cheeks to burn even more fiercely.

"Shut up, Noah," you laughed it off, swatting at his arm. He raised his hands in a mock-surrender as another round of laughter echoed through the car. The space felt warmer, more familiar than what it had been just a few minutes ago.

The conversation lulled once again, filled with merely the hum of the cool evening breeze rustling the leaves outside and old tracks playing softly through the car's speakers.

"I used to come here after Hannah and I broke up... It helped me think."

The confession hung between you two, heavy and uncomfortable.

"Why are you telling me this?" You asked.

Noah was silent for a moment, the dim car light illuminating his face in an array of shadows.

"Because," he began slowly, "I think it's important for you to know. And it doesn't just remind me of her, it reminds me of what could have been- and what's no longer."

You nodded, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you turned your gaze to the cityscape below. It was beautiful, indeed.

Perhaps Noah had found solace in this beauty during his broken times.

Perhaps, right now, it was the sanctuary that you needed too.

"You never asked me why we broke up," Noah’s murmur brought you back from your thoughts.

"Why did you?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze shifted to meet yours, his chocolate eyes soft under the pale moonlight streaming into the car. "We fell out of love. Or maybe, I never even fully loved her."

For a moment, you were silent, digesting the harsh simplicity of his words.

"Love can be fleeting," you said softly, more to yourself than addressing Noah.

"No," he countered after a beat, "Love is constant. It's the people who are fleeting."

His sentiment hit a chord deep within you that resonated with your unspoken feelings.

"People change," you agreed, your fingertips brushing over the chill of your glass. "They grow...sometimes apart."

Noah hummed in response, his gaze distant as though lost in a maze of recollections. “Yes, we’ve changed, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” You mumbled, picking at the seam of your jeans.

“But I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. I didn’t even know at the time that I was in love.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at that moment, his words burning through your mind. Love. Loving you.

All that could be heard was the racing of your heart as your ears flooded with every panicked beat.

"You..." your voice faltered, unsure of how to respond. His gaze was relentless; not challenging you but pleading for understanding that you weren't quite sure how to give.

"Noah..." Your voice came out as a mere whisper, the name tumbling from your lips almost involuntarily, your mind still struggling to catch up with his declaration. He examined your expression in quiet apprehension, his hands clenched on his thighs.

"I mean it," he persisted, reaching over to gently cover your fidgety hand with his own larger one. His tattoos seemed even more prominent against your smooth skin - alive, just like the feelings that were coming alive in his presence. "Even though we’ve never been together... I don't know if I ever stopped thinking about you."

Your breath hitched as his words hung heavy in the air.

“I regret not choosing you. Every single day I’ve regretted fucking up the chance of us.”

Your heart raced in your chest, the thunderous pulse drowning out all other sounds. The feel of his warm hand on yours, the earnest look in his eyes- it was almost too much.

"Stop, Noah," you found yourself whispering, a plea more than a demand. His eyes flickered with hurt but he took his hand away nonetheless- an action that seemed to echo painfully around you.

He swallowed hard, leaning back against the car's seat while respectably creating distance. His gaze didn't leave yours, as if trying to convince you of the sincerity of his confession.

"I'm sorry," He apologized after what felt like eons, "I just... needed you to know."

“But you knew how I felt. All those years ago you fed into my feelings- when you knew. You knew I liked you- fuck, loved you. Which is pathetic because how do you know you love somebody you never even kissed, or hugged, or held hands with- at fifteen years old?” You sucked in a breath, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at your shoes but you blinked them away stubbornly. "But I knew. You knew.”

His hand twitched on the gear stick as though wanting to reach out to you once more, yet he restrained himself, a mask of remorse settling over his features.

"I didn’t know how to feel. I was confused. I thought I didn’t want to take the risk of losing you by dating you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought my feelings would disappear…that they were just an infatuation.”

You nodded slowly, a storm of unsettled emotions making your voice tremble, "But they didn't." It was not a question; it was a confirmation. One that stripped away any ambiguity still lingering between you.

"No," he agreed with a shaky sigh, “Sometimes I wish they did.”

You laughed bitterly, sniffing, “I wish they did too. Because I just spent eight years in a relationship secretly wondering ‘what if Noah chose me instead’. ‘Why do I still love him’, ‘Why do I feel this way’.”

The words hung heavy, your confession giving more weight to the silence suffocating you both. Noah's eyes were wide, a mix of shock and something akin to longing etched into his features.

"I... I didn't know," he finally managed, choking out the words as if his regret was a tangible thing constricting his throat. "I always thought you were happy with Erin."

Your laugh echoed through the car, hollow. "And I thought you loved Hannah." you shot back, ignoring the sharp sting in your chest. Light spurts of rain began to fall outside, the dispersed patter of the drops landing on the car roof distracting.

He flinched visibly at your retort but made no attempt to defend himself. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his hands where they lay clenched in his lap.

"Life is ironic, isn't it?" he murmured after a while. His voice was quiet but resounding in the stillness of the moment.

"Yeah, it is." You agreed, gazing out of the window again.

The brunette beside you shifted in his seat again, taking in a slow breath. "I want to kiss you."

His words were so soft, they almost melded with the low murmur of the far away traffic.

Your wide eyes whipped to him in a glance that was all too revealing. A gasp escaped from your clenched jaws, an unexpected note in the heavy silence of his trembling confession.

"What?" Your voice strangled itself into a whisper, hands fluttering against your chest as if trying to stifle the mounting panic.

Meeting your gaze head-on, Noah cleared his throat, "If that's okay with you, I mean...I'm not..." he sighed, raking a hand through his tousled hair in frustration, "Nevermind."

A thousand thoughts and feelings flooded through you.

“I- I can’t go down this road again.”

At that moment he unbuckled his seatbelt, hastily crawling out of the car. Your breathing quickened as you watched him walk around the hood to your side, opening your door. He held out his hand, waiting for you to take it.

Shaking your head, you remained unmoving, the sudden rainfall outside creating a rhythmic backdrop to your racing pulse. His outstretched hand trembled slightly under the raindrops gently cascading down on them.

Stubbornly, he didn't retract it, "Please," Noah pleaded in a tone akin to a whisper.

An unknown force urged you to take his hand, pulling yourself out of the car and into the rain-soaked night. It was hammering down now; each drop was its own parade, a silver bead in the sea of dirt beneath your feet. Your clothes began to cling to your skin as the rain showered over you, yet you couldn’t tear your gaze away from Noah's.

Pulling you into a hug, he enveloped you fully in his chest.

His scent hit you first– a distinct mix of old spice and musk, something so uniquely Noah. His heartbeat echoed against your ears, beating in time with the thrumming of rain on the car roof.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, your fingers clutching at the fabric dampening underneath your grip. His body next to yours felt like a patchwork quilt of memories- a warmth that was familiar yet now foreign all at once.

He sighed gently above you, one hand moving to lightly stroke the small of your back. It was subtle, almost hesitant; as if he feared this moment to be just another figment of the past.

“I can’t change what happened- and I need you to know that I wouldn’t have changed it. Even if I regret it.”

“Why?” You asked.

"Because it made me realize how much I lost in not choosing you," he answered, his voice barely audible above the sound of the rain pounding against the pavement.

Your heart ached as his words rang in your ears, each syllable echoing with a pain you related to all too well.

“It made me realize how much I wanted you, and how it’s always been you. Maybe I wouldn’t have been a good partner for you because I was just a dumb kid. Maybe we were meant to experience other people before getting here- I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers.”

“But regretting it brought me back to you,” he finished, pulling you away from him as his hands reached up either side of your face, caressing your cheeks with his cold hands. His expression was raw and open, every hiding place stripped bare as he studied you.

"I need you to understand one thing," he continued, his voice barely a whisper against the pounding of your heart. "My feelings for you...they’re not fleeting."

The wind had picked up, tossing small flurries of rain sideways; droplets traced pathways down his inked skin, catching in the hollow of his throat. There was an otherworldly beauty about him in that moment, one that had you transfixed.

"You were always with Erin. What was I going to do, stroll up to your house and confess?" he broke the silence once again, his knuckles brushing stray strands of hair from your face.

His eyes bore into yours, an unearthly intensity in his october gaze that made you tremble. His fingers traced your jawline in a gentle caress, quivering as they brushed over your lips. His quiet admittance echoed deafeningly in the space between you, wrapping itself around the settled tension in the air and filling you both with an unbearable longing.

"Noah," you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed. The rain was persistent; its rambling rhythm provided a haunting melody to your escalating heartbeats.

You placed your hands on top of his that held your face.

"Why now?" You managed to make your voice steady amidst the turmoil within.

"Because it's never too late, right?" His voice quivered with a hopeful note. You nodded weakly against his touch before daring to open your eyes again, “There are no longer any barriers. You’re here- I’m here- nothing else is in the way to hold us back anymore.”

He was holding his breath, terrified that with the next exhalation he might shatter the moment hanging between you.

"Maybe..." he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "Maybe it's time we take a chance on us."

A dozen emotions warred within you, and it was terrifyingly beautiful as pieces of him echoed through your nerves.

"Is there an 'us'?" You countered quietly, words tangled in a knot of apprehension.

"There could be," he whispered, placing his forehead against your own. Droplets of water fell between your skin.

Your heart stuttered inside your chest at his words.

“Can I kiss you now?” he took a deep breath swallowing his nerves.

Feeling your pulse quicken, you let out a shaky sigh. This wasn't how you had planned your evening- certainly not a premature reunion with long-locked-away feelings.

Yet, in that moment, any traces of reluctance were drowned by the insistent tug of something deep within you; a longing for closure, perhaps, or maybe even the feeling of what should have been all along?

"Yes," you barely recognized your own voice.

The corners of Noah's mouth curled into the semblance of a smile. He didn’t hesitate as he leaned in close, his warm breath fanning over your cheeks and making your eyelids flutter shut.

The world came crashing onto a standstill as his lips met yours, slow and hesitant at first before engulfing you in a fervor you could only associate with years of suppressed desire and regret. The taste of his lips was like coming home after an eternity; familiar yet carrying hints of something new and enticing.

Your body ached with need as reality blurred around you and Noah, your lungs catching every roll of his lips and breath as your mind raced. He was everything you had ever wanted- and this moment was something you dreamed of years ago.

He pulled you against him, the force of it making your teeth click, but not enough to hurt. Your hands clung to his shirt, cloth wrinkling beneath your desperate grasp as the intensity of your kiss increased. His hand pressed between your shoulder blades, fingers splayed widely against the drenched fabric of your top. Noah’s grip was so tight, his lips so hungry, as if afraid you’d let go.

"Noah," you mumbled against his lips, his name a soft plea. The kiss deepened, his body pressing further into yours with possessiveness and urgency.

Each drop of rain felt like a spark against your skin as his tongue traced the seam of your lips. His arm around your waist pulled you closer until there was no room left for regret, only the raw shiver of anticipation simmering beneath every touch, every breath.

"I've wanted this for so long..." He confessed between kisses, his voice breathless and filled with longing.

His words danced over your skin like electric shocks, each syllable a promise etched against your parted lips. Noah was a heartbeat, a rhythm so intimately familiar that you wondered how you ever survived without it.

“Me too.” You mumbled.

Slowly, he broke away; pausing just inches from your lips to simply hold you in his arms.

And as his brows furrowed and eyes darkened even more than you thought they possibly could, you swore there were tears mixing with the rain that fell down his cheeks.

His thumb traced the curve of your chin, an absent-minded gesture as he gazed at you.

"Did that... did it feel right?" His voice held a hint of insecurity, a shadow of doubt. Swallowing hard, you nodded, unable to say anything before reaching up to hold the back of his neck, and pull him into another long kiss.

You smiled, “I want to know what should have been. What will be. With you.”

His lips crashed into yours again, this time with a fervor that sent shockwaves through every nerve in your body. His hands were an orchestrated chaos, roaming your back and sides, desperate to elicit a response that would match his own longing.

“I want that too,” He whispered against your mouth, the utterance of those five words producing an unforgettable melody echoing the long-suppressed desires within both of you.

Your tongue lightly danced along his lip, and Noah held the back of your neck, pulling you closer to his mouth. The taste of him against your tongue made your limbs warm despite the cold, the craving of his fingers pressing into your skin irreplaceable to anything you ever felt before.

It felt right somehow, breaking barriers of the past and what could have been, only to embrace this newfound feeling- electric and full of hope.

Noah carried you back to his car after some time, both drenched from standing too long under the downpour.

In silence, you relished the warmth seeping through you. The radio sprang back to life as Noah fired up the engine again, flicking on the windshield wipers. He sighed, glancing at you with a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he reached over to manipulate the car's heater settings.

The journey back into town was quieter than before. The rain tapped rhythmically against the roof as you leaned against the window, staring absently at the stirring city below. Noah drove in silence, occasionally stealing glances in your direction- a soft yet unreadable gaze that sent shivers running down your spine.

“You’re a great kisser- so please forgive my younger self’s ignorance.”

"Will do," you managed to laugh, your chest tight with a newfound vitality. He chuckled, throwing you an amused sidelong glance.

The city lights streaked past in a blur, reflecting off the wet streets. The late-night pedestrians were rushing into their homes or into nearby pubs, attempting to dodge the heavy downpour. But inside the car, everything felt muted; as though time had been brought to standstill, after all this time.

You traced your slightly swollen lips with fingertips trembling faintly from leftover exhilaration. You could still taste him on your tongue; it was a taste you already knew you yearned to become familiar with.

Suddenly, he slowed the car to a halt in front of your apartment complex.

"I should get going," you murmured quietly, lying to him and yourself. "Thank you for tonight.”

He nodded, turning to face you once again. You watched him, your eyes tracing over every detail of his face; the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips, and the curve of his cheeks- all before latching onto his gaze.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and before opening the door, hesitating for a moment.

“Do you want to come in?”

+++++

part two here

tags: (join/leave my taglist here)

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@anything-more-than-human @geminigirlfromfinland

[horsefigureoftheday]

Do you have to look up these horses or do you just know them off the top of your head? (Either way is impressive!!)

I don't know the numbers by heart, but I can recognize some brands (like Schleich and Breyer) instantly, and I have a lot of background knowledge to narrow down other brands.

I really don't forget a plastic horse. Even if I can't remember the name of the brand/model, I always remember the model itself, and I can usually track down the post/site/catalog where I saw it.

If I haven't seen a horse before, I can usually narrow it down to a few brands by appearance alone. Like, there's only a few companies that do semi-realistic figures of high-quality plastic with multilayered paint jobs and are prolific enough to show up at regular toy stores. If I figure fits those criteria it's usually either Schleich, Mojo, Papo, CollectA, or Safari. There's other brands that make really high quality figures, like Bullyland and Chap Mei, but you rarely find those at stores - at least not outside of Europe.

All brands also have certain stylistic traits that are hard to put into words. Like, a Chap Mei draft horse just has a different vibe than a Mojo draft horse, even if I can't really put my finger on why.

idk, it's just a skill you pick up gradually, like bird or mushroom identification. My brain latched onto plastic horses instead of something useful, like botany, but it's all the same skill. The human brain has crazy pattern recognition skills (i.e. "I can't tell you why but I just know these things are different/similar") and spatial memory (i.e. "where did I see that thing again?"), and when you combine that with toy collecting and horsetism you get this.

[taetebebe]

AFTER THE ENCORE

Pairing: idol!Sunoo x fan!reader

Synopsis: He had the whole world watching. Still, he looked for you.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Ask:

Author’s Note: BIRTHDAY SPECIAL FOR SUNSHINE SUNOO <333 Anonnie, hopefully this is what you were looking for :) My longest fic yet! - I feel bad for Y/N cuz if it were me staying in something unlabelled for even two days I would run away. This is fic delusional stuff so pls remember this is just fiction <3

Enhypen Bookshelf [[]

The café you always came to after class was barely marked from the outside. Just a faded green awning and an old wooden sign that said “Rest”. It was quiet, the kind of place no one went to unless they meant to stay awhile. You came for the warm tea and solitude, for the cracked windows that made the sunlight look softer, like a film still.

He always arrived after 6 p.m. Sharp. Always with the same Iced Americano with syrup order, always with a black hoodie pulled over his head and a mask over the bottom half of his face. He sat in the back corner, behind a low bookshelf of forgotten novels, where the light didn’t quite reach. He rarely took out his phone. Sometimes he brought a book. Mostly, he just… sat.

You knew who he was the first time you saw him. You’d recognise that kind of presence anywhere. Kim Sunoo. One-seventh of the group that had gotten you through some of your hardest nights. The boy with the soft voice and eyes that smiled before his mouth ever did.

But you said nothing.

Not on the first day. Not the second. Not the seventh.

You figured he came here for the same reason you did—because it felt like the only place in the city that didn’t expect anything of you. And you weren’t about to ruin that.

The first week passed that way.

The second week, he left a napkin behind. Not a mistake—you could tell by how it was folded. Neatly. With care.

You found it after he left. A line written in a looping hand:

“Some silences feel like company.”

You didn’t know what it meant exactly. But you started arriving earlier. Just to be there when he came in.

You were already a fan. You knew his name, his face, his laugh—the curated versions. You’d streamed every title track, watched fancams when you couldn’t sleep. But none of that felt relevant here. Because this wasn’t him on a stage. This was someone sitting in his own silence, drinking tea, looking out a window like he was waiting for the sky to say something worth hearing.

He never approached you. But one day, when your bag tipped over and your notes scattered across the floor, he got up. Quietly. Helped you gather them with both hands.

You looked up, said, “Thank you,” and saw that his mask had slipped below his chin.

And maybe he saw something in your expression—recognition, yes, but not desperation. Not the giddy kind of awe that made people chase him.

He just nodded.

The next time, he sat one seat closer.

You didn’t know when it changed. Maybe it was the day you accidentally dropped your pencil and it rolled all the way to his table. Maybe it was the day he nodded at you as he left, and you caught the faintest flicker of a real smile in return.

Maybe it was the notebook.

He forgot it one day, left under the edge of his chair. You found it hours later, when the barista was sweeping up and muttered something about throwing it out if no one claimed it.

You shouldn’t have opened it.

But you did.

The pages weren’t linear—some were blank, others filled with lyrics half-scribbled, margins filled with doodles. A page near the back had a sketch of a stage drawn in a single pen line. Empty. Curtains down. Underneath, in barely-there handwriting, it read:

“Would anyone know me if I stopped singing?”

You closed the book with shaking hands.

The next day, you brought it back.

He was already sitting in the corner, drink in hand. You walked over before you could second-guess yourself.

“This is yours,” you said, placing it down on the table. “I didn’t read much. Just enough to know it’s important.”

He looked at the notebook, then up at you.

Then he nodded. “Thank you.”

No mask today. No hoodie.

You expected your heart to race, but it didn’t. Not in the way it had when you watched fancams or comeback trailers. This felt different. Quieter. Realer.

He was the one who started talking.

“I always wanted to go to university,” he said, unprompted.

You blinked. “What would you have studied?”

“Literature. Maybe philosophy. Something useless but beautiful.”

You laughed, caught off guard. “I’m literally doing that right now.”

He smiled, and it was small but real.

“Then maybe I’m here for extra credit.”

You got to know each other sideways. Not through long conversations, but through exchanges left in books, scribbled on napkins, underlined pages from secondhand poetry collections.

He told you he missed autumns. “They go by too fast when your schedule is set six months in advance.”

You told him about your habit of walking slowly in autumn, dragging your feet just to pretend time was on your side.

He said he envied that. Not in a glamorous way, but like someone admitting they miss being a person more than being a presence.

You said, “You still are one. Even when you’re quiet.”

He looked at you.

It was slow.

Not romance. Just comfort. Just something solid and safe.

You learned little things first. That he liked sunshowers. That he loved to take selfies but hated having to post them too often. That he once spilled hot coffee on a very famous producer and didn’t speak for a whole day out of embarrassment.

He learned about you, too. That you liked folding laundry while watching nature documentaries. That you preferred used books to new ones. That you kept a lucky charm on your bag—a small, plastic token from a limited photocard set.

“Who is it?” he asked, half teasing.

You looked at the charm, then at him. “It’s you.”

He blinked.

“But not because it’s cute or anything,” you added quickly. “Well, it is. But I kept it because it was the only one where you looked… tired. Not like, bad tired. Just… real. I don’t know. It looked like someone had caught you in a moment before you put on the idol smile.”

He stared at you for a long time.

“That’s my least favorite one,” he said.

“I figured.”

A pause.

“Mine,” he added quietly.

But you weren’t just there for him. He learned things about you too. Not just what you studied, but how your voice dropped when you talked about your silence, or how you always ordered chamomile but almost always left it untouched—“I just like how it smells more than how it tastes.”

You told him you had this fear—not of being alone, but of being half-understood. That people only ever liked the parts of you that didn’t ask too much.

And he didn’t rush to comfort you. He just said:

“I get that. I’ve lived entire years only being loved for the loudest parts of me.”

Then he added, quieter, “But I think I like your quiet parts best.”

There were rules—ones you never said aloud, but both understood. You never took photos. You never posted vague stories with his sleeve barely visible in the corner. You didn’t go to fansigns or message him online. He didn’t ask for your number. You didn’t ask for his schedule. The café was the only place you existed together. 

But the world didn’t always let you stay inside your boundaries.

It wasn’t love.

It was something more dangerous: recognition.

A mutual understanding that felt too rare to name. A conversation that continued without words.

You started to feel it more in what wasn’t said.

When he touched your wrist just to pass you a sugar packet and left his hand there half a second too long. When you wrote a line in your notebook and caught him trying to read it upside down. When he didn’t show up for a week, and you still came every day, just in case. When he finally returned and said, “I had a rough week,” and you said, “Do you want to sit in silence or in story?”And he said, “With you is fine.”

After that, something shifted. Just slightly.

He started walking you to the bus stop after the café closed. Started sending little sketches to you via folded notes left behind in the bookshelves. One day, he left you a list titled:

Things I Never Got To Do (But Might Want To Someday) 1. Enroll in a literature class. 2. Study on a college lawn. 3. Write a poem without worrying about its rhythm. 4. Hold someone’s hand without looking over my shoulder. 5. Be called by my name, not my stage one.

You added your own underneath.

Things You Still Can: 1. Ask me what we’re reading in class this week. 2. Sit with me on the grass outside the uni library. 3. Write a bad poem and read it only to me. 4. Hold my hand. Here. Now. 5. Sunwoo. That’s your name.

When he saw your reply, he folded the paper gently, like it was made of glass.

Then he reached out.

His hand, warm and hesitant, found yours across the table.

No cameras. No noise. Just two people and a connection that neither of you had planned for.

He told you once that he couldn’t write when he was happy.

You tilted your head. “That’s sad.”

“It’s not. It’s just… when I’m happy, I’m living it. I don’t need to document it to prove it existed.”

You reached for your cup, then said, “So what would you write about this?”

“This?”

You nodded.

He looked down at the steam rising between you.

Then he said, “This feels like the part of the story no one sees. The chapter before the climax, when everything is still soft and possible.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you said nothing.

But he reached for your hand under the table. And you let him.

The first time he cried in front of you, it wasn’t because of work.

It was because you read him something you’d written.

Just a short paragraph. A memory of your mother braiding your hair in silence the day you left home. The way you knew she loved you but didn’t know how to say it without her hands.

Sunoo blinked and asked, “Do you ever write about now?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I usually wait until the feeling’s over. It’s too hard to put something into words while it’s still happening.”

He nodded.

Then looked at you with a softness that felt like apology.

“Then maybe I’ll be the one to remember it. In case you forget.”

You never told anyone.

You didn’t need to.

He still went back to his world. To stages and studios, to photoshoots and rehearsals. But now, there was a place in his life that existed without flashbulbs.

And every time he walked into the café, past the cracked window and the worn couches, he found you—book open, tea cooling, eyes meeting his like you’d been waiting all along.

You knew what this was. What it wasn’t.

There were no labels. No promises. No declarations. He didn’t call you after shows. You didn’t ask for updates. You were just two people orbiting the same quiet place.

And yet.

When he pressed his forehead against yours one cold evening, on the walk home from the café, and whispered, “I think I know who I am when I’m with you,” you felt your heart ache in a way that didn’t need to be spoken.

You whispered back, “Then stay. Just a little longer.”

And he did.

He always did.

It wasn’t love the way people wrote it in songs. It was quieter. Like a window you didn’t know was open until the breeze changed the room.

That winter, you stopped trying to explain him to yourself. Stopped trying to define what it meant when he leaned his head on your shoulder. Or when he said things like:

“Some days, I want to be ordinary. And the only person I want to tell that to is you.”

It wasn’t fantasy anymore. It was two people folding their sadness into the same space and calling it comfort.

Sometimes you wondered what this would look like to someone else.

If they knew who he was. If they knew who you weren’t.

You were not famous. Not dazzling. Not part of his story in any official way.

You were just there. At 6:05 p.m. In the café with the crooked window and the soft chair.

And still—he always looked for you first.

He started bringing a camera.

Not for vlogs. Not for social media.

Just a small film camera. Cheap. Disposable. It was barely working. You teased him about it.

“You’re literally sponsored by tech brands. Why this?”

He shrugged. “This doesn’t try to correct things. If the light is off, it stays off. If it’s blurry, it stays blurry. No filters. No smoothing. Just memory.”

“Are you making memories now?”

He smiled faintly. “I think I’m learning how.”

Later, he gave you one of the developed photos. It was a picture of your hand on a book. A smudge of sunlight on your wrist. Nothing obvious. Nothing staged.

He had written on the back:

Not performing. Still perfect.

You kept it tucked inside your journal, folded soft between pages about all the things you never thought you’d be brave enough to feel.

One day, as spring began, he walked you to the university campus.

He wore a hat, glasses, kept his head low. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart. But he insisted.

“I want to know what it’s like,” he said. “To sit in the grass and not have anyone waiting on me.”

You bought two iced teas. You sat under a jacaranda tree. He took off his hat.

There were people around. But no one looked. And even if they did, he didn’t seem to care.

He looked at you instead.

The wind lifted a piece of your hair. He tucked it behind your ear without asking.

Then he said:

“If I met you before I debuted, I think I’d have fallen in love with you in a classroom.”

“And now?”

His gaze softened. “Now I’m just falling in love with you wherever I can.”

The words weren’t heavy. They didn’t need to be. Because by then, you already knew.

Not from what he said. But how he started memorizing your favorite poems. How he asked about your essays and remembered which ones made you cry. How he once missed a party with famous people just to sit next to you while you pressed flowers into a book and didn’t say a word for an hour.

That’s what it became: not loud love. Not scripted affection.

But showing up.

Again and again and again.

With a paper flower he made during a variety shoot. With a candy from Japan he saved in his pocket. With a napkin with a scribbled quote from a poem he read on a plane.

Two years later, things changed.

You graduated. He went on tour. Again.

The café closed down for much needed renovations.

You didn’t see each other for 47 days.

He texted. Sometimes late, sometimes rushed. You never asked for more than what he could give.

—he came back.

Not to the café. Not to the city.

To you.

He waited outside your new apartment, hood up, holding chamomile tea with one hand and a book in the other.

You opened the door, stunned.

He didn’t say hello.

He just handed you the book.

Inside: Letters to a Young Poet. The same one he had given you the year before.

Except this time, he’d underlined passages. Dog-eared pages. Written in the margins.

“There’s a note inside,” he added, then cleared his throat. “If you want to read it later.”

You found it on the title page. His handwriting, neat and hesitant.

I know I can’t give you normal. But I hope I can still give you something real.  If I’d gone to university, I think I’d want to sit beside you. I think I’d want to ask you what you were scribbling in your margins. I think I still do. —S.

Another corner was bookmarked.

You flipped to it. The qoute read.

“I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.”

He had written beneath it:

You know. You always did.

You looked up. He looked nervous.

“I have to leave again next week,” he said quietly. “But… I wanted you to know that I still come back here. To this. To us. Even when I’m far.”

You swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to,” he said. “Because I think this is the truest thing I have.”

As you went to put the book away something slipped out.

A ticket.

Your name written neatly on the back.

Your seat was far from the stage—nosebleed section, middle row. But it was his concert. His first solo stage on the tour.

“I won’t ask you to come,” he had said softly. “I don’t want to bring that part of me into this if you’re not ready.”

“I want to come,” you said before he could finish.

You watched him sing to a crowd of thousands that night, all of them screaming his name.

But when the final ballad played, soft and aching, and the camera zoomed in on his face, you knew.

He was looking past the lights, past the sea of phones, to where you sat.

His voice cracked just slightly during the second verse.

You felt it in your chest like something tender being unwrapped.

After the concert, you didn’t wait for him outside.

You didn’t send a message. You just walked to the café site, like always, and stood outside.

He arrived an hour later—hair still slightly damp from the stage, hands buried in his coat pockets. He looked exhausted. He looked alive.

“I cried,” you said simply, as he stopped beside you.

He laughed, voice hoarse. “Me too.”

Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled, sweat-damp paper.

It was the setlist.

At the bottom, one song was circled: "After The Encore" Next to it: “For her.”

Your breath caught.

“That’s not its real title,” he admitted. “I renamed it. Just for tonight.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

And he let it stay there.

The café opened again a month later.

New chairs, new paint, new name. But the same window. The same light.

You found your seat again. Back corner. One cracked tile left untouched beneath the table, like a secret the renovations had kindly decided not to erase.

He arrived a few minutes late. No mask, no hoodie. Just him.

He placed a small box on the table between you.

Inside: A key. A photo. And a folded piece of paper.

You opened the photo first.

It was the two of you—not posed, not planned. Just a reflection caught in the café window. Your head on his shoulder. His eyes on you.

You smiled.

Then unfolded the paper.

You once said you wait until feelings are over before you write about them. I guess I’m writing this because I don’t want this to ever be over. Come home with me. Or let me come home to you. Whatever we call this— let’s keep writing it. No ending. Just more.

You looked up.

And for the first time, he didn’t look like someone who belonged to the world.

He looked like someone who had chosen a single place to stay.

You didn’t say yes.

You just took his hand.

And stayed.

© taetebebe 2025

[tteokshifts]

So... do you want to know more about that charismatic goth singer?

Persephone, the emerging artist !

British singer, songwriter and dancer Claire Jonesy, currently known by her stage name "Persephone and The Vampires," rose to prominence and gained artistic recognition when she became popular on apps like TikTok and Instagram for her unique performances and dark, danceable gothic sounds. Persephone has a graceful, fun and, properly, gothic way of expressing songs like "Sick of Love," "Blood Moon" and "Wax Castle"; it was through dancing that she won over her audience even more. Currently, her sound spans genres such as Death Rock, Post-punk, Dark and New Wave, which is similar to the sound of the same in the 80s/90s — her biggest inspirations, in fact, are Siouxie and The Banshees, The Cure, Bauhaus, Christian Death and Malice Mizer.

Persephone is very perfectionist and serious about her performances. She wears stage costumes that match each of her eras: In her first album, "Your Fallen Angel", she started wearing angel costumes, with eyes and a halo, but, until the end of the shows of this era, she wore fallen angel costumes, with black feathers and a darker look, marking the transformation and change, the main theme of this album. The same happened with the "A(r)mor" era: the beginning marked by her wearing closed knight's armor, but at the end ending with a white dress with only a few pieces of armor, representing freedom.

Her way of expressing herself is hypnotizing, as is her vampire smile — Persephone has naturally long canines, just like a vampire's; which made her fans start calling her "Mother Vamp" and, consequently, creating "Little Vamps" as the name of the fandom. Because of this, people started comparing her to a vampire, or even a witch, due to her intriguing and beautiful nature.

Off stage, Persephone is very charismatic and close to her fans; it is common to see her interacting directly with them on the streets of London. Persephone also shares photos with them and fanarts made by them on the Internet; according to her, her fans are like her friends and family: she loves to be close to them as much as possible.

In addition to her fans, her band is also her family. Persephone is a solo singer, but she always emphasizes the importance and talent of her band, which is made up of five incredible members. She says, whenever possible, that she does not work alone and that they are a team. The band is also much talked about on the Internet for participating in her performances and having a chemistry (on stage? real?) with the singer. It is notoriously common to see her interacting with the members on stage, making them smile and highlighting their talents.

Persephone's fashion sense also draws a lot of attention; she mixes plaid, lace, berets, gloves, colorful colors with the traditional gothic black; the singer is inspired by brands like "Vivienne Westwood" and "Moschino," and never appears badly dressed, whether at events or not, being constantly praised on the internet for this.

Persephone is also a very versatile singer, capable of winning over many celebrities, whether they are in the rock world or not. Persephone has feats with Aurora and Chappell Roan, and some collaborations with Hozier. These are just a few partnerships mentioned.

She is also present in film and series soundtracks: "My Dark Side," from her second album, is present in the soundtrack of the new film "Nosferatu," while the song "Frankenstein" was written by her only for the film "Lisa Frankenstein." In addition, it is quite common to hear "Sick of Love" playing in some current Netflix series.

Persephone (and her vampires) is working on the next album of her career for the end of 2025, where all that is known so far is that it will be themed around "Alice in Wonderland" — spoiler said by herself.

hehe thanks @shifterin for the post suggestion :) i was inspired by your wonderful intros! <333

[angelknives]

LADS fandom stop harassing people pointing out the bloody obvious - challenge impossible

Do you really think Sylus' VA didn't realise he was revealing himself by making that post saying he is voicing Hugo Vlad?

People knew the two characters were voiced by the same man since the very first appearance of the character. And they also already named him then, because he has been in other projects as well, and now he's confirmed it.

There is no way in hell that man didn't realise he was revealing himself as Sylus' VA by revealing himself as Hugo Vlad:

a. ZZZ is NOT a small little indie game no one pays attention to

b. speculation was everywhere already

c. these two HUGE gacha games will inevitably have a lot of overlap in players.

So seeing LADS fans harass people on twitter who point out the bloody obvious is insane behaviour.

If he'd wanted to stay anonymous, he wouldn't have revealed his role as Hugo Vlad, because there is no way in hell he didn't know people realised Hugo and Sylus are voiced by the same man.

And the faux concern about any of the VA being replaced the second people figure out who they are... come one now. The inciddent you're all referring to was brought on by a political statement by the VA (which is disgusting behaviour by the company but that's not the point here), NOT because people knew their name. Now I'm sure if Sylus' VA comes out and says he is Sylus, he could be in trouble. BUT he won't be in trouble just because people aren't deaf and can tell when they hear the same voice voice another character.

And hell, I get why he'd reveal himself as Hugo, not even because getting fan recognition of his work as Hugo must be nice, but because it's kinda difficult to built your career when your biggest role has to stay anonymous.

(If knowing who the guy behind the voice is ruins the game for you, well, that's on you. No one should have to cater their behaviour to keep your delulu in tact.)

I just hope people can stop being all self-rightous when going after people just saying they love the dude's work ON HIS OWN THREAD, simply because they need to have a target to inflict their misary on.

[cycat-carisi]

Invisible

Pairing: Steve Harrington x shy!reader

Summary: A longing to be noticed finally fulfilled.

Tags/warnings: mention of partying, Steve finally went to college, shy MC, no use y/n, angst with a sprinkle of hope

Words: 922

A/N: This one's dedicated to all the peeps out there who have ever felt invisible. For those who others disregard just because they're not outgoing. You will the center of the universe for the right person <3

Also, this one was sitting in my drafts so I decided to throw it out there into the interwebs. It's a short little idea I had one day and is the original start to a different fic idea I had. That one is still in the drafts though lol.

Fic below the cut or on AO3

He was just a boy at the opposite end of a dark room. A sea of people between you. Never knowing you existed. With perfectly styled hair and a charming smile, he drew others in like a magnet. Solo cup in hand, he engaged with everyone around him. So many faces, how could he possibly have known them all?

But he is Steve Harrington. Everyone knew him and wanted to bask in his aura, even for just a moment. It was as though his mere presence would elevate theirs in the social circles of Hawkins High.

That is, except for you. You were always the shy one that flew under the radar. The one who no one knew until they would lean over, whispering for answers during class. And out of politeness, and perhaps a hidden longing, you would always concede.

Maybe that was what you were hoping for that night too. Some piece of recognition, however small. Acceptance from the popular boy and his friends. Yet, invisibility was once again your only identity, having failed to be noticed amongst the fray.

And then years passed, high school a mere checkpoint along your path to success. You often fantasized that the popular crowd now spent their days floundering in academics that they wished they had paid attention to in high school.

You sometimes even imagined Steve Harrington, with his perfect hair and charming smile, lost in a crowd of college students who don’t really care who he is. The same as you had felt during all those years of high school. A revenge of sorts for the unrequited crush you harbored for a boy who didn’t even know your name.

Fantasies, however, sometimes have a way of becoming reality.

You don’t know why you had agreed to come to this awful dorm party, with its drunken crowds and loud music. But perhaps a craving for a sense of belonging you still had not achieved was an underlying, driving force. Yet, just like during your Hawkins High days, the house party was filled with gorgeous cheerleaders and handsome jocks, each flaunting their money and popularity to one another, with you still very much out of place.

Except, as you look across the dark room, with a sea of people between you, you notice a familiar face. Perfectly styled hair is still his signature feature, but the charming smile he once wore is now tired and sad. People flow around him, like a boulder in a stream. He is no longer a magnetic force. And, while you should feel vindicated that Hawkins’ hotshot no longer sits atop a pedestal, your stomach instead twists with sympathy.

Lost in your thoughts, that is when his gaze finds yours. A flicker of recognition ignites in his eyes. A slight pinch of a smile edges the corner of his mouth. And then he’s moving. The crowd seemingly falls away as you realize that Steve Harrington is making his way over to you.

Perfect hair, honey eyes, and the overwhelming scent of his expensive aftershave confront your senses.

“Hi,” he mouths through the pulsing bass of a nearby stereo.

You take in his smart blazer and slick jeans, trying to bring yourself back to reality. Surely, he must only recognize your face from his senior yearbook.

“Hi,” you utter timidly in return.

Then, he speaks your name.

It takes you by surprise.

You have never spoken to him beyond necessary classroom interactions or when he, too, would lean over to ask you for answers.

“I always knew you’d end up in college,” he compliments when you only respond with a nod. “I never thanked you for all those times you helped me out in class, but I hope you know that I appreciated it even if I didn’t seem grateful at the time.”

Hawkins’ most popular boy knows your name and remembers you well enough to thank you for something as insignificant as homework answers given years ago.

Shock still paralyzes your system.

You watch his kind eyes blink once, twice, waiting for you to respond.

“You know my name?” is all you manage.

The boy’s brows knit with confusion. He nods affirmatively. “Yeah,” he speaks gently, despite the deafening music. “I’m Steve. Steve Harrington,” he adds innocently as if you genuinely wouldn’t remember him. “We went to Hawkins High together.”

“I—I know who you are; I just didn’t think you would remember me.”

Hurt flashes across Steve’s face. There is a disappointment embedded in his features that existed long before this moment.

He glances at the ground. “I’m sorry.” His words hold the weight of a thousand years. “I know I was a colossal jerk in high school, but a lot has changed since. And despite how I acted, I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t exist.”

The smooth words and cocky demeanor that Steve had back in Hawkins simply aren’t there. That persona has been replaced by someone who carries a heavy burden in their heart and their mind.

“Do you think we could start over?” Those honey irises flick up towards yours once again.

Your stomach lurches, an old flame reignited.

Despite the past, despite the logical reasoning of your brain, you finally allow yourself to smile. “Yeah,” you speak, almost in a whisper. “I’d like that.”

The boy with the perfect hair and charming smile is now back in front of you, except this time you are no longer invisible. This time, as he offers you his hand, you are seen.

Fin

Feedback is loved ♥

[adyathevar]

The grin on his face now matches hers as she takes the stickers. "Well, I'll have you know they're not just going into my pocket but there's quite a few patients I know and Doctor's, EMT's, all the like, that'll LOVE these. I'll make sure more than just me comes back." As they stuff them into their purse ( gently, of course, to make sure to keep them in the best condition as possible ), they continue. "I can be easily bribed so just know that I'll also be writing a Google review of the library. What's your name? Just so I can make sure you get recognition." Nodding along to the recommendations as they're written down, Adya notes that his handwriting is nice too. Something not often seen in her line of work. Taking the book, she inspects it as she talks again. "I read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. But the movie was much funnier and better done than the book. I grew up with the movie Bride and Prejudice and was awfully disappointed that when I was old enough to read the book and understand it, it wasn't the exact same. I don't think anything'll beat this concept of Austen's, quite honestly. There's a reason it's a classic that so many people adore and imitate. Why there's so many variations of it. Did you ever watch the Lizzie Bennet Diaries on Youtube?"

Oliver watched with a grin. At the offer of ten dollars, he shook his head laughing. “If you want it, it’s yours,” he said. “Really!” He laughed a bit more. He pulled out another box to look for the one he wanted. “Consider it a gift. And a bribe to come back and visit the library this summer,” he grinned more. “We manage, but that is also why we love it when people come back.” He nodded, listening to them describe the type of book they wanted. “It’s hard to reach the tier Evelyn Hugo was in,” he agreed. “But if you want something with those themes, I’ve got a few to choose from…” he said, picking up his clipboard and jotting down a few notes, before grabbing one of the books towards the back of the table. “Pride and Prejudice is my favorite Jane Austen novel,” he smiled. “This one is a bit of a twist of that story. There are a lot more similar ones in that sort of realm of things,” he nodded, handing her a book. “Most Ardently. Pride and Prejudice sort of retold.”

[azulhamsandwich]

another lux in yet another universe

[i-may-be-an-emu]

The British Comedy Guide sfth page really is. Something. Not much sure- but it exists, I guess. (/lh)

“Shoot from the hip are a group.” Ok 😭

[regretismyconstantcompanion]

Albus watched as Harry finally lowered his wand—though notably, he did not stow it away. Sensible, Albus thought. The kind of caution born not from paranoia, but from surviving things that should not have been survived. There was something in the boys stance—wary, edged with grief—that reminded him not of students, but of soldiers.

His eyes followed Harrys to the silvery phoenix still circling above them, before it dissolved into motes of light and vanished into the mist. Even now, even after all these years, Albus found something arresting in that image. Fawkes never ceased to surprise him.

But it was Harrys next words that made Albus truly pause.

“He has come to my aid too, more times than I can mention. Both by this,” Harry said, gesturing to his wand, “and in his own person. He healed me with his tears once, when by all counts, I should have died. And just tonight, I witnessed him take the killing curse for you.”

Albus stood very still. That Fawkes had aided another, this boy was intriguing. That he had done so through a given tail feather as a wand core was unexpected. He had saved this boys life, and the life of a future Albus Dumbledore, struck deeper than he could immediately express.

The Killing Curse. Taken for him. And in the same breath, Harry named it so casually, so clearly—not as theory, but lived fact. Albus couldn’t stop the ripple of shock that moved through him, tempered quickly by something far deeper: awe. And unease. Fawkes had saved him—this future version of himself. It was not the only time the Phoenix had saved his life and clearly, it wouldn't be the last.

He let out a breath, quiet but not uncertain, and offered a nod, both in recognition of Harrys words and of the weight behind them.

“I confess,” Albus said after a moment, voice quiet but sincere, “He has already saved me in the past but to know that he is still with me in the future, saving my life, means a great deal. He is… steadfast, in his own way. Fiercely loyal. And to know his feather is in your wand...” A startling discovery and he wondered if that spoke volumes about just how important this boy was to his future self.

Harrys next words, practical and unnervingly sharp, caught him off guard.

“How do you know I’m in your time? You mentioned you’d just arrived here yourself.”

Albus blinked. Not in confusion, but in dawning realisation. The boy was right. He had assumed this was his present. But what proof had he, truly? The possibility unsettled him, though he did not show it.

“I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “But you’re right to ask. If this were your time… and I were the one displaced forward, then yes—there would be two of me. And that would be… dangerous.”

Albus tilted his head slightly, thoughtful as he studied Harrys expression—the flickers of doubt still tucked behind his guarded eyes. The boy hadn’t dismissed the idea entirely, but neither had he accepted it. Understandably so. Time travel was never neat. Rarely kind. And as it seemed this time, unintentional.

He turned slightly, casting a glance back at the castle, its towers silver-washed in moonlight.

“For me,” he said slowly, “the castle looks exactly as it did when I left it several weeks ago. I’ve been travelling between here and Paris—working with an old friend on matters of… complex magic.” He let that rest for a moment before turning his gaze back to Harry.

“But you—if you have travelled through time—then the castle might look different to you. Subtly, perhaps. Architecture changes slowly, but it does change. Statues are moved. Paintings replaced. Charms fade or shift. Even the shape of the trees can speak to the years.”

He studied Harrys face.

“Do you notice anything out of place? Anything that doesn’t belong to your Hogwarts?”

Harry x Albus D. Time Travel AU.

@regretismyconstantcompanion

( September 1st, 1910)

The very first thing which Harry Potter became aware of, was the deep seated, open wound that was grief. Even behind closed eyes, the image of Sirius' still laughing face flashed within his mind, as the man fell back through the archway. Harry felt as though his heart had been squeezed within a fire-clad grasp. He wasn't sure he would ever be happy again.

The next thing Harry noticed, was that he was lying down. Which was strange, as aside from the death of his Godfather, the last thing he remembered was being sent via Portkey to Professor Dumbledore's office, with the promise of a long awaited explanation from said Headmaster. Instead, he could feel a prickle beneath his hands, as they flexed against what he realised had to be grass. He was outside. And judging by the lack of light trying to assault his eyes as he opened them, it was sometime after nightfall. He groaned as he inched his head to look to his left, blinking groggily until his vision cleared and he could make out the fringe of what he thought was the Forbidden Forest. At least it appeared he hadn't gone too far from his destination.

Forcing himself up into a sitting position, Harry looked more properly at his surroundings. He was facing towards Hogsmeade, which he could see lit up in the short distance. Leaning on a hand, he twisted his body so that he could look over his shoulder. And sure enough, there was Hogwarts Castle, standing magnificently within her vast grounds.

Something about the castle seemed amiss from where Harry sat, but things always did look eerie in the light of the moon, so he didn't pay too much attention to the disquiet forming in his gut.

Instead, he got to his feet, stumbling a little from the effects of the Portkey. He hasn't felt this unsteady since the summer before last, when he had first been introduced to the concept. Once he was sure he wasn't about to trip over his feet, Harry crossed to the gravel and started his way up the path towards his school.

He wasn't sure what had happened to the Portkey, but he was certain Dumbledore would have some kind of explanation. He usually did after all.

[radiomogai]

Yes on archiving from rq/archiving rq stuff, as long as there's tags like "made by a rq" or "rq term" so people can filter it out if they don't want to interact with rqs!

A 'radqueer term' tag likely wouldn't be implemented (see our previous confusion over what exactly that phrase means), but a 'made by radqueer' term is very doable! I like that phrasing of it as well. It's clear what the tag means, the tag is not judgemental in its wording (whatever our own opinions are on any particular discourse or discussion, we do try to give off neutrality on this blog, in part because we want to try and maintain some level of professionalism and in part because we do not exactly enjoy starting fights or insulting people), and it should be easy enough for us to remember and type quickly.

I do suspect it's possible that we would at times miss the tag when it isn't obvious from the post, URL, or avatar what someone's stances and/or community affiliations are, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem. People can always send us in asks if we forget a tag or mistag something like they do now, and I'm sure that eventually we would start getting to know the different coining blogs on that side of the pond like we already do the blogs closer to our circles.

Thank you as well for giving input!

[amidnightqueery]

I don't hate my job or anything, but man, being a float educator is so fucking thankless

[astralprisms]

Was wondering why this particular gith face always feels like it suits baldness best and then I realized it IS in fact Orpheus' face model, Orph just has different unique ears.

Anyway welcome back, dreadwolf.

[cowboyskeletons]

nicky and willscam should be besties

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

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

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

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

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

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

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

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

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

Allison:

bitch 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah… that you knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

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

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither.”

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

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

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

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

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

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

(But you aren’t.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck had just happened?

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

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

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

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

Your savior complex strikes again!

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

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

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

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

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

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

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

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

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

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

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

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

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

You could die at peace.

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

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

“Now why would you think that?”

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

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

“You don’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I give you some space?”

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

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

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

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

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

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

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

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

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful.”

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

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

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

“Get your hands off her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

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

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

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

“I don’t have a phone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

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

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

“Right here? On the counter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“L-logan–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who had given him a damn script for this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

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

[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 💕