#(Hasn’t outlined the paper)

[sandycookie]

I want to write, but life throws annoying assignments at meeeeeeee

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[symbiomancy]

be aware wolf —werewolf

—summary: you venture into the woods to hunt for werewolves | 1.5k | AO3 | monster masterlist

—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, p in v sex, knotting, creampie, stomach bulge, mounting, outdoor sex, implied voyeurism

It’s a simple cycle. Enter the woods. Keep the local werewolf population under control. Retrieve any animal carcasses you come across in the woods. Make pelts out of said carcasses. Keep them or sell them. Receive payment from the town for your hard work. Pack your things and find the next town with a werewolf problem.

There are quite a few steps, but it’s a simple, straightforward cycle.

You sling your shotgun onto your back and place a hand onto the handgun at your hip. Your other hand rests on the belt of silver bullets around your hips. The ground is dry and this place hasn’t seen rain in weeks. There are no tracks to go off so you settle for scouting tufts of fur.

Something catches in the corner of your eye as you step around a grand oak.

You whip your head to the side and meet the pair of yellow eyes from the distance. It’s late August, and the blessing of the summer solstice only lasts so long. The sun is long gone and the full moon has crested. Darkness creeps around you, the tall trees shielding you from the moon’s glow. A cool breeze caresses your bare arms. You can just about make out the creature’s outline in the shadows. It’s large, maybe about 6 feet tall.

Slowly, you slip the shotgun from your shoulder and raise the barrel in the wolf’s direction. You whistle.

“Here boy,” you call. The pair of eyes blink at you languidly. “C’mere. I got treats for ya.” Indeed, you do; an opened pack of beef jerky in your back pocket. “C’mon, I have a whole pack of you to hunt tonight and I like to be efficient with my time.”

The werewolf rises onto its hind legs. Oh, great, you think, there’s different species in the same genus for these fucks. Perhaps 8 feet tall is more accurate.

You adjust your hold and cock the shotgun.

The werewolf is gone in a blink.

Your pulse picks up and you whirl on your heel, shotgun still raised. These things are fast, always are but they’re also big. How hard is it to shoot one?

The sound of a branch breaking has you whirling around, finger on the trigger to take the shot —

A claw strikes out at you and catches on your belt, ripping it like it’s paper. Your belt and the bullets in their holster disappear from your waist, your pants ripped and a superficial gash in your hip. You lose your footing on a protruding root and fall onto your back, barely keeping your head from slamming against a thick root.

The werewolf drops onto all fours legs, standing over you, its front paws planted on either side of your head. Its warm breath fans against your face, your arms. Its teeth are bared. Saliva dribbles from its maw.

You spare a glance away from its face to assess your situation — maybe there’s a way to roll out from underneath it and scramble towards your shotgun, wherever it landed. Instead, you find yourself staring at its bulbous member, fully erect. It’s long and thick, precum glistening on its tip. You look away, heat flooding to your cheeks and cunt. In your defense, it looked at you first.

You slowly draw your foot back and strike out, hit the beast’s hind leg. It howls in pain and you scramble out from underneath it, roll onto your stomach and stumble upright. Your shotgun is just a few steps to the right.

A heavy weight slams into you from behind and sends you onto the ground. Your jaw collides with the ground and your teeth snap together. You groan, rest your weight on one elbow and place your free hand against your jaw, pressing against the sore muscles. Hot breath fans the back of your exposed neck and something heavy and slick presses against the flesh of your hip. U kick again and scramble forward, your gun just about in reach. Claws swipe at ur body, snag on your shirt and tatter ur barely intact pants.

The cool night air hits your throbbing cunt. You try to ignore it, want to ignore it so bad, to finish the job and go take care of yourself — the werewolf shoves its fanged snout against the back of your neck. You still, heart leaping in your chest. Its heavy member rests on the swell of your ass, hips rocking back and forth, shallow thrusts as if it’s looking for a warm hole. Your pussy clenches at the thought.

It finds that warm hole, pressing its cock against your entrance, just barely breaching it, and you groan. It’s not going to fit but damned if the beast won’t try to make it fit. Maybe it will fit. The wolf grabs your waist — fuck, it’s hand is big enough to nearly wrap around your entire torso — and jerks its hips forward. You gasp as it pushes in all at once, filling you so completely, so deliciously that you nearly see stars. It’s so big and thick, you swear you can feel every vein and ridge of it.

The wolf snarls, beads of saliva dripping onto the back of your neck and thrusts forward shallowly. You struggle onto your knees. It pulls out shallowly and thrusts back in until the bulb at the bottom of its shaft nudges against your pussy.

Heat pools in your stomach as the werewolf drags its cock in and out of your hot cunt. The ridges and veins of his cock feel like bliss, have you gasping for air. Its furry hips connect with yours, the sound of your bodies colliding muffled by his coat. But you’re so wet, every thrust into your sopping cunt is nothing but a wet squelch. It thrusts in without resistance, going in all the way and pulling out with ease. It pushes so deep into you, drags against your walls like nobody ever has. Your thighs are wet, almost shaking at the strain of holding yourself up on all fours.

Your hand slips out from underneath you and your shoulder collides with the ground. The werewolf presses forward — it mounts you, places a clawed hand next to your head for balance and drives in with newfound vigor. The tip of its cock hit so deep in you that you nearly see stars, try to blabber something, something incoherent between ‘no’ and ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘please please please please’. The wolf pistons in and out of our shopping cunt. Its tongue lolls out of its mouth, slobbers onto the back of your neck. The bulb at his crotch nudges against our opening with every thrust and dives slightly in each time. It’s wide and big and you gasp a pitiful sound when it slips into you with a painful stretch. It’s too much and too little at the same time. You try to clench around it.

The werewolf pauses and you want to cry out, beg it to keep going, to bully its way into your pussy until you can take its knot. You’re so full, so full, this thing is everywhere, in your pussy, in your guts, in the back of your throat. All you can manage is a pitiful croak before the beast is back on you again, resting its weight on your back. It picks up the pace, ruthlessly pistoning into you, bullying your throbbing, leaking pussy, rutting his bulb against it, almost stuffing it inside. It places one large clawed hand onto your thigh and pulls it to the side like that will give it more room. Perhaps it does but the stretch of your cunt and your thighs is too overwhelming to not focus on.

You press back against him as much as u can from your contorted position, meet his hips with urs in a frantic attempt to get your release. Your chest heaves as you attempt to match his pace, pressure building in the pit of your stomach. You’re babbling now, you absolutely are, begging for it to push you over the edge and stuff you full. It speeds up as if it understands you, pressing its weight on top you. Your cheek scrapes against the ground and in the corner of your eye, you can make out the bulge in your stomach as the werewolf thrusts in. It’s too much, too good, too deep, rubbing against that spot, knocking the breath from your lungs with every thrust.

You come with a wail, pussy throbbing and clenching around its cock, sucking it back in to keep it there. The wolf howls, head thrown back and buries its knot inside you. Its cock spasms and spills into you. Rope after rope of hot cum coasts your insides until you’re full, and then some. You feel it slide down your thighs, dribble from your pussy. You try to adjust yourself to get a look and clench involuntarily around the beast when you spot the shape of his cock protruding from your stomach.

The cool night air feels pleasant against your heated skin.

You look away from the unholy sight buried in your guts and let your eyes unfocus to bask in your post-orgasmic bliss.

One, two, three, four —

There are at least four pairs of yellow eyes observing you from the darkness.

note: I'm open to hearing about dead batteries!! be as graphic or non-graphic as you'd like:)

banner & divider by @/cafekitsune

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, smut, and NSFW. Reader uses lipstick on Eddie’s back.

~*~

When you let Eddie use your naked back as a place to outline his campaign plan with his figurines, in exchange, also using your lipstick on his body for a little extra fun…

It’s a story that will be for the history books, it will. Eddie running out of paper and forgetting to add it to his convenience store list - a tale as old as time, really. Having to rely on one sheet you���d scrounged from your small pocket journal — with minimal space for game plan, Eddie was irritated. But you’d been in a playful mood all day, teasing him, taunting him, wearing that oversized t-shirt with a printed bouquet of flowers on it, and having the audacity to change out of your normal underwear for a thong.

“You’re not wearin’ any underwear there, sweetheart,” he says, watching your shirt ride up and the fat of your ass spill out around the thin piece of fabric.

You hum, chewing on your gum, blowing a bubble that touches your cute nose, acting nonchalant — ergo, making Eddie Munson go crazy. “Yes I am, and you know it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, continuing to rifle through his things, before giving up. He knees his way into the bed with you, arm tossing around your shoulders, kneading tension with a mannerism, in which, only he can provide for you. You form a plan quickly, reaching for your discarded purse on his nightstand, forgoing your magazine to show him an extremely bright, neon red lipstick. “Here’s a pencil.”

“And just what do you propose, little devil of mine?” He’s amused, mirth glittering in those chocolate eyes when you turn into his cheeky smile.

“You’ve got a pencil - check. Well, I do. But that’s for later.” You place the lipstick aside. “And you need a canvas, right?”

He’s nodding slowly, eyebrow raised. “Well established, yes.”

You perform an erotic act next, one that Eddie can’t describe. You reach back to yank on your hem, tugging your shirt up your back until it’s around your neck, then you lift your head, slide it down your arms, and fling it across room — without even showing him just a glimpse of your beautiful tits. He’s cursing, jaw dropping. And then you’re propping on your tucked arms. “A fleshy expanse, for lack of better word terms.”

“You… I… you’re shittin’ me.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Write down a general idea on your paper, then act it out on my back. But only if I get to have a little fun of my own on yours.”

Eddie thinks he’s passed on again. But as you relax back down, he immediately gets to work outlining on his one sheet of paper. It’s done after what feels like forever, but has been half an hour (he hasn’t finished, needing a halfway break by your distraction.) It’s enough for him to slide off his bed and go grab his little figurines he normally maps out on a bigger sheet of paper. You sigh with their tiny little presses, Eddie muttering out commands to them, lining them, shifting. And your ass wiggles a bit, causing him to lose all focus.

He tosses everything aside and it clatters to the floor, but you’re rushing him before he can even adjust the growing hardness between his legs. You shove him onto his stomach, straddling his backside in surprise, a giggle as you sweep the curls off his naked shoulder blades, his ears perking up as he hears the cap click off your lipstick.

“Babe…” he warns, a whine dipping off his hot mouth.

“Shh, you had your fun, now it’s my turn.” And Eddie awaits your ‘fun’, cock trapped between his stomach and the mattress, throbbing.

It’s a weird sensation to have your makeup marking his way — cool and kinda sticky. He doesn’t resist the smirk at his own joke. But he’s curious, he’s turned on, he’s a hot rod smoking at the wheels. And only does he let out the extreme breath he’s been holding, when he hears the cap return. You blow along his back, causing his nipples to perk, and he is lifting himself up.

He can’t wait anymore. He doesn’t care what you’ve drawn on him (an attempt at a bat with heart eyes), he’ll find out later… You’re already consenting with blown pupils and a matching nod, lipstick landing on the dresser across the room from a careless throw. Eddie’s voice is a low rumble, practically making his chain bounce from its echo. He licks his mouth, the corner of his lip, and he speaks. “Turn back around for me, pull your thong down.”

You comply, soaked and ever-so-willing. It makes him cocky, giddy. His sweats catching on his cock as he lowers them below his ass. He can’t wait. Spreads your cheeks apart to see how you glisten for him, how messy your curls are, and ring clad fingers spread you open and he watches, spare hand jerking himself with his pre to slick up. His hands finds yours over the headboard as he takes you, across your sticky flesh, the lipstick stained bat moving when the muscles beneath his skin do…

[minnie-cai]

I had a dream of sleeping over nerd!Arts dorm room, it was storming outside and he refused to let me go walk out on my own I was on hid bed and he was working on something hes reading a book with his glasses low on his nose and was only in a white shirt and sweats where his junk was almost out. I was so horny I just straddled his lap and started going crazy, he ended up shoving my face against his pillow pounding me from behind fucking me while he kept his glasses on <3

𝑰 𝑴𝑬𝑨𝑵 “𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬” !

that’s so crazy i actually had the exact same dream last night so here’s something i wrote about OUR dream

not proofread, bless your eyes, it’s 2 am and my eyes are basically shut.

rating ; mature. smut. it’s smut. leave if you’re a minor. or don’t. i can’t stop you. actually i can. i will find you. and take away your phone.

oh nerdy!art my beloved, where he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met and he’s stumbling over his tongue awkwardly as he tries to flirt with you but it turns out his tongue was made for bigger things.

and it’s so weird the first time you fuck because you fall next to him on the mattress, out of breath, sweaty and high on orgasms and suddenly, all you had heard about nerdy guys being good in bed was confirmed.

you start dating, he holds your hand around campus sweetly and all of your friends love him. you’d heard the lore of all of tolkien’s writing at least a hundred times as you played with his hair but you’d hear it thousands if he asked. you give him head under his desk as he does your assignment for you and he cums all over his thighs and panics, rushing trying to find a towel or a dirty t-shirt as he babbles apologies and squirms because he hasn’t even properly finished yet.

after a few months of dating, it’s totally casual and normal for you to stay over at his single dorm after you’ve complained about how annoying your roommate was, under the condition, of course, that you’d let him study when he needs to. you promised.

you were lying in his bed, wearing a hoodie he’d lend you after you’d softly fucked with the rain pattering on the window. you pouted and twisted the fabric of the sweater in boredom. art was sweet, sure. he’d made you finish first like a gentleman, cleaned you up and dressed you but you just found it so annoying that he managed to move on to studying right after sex. you stared at him and stared and stared as he sat in his chair, his foot resting on the desk as he read a book he was assigned with his lips lightly agape and his round glasses low on his nose.

the grey sweats he’d thrown on quickly after he got out of bed being a size down from his normal one, giving you the great view that was the outline of his semi-hard cock.

as you’re thinking and just admiring him, you hear him sniff and he swallows, his adam’s apple bopping with the movement. and suddenly, yet again, your panties are wet. what is this boy doing to you?

“artie….” you mewl gently from the bed, your legs twisting under the sheets as you try not to press your thighs together. “is it gonna take long?”

“i wanted to finish at least two chapters by class tomorrow, why?” he mumbles as he moves on to the next page, licking his fingers so that the paper doesn’t stick together but the only thing you can think of is him licking his fingers and playing with your clit as he mumbles compliments against your collarbone.

“nothing… just a bit bored…” you respond as you start to stand up but he just hums, not looking up from his book. when you reach his chair and lean against the back of it with your elbows, moving your fingers to run through his hair, scratching his scalp gently, his head falls back against your chest and he lets out a breathy grunt.

when you moved to straddle his lap, that was his last straw. “you’re kidding…” he mumbles in a soft but raspy voice with a sweet smile when you roll your hips against him. his glasses threatening to fall off his nose and his curls falling messily on his forehead, times like these is when you really take a look at him and realize how gorgeous he is, like he’s trapped a ray of sun inside his eyes.

“huh?” you giggle, almost breaking this innocent character you’d built up. “i don’t know what you mean.” you shake your head with a gentle smirk and furrowed eyebrows, your eyes narrowing as you try your hardest to look confused and hold back your laugh.

“oh you don’t? oh really?” he says with an amused laugh and raised eyebrows. “i- yeah?- rea- really?” he starts with narrowed eyes but he ends with a scoff and a small smile as he realises he wasn’t sure what he really wanted to say and was just stuttering nonsense. “you don’t know what i mean? you want me to show you what i mean?” he chuckles with a sarcastic attitude, looking up at you through furrowed eyebrows.

“i might need you to show me what you mean.” you laugh but it’s cut short by a shriek when art throws you over his shoulder, laughing. “what are you doing?” you cry out as he stands still in front of his twin bed for a second, contemplating before he decides he doesn’t want to throw you on it and gently sets you to sit on the bed. he pauses and folds his arms, looking down at you, the smile not fading from his face. “what are you looking at me for? c’mon, pretty! down and on your belly.” he says, snorting at his own tone.

“down and on your belly? where did you come from? orderin’ me around!” you say surprised by his newfound confidence before following his instructions. “i’m not sure, i like it though.” he replies laughing before settling on the bed, his knees on each of your sides as he pulls down your panties, pulling your hips up, carefully raising them.

his hands hold their position on your hips when he inserts into you, making you sigh shakily. he grunts as he feels the warmth of your walls enveloping him. his head falling forward, his eyes shut.

moments after, he pulls himself back together, pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and moving his hands to push down your back, your body being smashed against the mattress by his warm palms and when he moves to rut into you, you leave out a moan, muffling it with the pillow.

by the time he is close to cumming, full on whines and whimpers fall out through his lips, his thrusts getting quicker as he chases his release. “so pretty… fuck.. ugh- so good…” he babbles and his upper body connects to your back, folding forwards to try and handle the pleasure as you suddenly feel the cold material of his glasses against the skin of your neck which you felt was burning, the sensation making you shudder.

“please, baby… i’m- i’m close…” he blabbers on your neck, leaving small wet kisses against it as his rhythmic pace gets rougher.

when you both cum, whining and moaning like hormonal teenagers and fall back against the bed, he wraps his arms around your head, pulling you into his chest. “that was really, really hot-“ he pauses, taking a long deep breath “don’t do it again.” he finishes and laughs, pulling away to wipe the fog off his glasses with his your shirt.

[spdrvyn]

YOU'RE HERE, THAT'S THE THING — [ wc: 1.7k. college au. fluff-ish? ] nothing cute about uni life. nothing to romanticize about pulling off all-nighters. unless... ?

now that i think about this is the first miguel fic i've written that's not adjacent with spiderverse canon world-building wise 🤔 also kinda silly of me to write a college fic when i'm not even in college so be warned i'll sound probably like a dumbass but hope you guys enjoy anyway!

7:23PM in the evening. Twenty hours until your essay was due.

The blonded hues of the setting sun reflected onto your laptop’s screen, currently open with a completely blank Google Document and nary a draft or outline in sight. As the ice in your half-empty coffee had almost thoroughly melted, you realized that you were completely fucked.

Originally, there was a study group that you were intended on joining somewhere at the start of the week. Hell, you guys shared Notion calendars and made an entire group chat. Only when you courageously sent a message last night asking for a rain check on the plans, you were left on read and down one-hundred dignity points.

That’s how you ended up here, waiting for the adrenaline from the impending deadline to set in. The condensation from your drink wets your palm uncomfortably as you take a sad, bitter sip. Someone could be writing a story about your defeat, writing a ten-page analysis about it, and submitting it at least three days before the deadline like a normal person with a sense of urgency.

When you shut your laptop and concede to the pressure, Miguel walks in to your shared dorm. With thick textbooks and an open backpack slung over one of his shoulders, he pauses at the sight of you. “I thought you’d be out.”

The reminder that your group abandoned you sours your mood even more, you tersely reply: “They ghosted me.”

“Oh,” Miguel tries to sound sympathetic, but it’s obvious that he’s also struggling with a final of some kind with how he ushers all of his belongings to the table you’re currently occupying. He’s told you before that he rarely ever joins study groups, which makes sense. You’ve noticed he’s self-reliant and efficient to an almost terrifying degree when it comes to his academics, awake at ungodly hours of the night to pinch the highest grade that there is. If anything, it’s more likely that he’ll offer to tutor other people.

“What’s on your roster for tonight? I’ve got an essay,” You swiftly put on your document tab again, motivated by how he’s already flipping through his books and copying down notes on his tablet. God, you wished you could just start studying like that.

“Final tomorrow, haven’t started reviewing yet. I basically spent the last two days at the lab for my other final.” He’s writing at a speed that should be considered superhuman, all while he’s answering your pesky questions.

You don’t want to move to another spot, because it would seem rude. Not like his presence is unwelcome, his studiousness just makes you really, really envious. Also the fact that both of you are majoring in completely different subjects.

Majoring in Arts in Literature, while he majors in Genetic Engineering can cause difficulty whenever explaining plans to each other. Miguel puts in the effort to not confuse you with the STEM jargon while you try not to ramble about your current readings and explaining your interpretations of them to someone else instead of writing them down on paper to, you know, submit.

Either way, it hasn’t caused any big miscommunications with being so different and all. You hope he doesn’t mind you beginning to working with him too, as you shyly type a thesis statement into your assignment. Another sip of your coffee, sounds of Miguel scrawling, and you think you may be ready to take this assignment head-on.

~

12:40AM into the night. Fifteen hours until your essay is due.

Shockingly enough, you were able to finish three pages out of five. The grammar so far is probably going to drag you down by fifteen points and you usually send it to your friends to proofread, but it clearly isn’t an option given what time of the day it is right now. It’s still a lot better than the end you saw for yourself when you were left dangling on the edge of failure by your study group.

The caffeine had completely worn off by now, and your coffee had been drained somewhere around an hour ago. When that happens, you usually start to get antsy and it’s even harder to keep the momentum going and when that happens, you take a break and go for a walk or something.

Which is what you’re about to do, as you stand up, but you realize that Miguel is sitting still as a statue in front of one of his books and his eyes scan the words on the page, over and over again. You can’t tell if he’s also losing focus or if he’s knee-deep in focus.

“Miguel,” He sighs when you call his name and the noise makes you wince, fearing that you’ve upset him. “Uhm, I’m going to take a walk. Do you wanna come with?”

It’s an offer that you thought for sure he wasn’t going to take.

What you don’t expect however is for him to slam his reading shut, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before getting up from his seat. With a huff of, “Sure.”

“Oh- we can go for a coffee run if that’s what you want. I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”

“Ok. Me neither.”

“Great, that’s- that’s great.”

~

Both of you stew in the (semi) comfortable silence as you make the trek from your dorm room and out to the expanse of the campus.

You realize how brisk a walk can become with Miguel considering how abnormally tall he is. Granted, you recognize his subtle effort to slow down for you when he notices how winded you got after only five minutes on the way to the gas station.

It’s a new height that you’ve reached with him, not like you never wanted to grow closer with him or anything. He is your roommate after all, so it only makes sense. Although despite your love for reading that has fender-bendered into a Literature degree in the making, you were never too great at reading people. Miguel is one of the hardest people to read considering his outward stoicism, and both of you being naturally introverted didn’t help at all.

Still, this was the perfect time in your life to make new friends and life-lasting connections. Besides you would also consider yourself pretty pathetic if you wouldn’t be able to make a new one out of your roommate, A.K.A someone who is confined to a room with you for a whole school year. Literally no other choice but to do so.

You wonder if he feels the same way too, but asking each other of your first impressions is a conversation that is really only befitting for people that have been together for years. A status that you have no idea that you’ll ever achieve with him someday.

Though you are quickly broken out of your kind of depressing spiral when Miguel opens the door to the store for you, with a muttered ‘thank you’ you behold the fluorescent lights and hint of smoke. The walk to the coffee machine is instinctive, and you pluck a bag of spicy chips from the shelf on the way. Miguel follows suit, only he picks a bag of pretzels and a pack of gum.

The dispenser chokes out a splatter of coffee into your plastic cup and you flinch at the noise, Miguel spares you a glance but goes back to fidgeting with the pointed edges of his pretzel bag.

“So, what’s your final about?” It’s a stupid question being completely transparent, but fuck it. You’re bored, and the silence only gets more uncomfortable the longer both of you keep quiet.

“Genetic inheritance, the traits passed down from a parent onto a child. That kind of thing,” He muses. “And you?”

“Oh, Les Miserables essay. Five pages total.”

“Long book, and long film.”

Your cup is nearly on the tip of overflowing so you quickly slide it out and put one under for Miguel. “Yeah, I had to do a re-read because it’s been a while. I only finished around two days ago and I started it again at the beginning of the month.”

He gives you an honest chuckle, you take it and you think you’ll remember the sound forever. “One of my, uh, friends sat me down to watch the movie. Fell asleep halfway through, but I do remember it being decent in the parts that I was awake.”

“Well if I can find a totally legal recording of the stage play, maybe that would pique your interest more.”

When you look up at him, he smiles and it might be the happiest you’ve seen him ever since becoming acquainted with each other. It’s not a lot, but you feel over the moon over a small talk about your stupid essay.

…Your stupid essay!

You cut the moment short by haphazardly closing the lids on both of your coffees, you hand it to Miguel who starts to emanate your hurried energy and the walk back to your dorm is very swift.

~

Morning. Some time before your essay is due.

That is what you can assume anyway, the sun is back and its rays peek at you from the gaps in the blinds. Your hair is a frazzled mess as you lift your head off of the pillow which is perched up against the armrest on the sofa, the blanket on top of you shifts, and this was also… definitely not where you fell asleep last night.

You were expecting neck and back pain, along with a mild headache once you woke up. As you came to the sloppy completion of your work, you called it a night, slammed your laptop shut, and decided to just sleep right then and there. Doing your night routine and getting into bed would simply be too much time and work when you probably wouldn’t even be getting that much rest anyway.

There’s a fresh glass of water on the coffee table and a sticky note from Miguel, who you could only assume was the one who put you here.

‘Had to head out early for my exam. Good luck with your essay, there’s food on the counter.’

You slump back into your makeshift bed and pull out your phone from your back pocket, there’s still seven hours until your essay is due and you only need around two for revisions.

Maybe you could sleep in just a little longer, dream about conversations that will never happen, cafe dates that never come to be. But after last night, rather earlier this morning, those odds shift in your favor.

[yanderemommabean]

Yandere red room idea

The Red rooms. It’s not something He really thought he’d find himself using but here he is, walking up the corridor with a key card in his pocket. It’s definitely a secret society type of deal, code words, secret hand gestures, one use keys, all the security one could imagine. The first time he even heard of such a place like this, he assumed it was dark internet fetish mumbo jumbo. 

But after he found you, well, the right people found him and led him to the right place. Not a room of pain, but one of pleasure, to show his darling all of his intense love and emotion and then some. 

He hasn’t even booked a room yet, he’s here as a sort of consultation visit. To see if he really has the balls to do this and show that yes, he adores you, and that his love outweighs anyone else’s. 

Sliding the card into the door brought him into an empty room besides a desk, a few chairs, and two large filing cabinets. He takes a look around, quickly surveying the area, before stepping inside fully and sitting in the chair facing the large office chair in front of him. Before he can let his shoulders relax, a man follows in behind him, followed by a woman as well, both dressed professionally and seeming very…happy. 

“Ah! It’s good to see you, Mr-” 

“Lee, you can just call me Lee. And you are?” He asks, gesturing to the woman standing beside the man in the suit as he begins to open a manilla envelope, spreading the papers out on the table. 

“Victoria. We can leave it at that. I can tell that you know secrecy and customer privacy are our top priority with this business” She says with a knowing smile, sliding the papers over to face them towards the doctor.

“Now, Lee, What we have here is a very basic outline of what we can do for you and that love bug you’ve found yourself. We celebrate rather than punish our loved ones here, and want them to understand that to their core! We find that the red room experience helps!” The man exclaims with excitement, but has yet to really introduce himself. 

Lee was told to expect that however. The leader behind this all was kind enough to reach out but he wasn’t to expect anything too personal. “All business” was his very aura, and Lee could respect that. He nods along as Victoria took the reigns, explaining some of their core beliefs before getting to what Lee really wanted to know. 

“We can make the room however you please, lease it for up to four days at a time with personnel who checks in every four hours with their own special keys, for the darlings sake. As much as we wish to fully trust our customers, we will not take the risk of them dying or being seriously injured in any way. As stated, this is a way to show love and we give you the tools to do so! “ Victoria then spreads apart the papers, pointing here and there as she explains a bit more, intriguing Lee with every bit. “We have romantic layouts like at a hotel, we have BDSM specialist rooms, we have very highly rated toys and devices that we inspect and clean before each room is ready, and we have a live stream option if you’re the type who thinks everyone should see the pleasure you’re darling is receiving! I personally recommend the tribbing machines with the black rose theme if you prefer the dom and sub type of vibe, but we can personalize however you like!” 

Huh. Wow. They’re very thorough aren’t they? 

The business man nods, sitting back in his seat as he adjusts his tie. “I started many companies in my life, all based on bringing smiles and joy, and it’s my personal belief that there needs to be a company looking out for your lover! Love, adventurous or more mellow, is a beautiful thing that our darlings need to be showered in as much as possible. If you’d like, this can also be set up in a way to just calmly express your love to your darling, but I will clarify that it isn’t guaranteed to go well…I advise getting our crews to pick them up and deliver them for you, with every person being given a  background check of course! Safety and security is what comes first for your darling” 

Lee was a bit flabbergasted to say the least. They talk so professionally, have such a strange ethic to them, and they act as if he’s about to buy a company or large house rather than finally get ahold of the love of his life. It’s…Odd but charming. He can’t say he’s turned away from this, in fact he has a few ideas for his own red room. 

“Are they CPR trained and do they have basic first aid knowledge?” Lee asks as he looks over some more of the photos, liking the array of toys they had up for use to add to the room, each one costing extra of course but for what he had planned…it wouldn’t be too bad. 

Victoria smirks, laughing lightly in amusement “I can see we’ve caught even more of your attention. We can make sure these personnel are trained for the pick up, but our permanent staff are already trained in first aid help and some, even small surgical emergencies. You know, always needing to be prepared and all”. 

They talk  a few more things out, Lee deciding that if these people were serious, then he could trust them. If they crossed him in any way, he’d easily rid at least a handful of them. He didn’t get that gut feeling he usually does when people are lying to him however. This felt thorough and legit and well…Professional. 

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you Mr Lee. We’ll be getting in touch with you shortly! You wont regret setting this up-” the business man says with a firm handshake, smiling in an almost uncanny way. “And remember, when you’re in a bind, one of our smiles will ease your mind"

-Mommabean (This was so silly but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!)

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 67

part 1 | part 66 | ao3

cw: recreational drug use

Waiting around to die or get arrested or whatever fucking sucks. Partly because there’s no running water (Steve’s never wanted to take a stress shower so badly in his life) and partly because Eddie won’t let him stay sober. Has it in his head that altering Steve’s mental state will keep Vecna away, like hanging a mosquito net over the opening of a tent.

It’s not not working, he guesses.

He hasn’t fallen in to any more hallucinated open graves, at least.

He comes down the stairs a little before noon, towel-drying his hair after a bottled water sink bath, and finds Eddie in the kitchen: Reeboks on, hair a cotton candy mess, head-to-toe teddy bear tie-dye under his leather jacket — a matching shirt and sweats that he fished out of Rick’s dresser. He’s stirring Spaghettios in a small pot at the stove, and when he sees Steve come in he turns to offer some, the wooden spoon held out with a sort of desperate perkiness. “Morning! I found food that isn’t expired. You want some?”

Steve shakes his head.

Eddie shovels the whole spoonful into his mouth; wipes sauce off his chin, speaks before he’s finished chewing. “I also found blotters in the freezer and shrooms in the bedroom closet, so uh. Pick your poison.”

Steve picks the shrooms. They wait a few hours to take them because Eddie swears the sunset while you’re tripping is unparalleled, man, although Steve kind of suspects that he’s just giving him time to work up the nerve to eat them. He still gets nervous about chemicals — probably always will, after the shit the Russians did.

In the meantime, Eddie rummages through Rick’s cassette collection, and Steve talks to Robin on the walkie; gets all the new details in staticky half-sentences — something about mind flayers and mental hospitals, what else is new? He tells her to be safe; tells her that he loves her; keeps his eyes trained on the clock.

—

Shrooms smell and taste like ass. Steve can’t stomach them; spits into the grass while Eddie laughs sympathetically and hands him a little square of paper to put on his tongue instead, and they spread out side by side on a few old beach towels by the water and wait for it to kick in.

Nothing, at first, not that Steve expected different. Twenty minutes; forty-five.

“Still nothing?”

“Nothing.”

And then.

Eddie holds up a glossy aquamarine pebble, squinting at its glow in the late afternoon sun. “I should give this rock to Skye. Bet she’d love it.”

“That’s a shard of glass.”

Eddie blinks at it. “Oh, shit.”

Steve snorts, and when he looks at Eddie sideways there’s a glimmer of that same cerulean shade outlining his whole body, a low-frequency feather of energy rolling off of him in waves. Eddie moves his arm and the color chases it, a long-exposure photo of high beams on rain-slick roads.

“Oh,” Steve says, mouth slack. His voices echo in his head; all six of them. “I think I’m…”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, eyes alight, pupils blown.

“Yeah.”

All at once something slots into place, attunes itself inside of Steve, and it’s like… he can see Eddie’s mind; touch it, cradle it, reach out to it with its own. It feels crazy. Psychedelics are fucking crazy. He reaches out a hand, slicing through ribbons of shimmering light, tasting the colors as they fade, and Eddie’s emotions spread out in high-definition before him — like the image has always been there but now it’s crystal clear; someone’s shifted his focal point, filled a kiddie pool with Epsom salt and left him there to float.

“I see you,” he says nonsensically.

Eddie frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“…That I can see you?”

“I usually am.”

That’s not right. Eddie’s thoughts shouldn’t sour on his account, shouldn’t sag in the middle like a moldy tangerine. “I can close my eyes?”

“Fuck,” Eddie laughs, thin and strained. “Don’t say shit like that when I’m not allowed to kiss you.”

“You’re not?”

He hesitates. “Am I?” Antsy fingers drum the grass, overgrown with vibrant clover and dandelion stalks. “Just feel like we should talk first, if uh, if it’s safe.”

Steve probes his own mind, tests it for outside threats, but there’s nothing. The acid forms a fractal fortress. Penrose steps, paradoxical and strange. “It’s safe.”

He moves to lie on his side, invites Eddie to do the same. “Talk into the kiss,” he suggests when Eddie joins him — face to face, chest to chest, Steve can see the thrum of Eddie’s heartbeat in the hollow of his throat; wants to press his thumb to it, so he does, the sense memory of ripe cherries bursting on his tongue.

Eddie’s lips against his own; hovering. Static electricity like the scent of summer rain. “I think my pride makes me a coward.”

Steve rubs his dry lips across Eddie’s, chapped skin and shared heat.

“It’s like… I kept trying to tell myself that I was being… I don’t know, valiant, or some shit? Like, ‘oh, he’s so much better without me. I’m the town pariah; I’m keeping him safe by running away.’” He thumps his fist against his heart as if beating a shield to shining armor, and Steve can’t see his eyebrows with their foreheads pressed together, but he can feel Eddie scrunching them into a picture-perfect hero frown. Almost has to laugh — so fucking theatrical even when he’s serious.

“But if I’m honest,” Eddie murmurs, “it wasn’t like that at all. Nothing fucking brave about vanishing on you. Like, what?” His voice shifts again, lilting but critical, a comedian doing crowd work. “I get a liiiittle fucked up by townies two too many times, and I sabotage my whole life over it? Ruin the best thing I’ve ever had over it? As if this goddamn horseshit hasn’t been happening to me since— forever! Shit.” He blows his bangs out of his face; calms himself. Goes a little cross-eyed trying to look Steve in the eye. “I got scared, Steve. There it is. That’s the ugly truth of it.”

He swallows harshly in the dense silence that follows.

Robins chirp; cars pass.

The lake laps at the shore and casts prisms like fishing line, spiderwebs of rainbow light flashing behind Steve’s eyelids. He brings his hands up to Eddie’s face.

“Christ.” Eddie shudders; lets himself become dead weight, rubbing his cheek into the touch, warm stubble scratching over the pads of Steve’s fingers. “Am I making any sense? I feel like I’m not making any sense.”

Yes. No. “You’re making sense. I mean. As much as anything is right now.” The sandy brown freckles on the bridge of Eddie’s nose are swirling like snow flurries. Steve traces them with curious hands. His knuckles blur and swivel, too. “You left because… you wanted to protect me from… yourself?” He sums up, not sure if he’s getting the math right.

“I left because I’m a scared little shit who couldn’t handle getting bullied in a parking lot, but uh. Yeah. I guess I, like, didn’t want to…” His eyes go big and startled, cheeks flooding bright pink. “Oh, shit, I was about to say I didn’t want to curse you, Jesus Christ.”

Steve honks with laughter. Loud and deep and punched out without warning, because the irony of that — that there’s a literal big bad running around cursing people, and the person who was actually doing some real good in his life decided that he was the problem — it’s fucking— hilarious! Hysterical! Steve giggles himself sick, lungs burning as it tapers to a silent wheeze, and Eddie joins him, confusion giving way to compulsion; contagion in the manic giddiness spewing out of Steve.

“You thought—” Steve struggles through hiccups, tears beading in his lash line, “you thought you were the bad luck charm in this relationship?”

“Don’t mock me!” Eddie whines, still laughing. “I already said it was dumb.”

“It’s so dumb.” Eddie may be the cutest, dumbest thing he’s ever seen. He rubs his thumbs over his cheekbones, smile fading. “If anyone’s a curse, it’s me.” Four for four here on getting dragged into supernatural shit. Does Eddie really think homophobes are more dangerous than hell dimensions?

Eddie’s already shaking his head. “You’re a fucking blessing.”

Warmth radiates through Steve, drips from the crown of his head like a downpour of holy water. He feels anointed. Ascended. He feels— “Please tell me we’re allowed to kiss now.”

Their mouths crush together, impossible to tell who moves first, whose tongue is in whose mouth, whose desperate breath Steve swallows as Eddie rolls him onto his back. Hands roam and pull and clutch, molding the shape of him into the earth. Maybe someday, Steve thinks, if aliens invade, they’ll study these imprints like crop circles, trampled declarations of how much Steve loves this boy. “God,” he gasps into the kiss. “Missed you so much.”

“So much.”

“Don’t do that to me again. Don’t go.”

“Never,” Eddie swears. His grip tightens on Steve’s waist. “Never again, baby, I fucking promise. I think I—”

On the far side of the house, leaves crunch and branches snap as a car pulls up the drive. Boots on pavement, rowdy voices; unfamiliar; red alert.

“Spread out, boys!” the voice of Jason Carver bellows. “If that Freak’s in here, we’ll find him.”

—

part 68

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[loveinhawkins]

Up until recent events, Eddie hasn’t really put much thought into flashlights—save for that time he had to take out the batteries in the T.V remote to get his to work, back when the power went wonky last summer.

But now? Oh, as soon as he’s through with this whole nightmare, Eddie’s gonna find out whichever saint invented the damn things and start a petition to get them a federal holiday. That’s gonna be his whole… raisin something, something—he thinks it’s French, Buckley will know.

Fucking wondrous creations.

… Okay, he might still be a little jittery.

So sue him. It’s either run with his increasingly stupid train of thought or have a thoroughly justified panic about—well, there’s just so much to choose from: the ash in the air, the apparently sentient vines on the ground, how it’s so fucking cold and dark—

Jesus H. Christ, calm down.

It’s not all that dark anyway—or at least, it’s not as dark as it could be. Steve’s lighting the way, flashlight in hand. Honestly, Eddie thinks he should get it preserved, like in one of those glass cabinets in museums, complete with a plaque: This bulb somehow survived a journey from the depths of a lake into an alternate dimension, and all for the low, low price of…

Well, Eddie doesn’t know how much it cost. He’ll workshop the whole plaque thing.

In his reverie, he stumbles carelessly, nearly pitching over right into Hive Mind territory.

“Ah, shit,” he whispers.

Steve’s hand must move because the light drifts over—ends up illuminating much more of Eddie’s path than Steve’s.

“Thanks,” Eddie says—glances sideways to find Steve already looking at him.

“Think I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Steve replies.

His hand flexes, as if he’d gone to twirl the flashlight before catching himself; Eddie has a very faint memory of Steve doing the same with pencils in class and fights a private smile.

“You gave me it,” Steve continues. “I would’ve just… gone right in without thinking.”

It’s said self-deprecatingly, but Eddie would argue that Steve’s impulsivity (his courage) is an admirable character trait, even if it sets his heart pounding.

His own problem is that he thinks too damn much, until the window of opportunity has almost been and gone.

He was the only one to hesitate before diving into the lake: he knows all too well how that could’ve made its way onto the increasingly long list of moments that haunt him.

He could’ve been too late, could’ve not found the Gate at all—and then, would only have been able to pathetically swim back to the kids and tell them that their heroes were gone.

The light skips onwards just a little, encourages Eddie to look up from his feet. He blinks a few times to try and adjust to the darkness looming ahead. There, the indistinct outline of trees, and he’s drawn back to a classroom again, to the soporific noise of chalk on a blackboard, to…

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

“The hell is that from?” Eddie wonders, and he doesn’t realise he’s also said the quote aloud until Steve speaks.

“S’a poem. Robert Frost.”

Eddie clicks his fingers. “See, that’s why you actually passed English.”

Steve rocks his hand back and forth, so-so.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t play coy now, Harrington.”

“I’m not, I passed by the skin of my teeth, dude.” Steve looks into the distance as he walks, like he’s being drawn back to some place, too. “I was meant to, um, submit a portfolio thing, and I just… didn’t.”

“Like stories and shit?”

Steve smiles. “Mm-hmm, and shit. Poems, too.”

“So why didn’t you…?”

Steve just shrugs in reply so Eddie changes tack—rolls his eyes expansively, but only at himself.

“Fucking Frost. Ugh, why can I remember that shit now, but when a paper’s in front of me, it’s just…” Eddie mimes an explosion in the back of his head, gone.

“Well,” Steve says, chuckling, “if the, uh, lovely atmosphere of this place jogs your memory, we’ll make some time, get you to write an essay.” He grins at Eddie, teasing and charming in equal measure. “We’re nothing if not productive.”

“Sure, that’s one word for it.”

Joking aside, Eddie finds that the mention of school calms his heart somewhat: to think of the foreboding sights around him as part of a story. Maybe it’s a control thing, like his campaigns. Dress shit up, put a film on top, then you don’t have to look at it directly.

He suggests as such to Steve in a longwinded ramble, and gets a thoughtful look in response.

“Like the Shire? And Mordor?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, exactly.”

Steve nods slightly. The movement dislodges some particles in his hair—and yes, it helps, Eddie thinks, to believe it’s just freshly fallen snow.

“Yeah, that sorta never really worked for me?” Steve’s voice goes up at the end, almost apologetically, although for the life of him, Eddie can’t work out what he’s apologising for. “Like, when the kids ran with all the D&D stuff, the uh… analogy? Metaphor?”

Eddie gestures at himself with one hand, I failed English.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, whatever. Dustin and Lucas keep hashing that one out. Anyway, it didn’t exactly… help. Help me, I mean. Just made everything more…”

He sighs heavily.

Eddie thinks he understands. All his bullshit is just a veneer, after all: it doesn’t truly mask the fear.

“Hey, maybe you could give it a shot,” Steve adds. The light dances for a second, like he’s just barely resisted twirling the flashlight again.

“What?”

Steve smirks—juvenile, light-hearted, almost like he’s about to challenge Eddie at the school gym, like, bet you can’t make that shot from center court, Munson.

“You could write a poem. Make sense of…” Steve gestures around them.

“Harrington, as I keep reminding you, I failed English.”

“Yeah, so? I’ve heard Henderson go on about your campaigns, dude, s’not like they come from nothing.” Steve looks Eddie up and down in exaggerated scrutiny. “You look like the kinda guy who loves a theme.”

“Oh, really,” Eddie says flatly. He can’t hide his smile even if he tried.

“That’s what I thought, every time you’d come into class late: oh, here he is. The symbolism.”

“Jesus Christ, Harrington, shut up.” Eddie steps into Steve’s space just to shove him away (just to touch). He thinks that if he were to try his hand at poetry, it’d be horrendously self-indulgent—something about how he might not be the one holding a flashlight right now, but he’s certainly carrying a torch.

“I don’t work for free, Steve. You’ve gotta do one, too.”

“A poem for a poem, huh?” Steve says. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

And yeah, they might just be saying anything to pass the time. But Eddie chooses to believe otherwise; there’s still a pensive flicker in Steve’s eyes that makes him think he might just get lucky, that Steve might even dig up some old stuff from his abandoned portfolio.

It’s a nice thought—something to look forward to, at the end of all this.

He considers Steve, and even though he knows it’s not snow, he can’t help but turn the particles into flakes in his mind again, into something prettier, safe—almost as if Steve’s presence has softened the danger.

He wants to stop here, suddenly. Linger. It doesn’t make sense. But it feels like time is…

A gentle nudge—a warm elbow to his side.

“C’mon, daydreamer,” Steve says. “You can write down whatever you’re thinking later.”

Eddie snaps out of it with a breath of a chuckle, follows Steve’s light again. Keeps moving forward—past the ash, and the vines, and the trees.

The woods won’t be forever.

After all, he’s got promises to keep.

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Write a Clean(ish) Fast Draft

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Jesse Q. Sutanto is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Dear Nano-ers,

My first book took me three years to cobble together. During that time, I joined Absolute Write—a free writers forum which I completely love and recommend to all aspiring writers—and I made a friend who convinced me to try doing NaNoWriMo. I was completely unconvinced, but I am a people-pleaser and I can never say no, so I agreed to try it for my second novel.

My second novel took me less than a month to write. It was a complete mess, but it was also a revelation. Often, I felt myself falling into that writing Holy Grail—the hole which consumes you, makes you forget the rest of the world, and absorbs you completely in the world you are creating on paper. I loved the process deeply, and never looked back since. All of my subsequent books have since been written in a matter of months. 

And you know what? They were all a horrific mess. I did not learn how to do a clean and fast draft until my NINTH book, and I don’t think I would’ve ever learnt without the help of NaNoWriMo. So here are my tips on how to best tackle a sprint-a-thon like NaNo. 

1. Try to come up with a loose outline.

When I first started writing, I was a pure pantser. I had no idea what was going to happen before I sat down to write. This is a completely legit way of writing, but I have since learned that it is massively helpful to have an idea, even a vague one, of what you are trying to say with your book. What was really helpful for me was to sit down for just five minutes before writing each scene and try to envision what I wanted the scene to achieve. Once I had that in mind, the scene became much easier to write. 

2. Break down your writing time.

Ever heard of the Pomodoro technique? In order to hit 50,000 words a month, you need to write around 1,600 words a day. That is a heck of a lot of words to write! Break it down. Set 10 or 15-minute timers and use that to your advantage. Trust me, if you told me to sit down and write 1,600 words, I would be like, “Omg that’s too much!” But if you told me to just write for 15 minutes, that feels a lot more doable. 

3. Give yourself permission to write trash.

Before each writing session, I actually say out loud: “I am going to write trash.” And this gives me permission to write whatever comes to my mind without judgment. You can always edit later, but for now, focus on letting the words out on paper. 

4. Lean on others for support.

I made the mistake of thinking that writing is a lonely vocation. In fact, it is one of the most social things I could do. Social media, while a double-edged sword, has done so much for the writing community. I have found all of my close writer friends through social media, and I chat with them every day and consider them my close, lifelong friends. Don’t be afraid to reach out and make connections within the community. You are not alone. 

Jesse Q. Sutanto is the award-winning, bestselling author of Dial A for Aunties, Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, Well, That Was Unexpected, The Obsession, and Theo Tan and the Fox Spirit. The film rights to her women’s fiction, Dial A for Aunties, was bought by Netflix in a competitive bidding war, and the TV rights to Vera Wong was bought by Warner Bros, with Oprah and Mindy Kaling attached to produce. She has a master’s degree in creative writing from Oxford University, though she hasn’t found a way of saying that without sounding obnoxious.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

jealousy, jealousy || Seungmin x Reader

Summary: When you planned a study date with your boyfriend, you hadn't thought that he would actually want to study throughout the whole thing — or that he would unexpectedly ditch you halfway through. Fortunately for you, he has a very obliging roommate who's more than happy to give the two of you some alone time...

Word count: 3.7k

Genres: college AU, established relationship, fluffy fluff

Warnings & Tags: jealousy (duh), making out, it gets quite suggestive but no actual smut (rating M), Han makes an appearance

series masterlist

The idea of a ‘study date’ had seemed appealing to you at first. Your boyfriend was one of the top students in pretty much all of his classes and you didn’t want to interfere with that. You also liked working at the library well enough yourself, and you could see the inherent aesthetic of being surrounded by old books, hands brushing against each other every now and again, only quiet whispers filling the silence… Yeah, you thought you could make it work.

Your friends had also hyped you up. There had been lots of grins and winks when you had announced you wouldn’t be available for the afternoon. When you’d rolled your eyes at them and told them you were going to work, thank you very much, you’d been met with a lot of ‘Yeah, sure’ and one unnecessarily detailed description of how you could fuck in the library without getting caught. You hadn’t thought for a second that was an option, but you’d still left your dorm with some butterflies in your stomach.

As it turned out, though, Seungmin’s ideas of study dates were a lot more focused on studying than on the ‘date’ part.

He had kissed you, very briefly, when the two of you had met, which hadn’t fazed you all that much since you knew he wasn’t very comfortable with being affectionate in public. He had, however, taken your hand, traced circles over your skin with his thumb as the two greeted each other, and squeezed it before letting go, which had only renewed the feeling in your stomach.

…maybe you were a little bit down bad.

Things had gone south after that, though. First, he had declined the idea of getting coffee to go, looking at you like you had grown a second head.

“You’re not allowed to have coffee in the library. You could damage the books.”

So you’d given up on that idea, and instead you had headed inside, had found a quiet, isolated place where it was just the two of you.

And so now, an hour later, you’re staring at your books, bored out of your mind, in dead silence, while Seungmin hasn’t looked up from his work once in the past half-hour.

This is on you, you tell yourself somewhat bitterly. Studying is something that he takes very seriously, and you know that. Usually you wouldn’t even mind. You’ve spent a few nights at his dorm, on his bed, reading or watching TV shows on your phone as he worked, and you’ve always found it very attractive, how focused he got in these moments. Even now, the look of absolute concentration on his face, the way his brow furrows sometimes before he flips through the pages of his book to find an explanation for something, how he pushes his glasses higher on his nose whenever they slip—

Yeah, yeah, alright, you’ll stop waxing poetics about your boyfriend now.

You stretch, trying to get your attention back to the essay you’re supposed to be writing. You’ve been trying to find an efficient outline for it, and though you’ve written a few words down and you think you’ve found some key ideas that will do just fine, there’s still a lot of preliminary work to be done. You stare at everything you’ve scribbled on the paper like you’re expecting some genius idea to jump out at you, but all it does is make the words look more jumbled and—

“What are you guys doing here?”

Thank God for Han Jisung, seriously.

“What are you doing here,” Seungmin mumbles without looking up. “It’s my spot.”

“Well it is really romantic,” Jisung says, shooting you a wink. “What are you working on?”

“Seungmin is writing on the notion of humanity in Frankenstein,” you say, “and I’m—”

“Fascinating,” Jisung interrupts you, making you snort, “and how’s it going?”

“Really well,” you reply, easily falling into the same tone as him. “Take a look at that.”

He leans over your shoulder at the empty word document on your computer and chuckles. You always find it easy to be around Jisung. You knew of him before you started dating Seungmin, had heard about him as a part of 3racha, the rap group that everyone on campus was crazy about, but you hadn’t really talked to him. Finding out that he was Seungmin’s roommate had taken you by surprise, learning that they actually got along, more so. He’d been really accommodating though, and he left the two of you alone when he could, crashing at the apartment of one of the other two members of his group.

He also usually made you laugh and, generally, was a fun person to be around.

“Wow,” he grins, “that’s super impressive. There’s already a typo in the title.”

You lean forward with a curse to remove it while he laughs at you. Across the table from you, Seungmin glances up and clicks his tongue. His jaw’s tense, a sure sign that he’s starting to get annoyed.

“You guys should leave if you’re going to be making noise.”

Jisung pouts and gives you a pleading look.

“Wanna grab coffee before you get back to that?” he offers.

“My savior,” you sigh, “I feel like my head’s going to explode. I’ll take a break,” you smile at Seungmin. “I need to get some caffeine in my system to stay functioning. I’ll be back in a few.”

The tension in your boyfriend’s jaw doesn’t go away though, and you almost lean in to peck him on the cheek, but you think that even Jisung’s presence would make him uncomfortable, so you settle for giving him a squeeze on the shoulder as you get up.

Jisung’s already halfway to the door by the time you even get up, waving at you to hurry up in fake annoyance. With a giggle, you follow.

“So, how are things going?” Jisung asks with his gossip voice while he leans against the coffee machine.

You shake your head.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re his roommate.”

“Seungmin says I ‘have no filter’ and I ‘can’t be trusted with anything’,” he shrugs matter-of-factly. The insults don’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

“Things are good,” you answer against your better judgement, maybe partially because you want to brag about your boyfriend. “Seungmin’s very thoughtful, you know? He always remembers the little things I tell him. He plans all our dates. He gets me flowers. Even if…” You frown, gesture at the building around you. “Well, it was kinda tough this week because we have all these essays to turn in, so I suggested a study date.”

“Aw,” Jisung says, “aren’t you the considerate girlfriend?” Then, after a silence: “Do you want the room for tonight?”

“You’re a godsend, I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“If you don’t mind, I think it would be nice. Seungmin’s, uh, focused on his work and this doesn’t really feel like a date at all.” The issue’s probably that you had gotten your hopes up, and you’d still like to get some actual quality time at some point with him during the day.

“All good,” Jisung says, a little too easily, and you eye him from over your burning coffee.

“Do you know where you’re going to crash?”

His eyes widen, and suddenly he looks like some cute, small animal with big cheeks caught in headlights.

“…maybe?”

“Han Jisung,” you gasp, “is there someone you haven’t told me about?”

Of course, the two of you aren’t that close, but you’re not one to pass on an opportunity to be dramatic. His reaction — spluttering and blushing — only makes it more worth it.

“I, uh… maybe? We’re not…” He starts picking at an undone thread on his sweater, which he seems to find absolutely riveting. “We’re not quite there yet.”

“You should go get it,” you say with a decided nod. “Anyone you’re with would be lucky to have you.”

At that, Jisung glances at you briefly, eyes lighting up before they go back to his sleeve, even though he can’t quite hide the bashful smile that’s starting to form on his lips. That’s a side of him you’ve never seen before. You think you’d enjoy becoming closer friends with him, if things keep working out well between you and Seungmin.

“You really think so?” he asks quietly.

“A hundred percent,” you say, and you mean it.

You slide a chocolate bar across the table to Seungmin as you sit back down by the table, feeling somewhat refreshed — and with much better prospects than originally planned for the evening.

He glances at you, and you take the opportunity to lean over to press a brief kiss to his lips. Even though there is no one around to see it, his cheeks have turned a light red when you pull away.

“I know you won’t eat it in here,” you whisper, “but it can be a snack if you want to take a break.”

He nods, once.

“Was it nice with Jisung?”

Oh, right!

“It was fun! And guess what, he’s leaving the apartment tonight,” you grin. “It’ll just be the two of us.”

Seungmin hums in response, and though you think your announcement deserved a little more enthusiasm than that, you know how he gets when he’s focused. You now feel energized and refreshed, though, and it turns out to be much easier to get your attention back to your paper.

You wouldn’t say you considered yourself particularly academically inclined, and those things don’t come as easy to you as they do to Seungmin. You don’t feel very strongly about it. Different people, different strengths, and yours are much more geared towards human interactions. Sometimes, you do feel a bit envious of how easy Seungmin makes it look, of how brilliant he sounds when you feel like a bumbling idiot when talking about the same objects.

You don’t doubt the fact that you have other things to bring to the table, though. For one, you’re the one who instigated the relationship, and you know for a fact (Jisung told you so) that Seungmin wouldn’t have taken the first step, no matter how much he wanted to.

And yet, Seungmin had been the one to ask you to make things ‘official’. That had been… kinda new to you. Most of the guys around you — the ones you met at parties, or the ones your friends had entanglements with — considered college to be perfect for a ‘no strings attached’ situation.

But Seungmin had looked straight into your eyes as he stood in your doorway, a bouquet of roses in his hands, because you’d mentioned how much you loved them on at least three occasions in a not so subtle way for hinting that you’d like to get some for Valentine’s Day. The tip of his ears was burning red, and yet his voice hadn’t wavered when he’d asked.

You’ve managed to write a whole paragraph — 250 words, not bad —, only minimally distracted by the corny thoughts that are commonplace when you’re around Seungmin when the loud noise of a book being closed shut jerks you back to reality. It takes you a second to locate the origin, but it certainly becomes clearer when you see your boyfriend’s packing his stuff up.

“What are you doing?” you ask, a little too loud for the library environment.

“I can’t focus,” he says, not meeting your eyes, “I’m going back to my room.”

You stare for a few seconds, trying to figure out if something’s wrong, if it’s something you’ve said, something you’ve done, but nothing comes to mind.

“You can come by later,” he says, instant relief flooding your chest, “if you’re done with your assignment.”

His playful tone makes you chuckle and, as he brushes past you, you wrap your fingers in his jacket, pulling him down towards you.

“Alright, do well today.”

You’d only intended to peck his lips, but he presses his against yours more intently, one of his hands on the table, the other on the back of your chair, and it’s hard not to let your friends’ previous suggestions get the better of you in that moment. You feel flushed when he pulls away, and his shit-eating grin makes you want to throw something at him.

“Kim Seungmin,” you hiss, “what—”

But he’s already on his merry way, giggling to himself at the state he’s got you in as he escapes.

You huff, knowing it’s going to take you a hot minute to get back to the state of focus you were previously in. Your eyes scan your screen, then the books opened in front of you, but your mind goes back to the unusual tension in your boyfriend’s shoulders, to the twitching muscle in his jaw. You are amused — and quite flattered — by the idea that you were the one who made him unable to focus, but you do wonder if anything had upset him.

You make a mental note to ask him about it, right next to ‘no more library dates’ and above ‘buy Jisung flowers’. You’ll think about that more when you have the time. For now, this essay isn’t going to write itself.

It is barely 6.30 pm when you swing open the door to Seungmin’s room, and he shoots you an unamused look that you ignore completely as you put down a cup of his favorite coffee on his desk.

“I’m not done,” he says. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a shrug, pecking him on the cheek, “I’ll just need to proofread tomorrow.”

He scrunches his nose, and you don’t need him to say anything to know exactly what he thinks of your work ethic, but you don’t really care. He strives for academic perfection and he won’t rest until his essay is worthy of a Nobel prize; you aim for a passing grade and will never think about it again. You do admire him for his abilities though, just like he not-so-secretly wishes he could be even a tenth as carefree as you are. You think that might be why the two of you work so well together.

“I’ll let you work,” you hum, “and we can order something when you want to take a break.” Then, with a grin: “And if you want me to help you relax, all you have to do is say the word.”

He coughs and waves to get you away from him, which you do with a laugh. You’re more brazen when the two of you aren’t in public. Seungmin never fails to act like he hates it, but you’d bet an arm that he’d be incredibly disappointed if you ever stopped doing it.

Also, he does take you up on it about half of the time.

You let yourself fall on his bed and pull out your phone, connecting your earphones to it. You have some time to kill. On a normal day, it takes Seungmin about thirty minutes to stop working, like his brain has a hard time leaving the state of complete focus behind. Today, you suspect you’ll have to wait about an hour before you can get his attention back to you.

That’s not something you mind, not anymore anyway. If anything, you appreciate the quiet, and you like knowing that he’s in the room with you. You suspect it’s the same thing for him when he accompanies you to some of the university sport events or parties, just because you want to go. It may not be his favorite thing, but it’s worth it if the two of you get to be together.

You have to admit, though, that what you like more than anything is how focused on you he becomes afterwards. The second his brain is off his studies, it’s on you, you, and only you. His hands and tongue explore every inch of your skin, the words he whispers in your ear leave you burning, and his eyes devour you like you are the only person in the world.

But, sadly, you’ll have to wait a little bit to experience that again, and so, with a discreet sigh, you focus on your screen.

So when, after about five minutes, when the opening to your drama has just finished playing, you hear the familiar creaking of his chair as he gets up, you glance up, surprised.

“Everything okay?” you ask, pulling out one of your earphones and pressing pause on your phone. “Seungmin?”

You don’t get a reply from him. What you do get is his lips pressed against yours as he climbs into bed with you. You let out a surprised sound, immediately muffled by his mouth, and your lips part, allowing his tongue to slip in. He pushes one of his legs between yours, and you resist the urge to roll your hips against it. He’s shown before that he’s not above riling you up and then going back to study like nothing’s happened, and you’re not going to fall for this trap if that’s what’s happening here.

At least, not until at least thirty seconds have passed. You have your dignity, after all.

But Seungmin’s showing no sign of stopping so far. One of his hands grabs your shoulder and gently guides you down on the bed. His mouth is insistent, aggressive almost on yours, which you don’t mind, but it’s certainly unusual for him. His teeth graze against your bottom lip and you find yourself whimpering.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing you into the mattress, and you can’t hold yourself back from arching up into him anymore. If he is just trying to rile you up, which you doubt more and more with every second, you’ll make sure that leaving you behind will be hell for him too.

His grip tightens on your hand and you think you hear him groan. His free hand comes down to hold onto your hip, halting your movement, but not before you feel the way he jerks against you, half-hard member rubbing against your thigh as he does.

“Seungmin,” you gasp when his mouth leaves yours.

You search his eyes, but all you find in them is desire — and a bit of that tension you had noticed earlier. You don’t get much time to ponder it, though, because next thing you know one of his hand is sliding under your t-shirt, pushing it up and sending shivers through your body, and his mouth is making its way down your neck, sucking on the skin in a way that you’re sure will leave a hickey. Again, you don’t mind that, but Seungmin had always been careful to avoid leaving any in very visible places. He usually went for your thighs or your collarbones, places that could easily be hidden under your clothes.

“Oh my God,” you moan as he unbuttons your jeans and start pulling them down, “what’s gotten into you?”

You feel a mumble against your neck, but it’s nothing you can decipher. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he pushes himself back up to kiss you. It’s slower, more tender this time, like an interlude before what is to come.

You think you’re the one who’s the most surprised when you hear yourself asking “Don’t you have an essay to finish?”

Seungmin frowns at the question, but you’re probably the most horrified out of the two of you.

“Kim Seungmin,” you say threateningly, “what have you done to me?”

It makes him smile that wide smile of his that you love so much, and a wave of tenderness washes over in your heart.

You love him so much.

“I can get it done later,” he replies, and you stare at him.

“Did you hit your head?” you ask, finally, when you’re not able to figure anything different about him — like maybe a suspicious mole that would indicate that he’s Seungmin’s secret twin brother or something.

Seungmin sighs, looking more sullen now.

“Do you really think I can’t be fun?”

You’re feeling more and more confused.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to change things about yourself to be with me,” you say slowly. “I mean, if you want to hook up instead of finishing that, I’m happy to, trust me, but— Is something wrong?”

There it is again, the twitching in his jaw.

“You’re not bored with me?”

“What? No! I— Okay, we were both very busy today, but we can make it up later, I don’t— I don’t need to be constantly doing things, is that— Is that the issue?”

He looks unsure, appears to hesitate some more.

“Isn’t Jisung more fun?”

You blink at him.

“Your roommate, who I asked if he could spend the night elsewhere so I could have sex with you?”

Seungmin clears his throat, glances away from you. The tip of his ears are turning red.

“I’m not saying— Isn’t he more— more your type?”

You reach up, fingertips gentle against him as you tilt his head back towards you so you can look into his eyes. You’re not sure what brought this up — you’re certainly convinced you’ve never shown any form of romantic interest towards Jisung, bless his heart — but you’re also aware of the fact that you’re Seungmin’s first relationship. Sometimes, insecurities hit where you least expect them to.

You’re not one to believe in perfection, all too aware of how messy relationships can get among the best of people, but so far, Seungmin’s been pretty close. It breaks your heart that he can’t see that.

“There is no one I would rather be with than you,” you say, and you mean every word of that. “There is nowhere else I would rather be right now, even if you were still working on that essay.” You see him swallow. “And there is no one who means more to me than you do.” In the silence that follows, he averts his eyes again, though this time you think it’s to recompose himself.

Once he’s done, he gives you a small nod, kissing you tenderly once more.

“For the record,” he whispers against your lips, “there’s no one else I would rather be with either.”

“You better,” you giggle against his lips, and he grins.

“Right, well, in that case, I’m gonna get back to that essay—”

“Don’t you dare.”

i hope this was as much fun to read as it was to write, this isn't a type of character i write all that often but it was nice to switch it up a little bit. first time writing Seungmin too, so i hope that worked out but i had fun! if you enjoyed it, it would mean a ton if you could comment, send an ask, or reblog (with or without tags/comments, whatever you're comfortable with), it's really such an important for an author. and thank you for reading!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 21 thoughts

a fantastic episode yesterday, and… a SKINNER episode today?!?! what kind of journey are we in for?!!!

LITTLE DID I KNOW!!! for i simply had no idea that a skinner episode is EXACTLY what i needed!!! it is the thing i did not order but that hit the spot precisely!!! it was a thing i couldn’t predict!!!

but who would have thought it? a glimpse into the life of such a secretive man… and a beautiful one, at that!! wow!! i’m emotional over WALTER SKINNER! how unexpected, but also inevitable….

let us begin this journey, which went in so many directions

let us read this episode description. skinner, a murderer…. hmm. it’s not really adding up to me... in this context, at least. has he killed people? yes, definitely. but a random person? seems sloppy. seems weird. seems that someone is framing him…

we open with our friend walter.

IS SKINNER GETTING A DIVORCE?????

this is not how i expected the episode to start!

oh, he won’t sign the papers. he says he’ll do it tomorrow. skinner is SAD :( he’s putting his coat on and leaving!!!!! he does not want to get divorced it seems.

wait, an emotional skinner like two minutes in……. woah. we’re in for a rollercoaster here, i can tell (author's note: op was correct)

noooo, sad skinner at a bar. someone sits next to him. this woman is pretty and sits next to him to escape a guy who wouldn’t stop talking to her. a gentleman!

she asks if being alone bothers him and OH! cutscene to sex. well. this escalated quickly. 

PAUSE. is this the first sex scene in this show??? and it’s SKINNER??? if you would have told me that fact a few months ago when i started this show, i would have laughed at you…

omg yeah... i think it is the first on-camera sex scene in this show?? in the past there hasn’t been much (thinking of 3, which is an episode i purposely choose to forget except for right now, and i am ONLY thinking of it to remember how the precedent was established) and they just cut to waking up the next morning. but no, not here. here we get the full show. 

well! he seems to be having fun, at least. 

OH??? until an old lady is on top of him and screaming? 

fun has been cancelled.

that seems to have been a terrible nightmare. but what is not a nightmare is that the woman next to him is DEAD!!!

huh???

my guess…. a slow acting poison??

poor skinner…… he literally cannot catch a break.

oh my goodness, how are our agents going to react to this news….? i would be so embarrassed if my employees knew who i was hooking up with……. and also that she died…..

mulder at da scene. he wants to talk to skinner but he isn’t allowed to talk to him!!!

his phone rings and scully is driving in absolute POURING RAIN and idk why it made me laugh. she was like in a damn flood and flooring it to get where she needed to be lmaoooo

skinner says not to get involved. yeah okay. unstoppable force (mulder on a quest for answers) meet immovable object (skinner)

OH! so it was NOT poison that killed her, and actually her neck was broken. so i guess i didn’t see that. which is probably good because i would have gagged.

this detective is being a jerk to mulder. saying that skinner is suspicious for not taking a lie detector test as if a lie detector test can prove a damn thing (hint: it cannot!) but mulder still gives him his card so they can call and chat

LMAOOOO he was on the phone with scully for all of that exchange with the detective, and she is STILL just trying to get through what looks like a hurricane!!! but she is on her way!!!! he says let’s go look at the body 

still at the crime scene, mulder sees the body’s outline and sighs deeply, realizing his colleague is in trouble

scully is narrating the autopsy into her little voice recorder thing, and it always makes me think she’s vlogging, but i digress. she says the victim’s spine was crushed, and only skinner’s prints were on the body.

mulder makes a stupid remark about “at least they were having safe sex” because really, what DO you say when your boss is a murder suspect, and the body is right in front of you? well! many of us will never have to answer this question. funny how he needs to have a Quip to cope, though. don't think i haven't noticed.

her name was carina, and she was a legal secretary who was fired for working as an escort. they truly hate to see a woman get her side hustle on.

scully looks so sad and confused at all of this, but turns the light out and the body’s face is glowing in the dark around the mouth!!! so she pulls out her recorder and makes note of that. it’s like if you split the juice in a glow stick on there. so maybe there WAS poison afoot?!

(author's note: literally no poison at all in this ep idk i was just really convinced there would be... it is important i also include my predictions that flop so you know i have journalistic integrity)

mulder and scully at someone’s door. the person who answers says lorraine is busy, and he says “busy or not, we need to speak with her” and barges in and AGAIN. the way these two just enter a room so forcefully always makes me lose my mind. someone please make a youtube complication of this someday. they are NOT vampires they do not need to be invited in 😭

lorraine, the head of the escort agency, wants to do their questioning later and they break the news carina is dead. she does not want to tell them who hired her, for it goes against their practice. but mulder is ANGRY and gets her to confess that it was, in fact, skinner.

the agents are walking out, asking what was he thinking, and i am wondering the same thing!! she says they can’t ignore the evidence, but mulder is refusing to believe that skinner could be responsible. oh mulder, your faith in those you love really is admirable.

she brings up that they really don’t know much about skinner, but he says that we know he’s risked a lot for us, and that they owe it to him to find the truth. another case of both things being true, which happens often with these two.

oooo this is juicy, i’m INVESTED!!!

conveniently timed cell phone call! skinner has been released. mulder runs to go get him and skinner says it doesn’t concern him, but mulder says of course it does, and damn, i’m just now realizing how attached to skinner mulder must be, how he sounds like a scared little kid hoping against hope he’s innocent, because the people you love can’t do bad things, right? AUGHHHHH how mulder must look for safety in all the places he didn’t get it growing up. i’m gonna be sick. of course it concerns us! <- yeah. making note to analyze this in depth later because it felt like piercing me through the heart.

skinner is gagged by their revelation that carina was a sex worker, which means something is afoot here, because he was supposed to be the one that hired her...

but when he looks behind them, he sees that creepy old woman again!!! omg i had forgotten about her!!!! she’s in a bright red rain jacket. 

and he runs into traffic after her (he does get hit by a car but it's the least of his worries) but when he goes to get her… it’s someone else?? with brown hair and blue eyes and not a creepy old lady at all. it’s his WIFE!!!!! WIFE REVEAL!!!!! 🎊

so the agents and sharon skinner are chatting. scully wants to know if he’s always been so private. “he lives under this misguided notion that silence is strength” is what his wife has to say, which is both poignant and read him for filth, sharon. so that is why they separated, and have been for about 8 months.

oh! mulder was one of the few people skinner ever mentioned from work!!! she knows he respects him, so she asks him if he really killed that woman. mulder says he doesn’t think skinner did it, but they have to go now. 

some guy named special agent bonnecaze is at skinner’s desk. and the agents are wanted at a hearing for skinner’s ability to keep his job!!! this bonnecaze says they’re not allowed to go sleuthing about. mulder is very very angry.

(what separates a special agent from a regular agent? this is probably a simple internet search, but isn't it more fun to post your thoughts? google says pretty much everyone at the federal level involved in crime investigation is a special agent. so if they're ALL special agents it can't be that special)

back to the office, where mulder is chomping on his pen, and skinner won’t answer his phone. scully notes that he is “doing everything he shouldn’t be doing” which is probably on purpose, RIGHT?? RIGHT?!

and scully looks so beautiful…. she’s concerned about skinner's state of mind, and what else he might be capable of. mulder seems frustrated that she would suspect him, but she explains that genuinely she IS giving him the benefit of the doubt, in the sort of tone you use when you are deeply apologizing to someone, hand on her chest. she can clearly see how attached mulder is to this whole situation. an empath...

scully thinks that maybe something else is going on… she’s playing a video of a man who had REM sleep behavior disorder and relived getting hit by a train each night until he broke his wife’s arm. she is in doctor mode talking about sleep related stuff. and the clinic that film came from WAS WHERE SKINNER HAD BEEN RECEIVING TREATMENT FOR THE PAST 3 MONTHS!!! gasp!! for the same condition!

so he sees an old woman attacking him in his sleep, and maybe he had attacked carina thinking it was her. scully is playing with her necklace as this theory is proposed.

mulder is like, yes i have heard of something like this, a succubus. and he puts his pen in his mouth and grabs a big book off the shelf!!! wow i love that he has a book mentioning medieval spirits in his office :,) maybe need to get one of those for mine.

oh! and his book claims there can be residue left behind… like the stuff she found… scully is pulling a "mulder, you're never gonna believe this" mentally

back to the body. but now her mouth isn’t glowing in the dark! but she had taken a sample… and when sent to the lab for analysis, they found nothing!!!

mulder asks if she is SURE she saw something, and she is like yeah i wouldn’t make that up?? so new theory: skinner is running from all of this because he’s afraid.

skinner is sipping something strong and someone knocks at his door. it’s sharon in a big red raincoat! he didn’t get her calls because he unplugged his phone……. says he hasn't been sleeping....

this must be where he lives now since they separated, but he hasn’t unpacked at all. she wants to make sure he’s okay! but he’s pulling the you’re my ex card. and she says, well i only initiated the divorce because YOU were too scared to do it yourself, and he says “fair enough” <- OOOOO again sharon read him for filth. still, i do not enjoy seeing him so sad.

she wants him to let his walls down, but she knows he will never let her comfort him. so she says to take care of himself and leaves :(

he pulls out their wedding day photo and AWW they’re so young :(((((

AND HE FALLS ASLEEP HOLDING IT. STOP, AM I GOING TO CRY OVER A MAN NAMED WALTER?????????

sleepy time interrupted by screaming. it’s the old lady in the red rain coat just absolutely letting it out, and then she leaves. but there is a REAL knock at the door, and it’s the detective!!!

NO! he says sharon was in an accident!! WHAT IS GOING ON??? skinner’s terrified… and they want the keys to his car…. HE WAS SLEEPING ON THE COUCH!!! HE DID NOT DO THAT SHIT!!!

so he is at the police station and mulder is also here, reporting that sharon is in surgery. but he says they’re building a case against him!!!

mulder clarifies he doesn’t think that skinner did it, but scully doesn’t understand why he isn’t trying to defend himself. and mulder’s doing the angry man thing where he puts his hands on his hips and pushes his jacket back and hnhbbbbhmmmmmmppllhghgh

nooooo skinner :( he’s so angry :( he doesn’t know what is going on or what to believe :(

so mulder asks about the old woman- which they know about from reading his files- and yells that if he doesn’t start trusting someone, he doesn’t stand a chance. whew! he has had enough of this silence!!!

(oh my phone is gonna die hold on. break to procure a charger. charger secured. CHARGER ISN’T WORKING?? omg… now it is… crisis averted)

so skinner started seeing her “again” a few months ago… he’s talking about what happened to him in vietnam, how he was a sole survivor of an ambush. he says he got through the experience by numbing himself with whatever he could, and he “inhaled”, so he assumed she was another hallucination. and she watched him watch himself die, but she carried him back away from the light. 

mulder proposes she was trying to protect him them and still is now. but he doesn’t know from what!! he is so sad!!

GASP!!! CUTSCENE TO CANCER MAN WATCHING THIS ALL GO DOWN?????

ANOTHER EVIL CIG MAN PLOT?!?!?

so skinner’s car matches the damage on sharon’s car, and allegedly the hood of his car was still warm when the detectives got to his house and brought him in for questioning. mulder asks for a flashlight and gets in the car despite the hearing being in a half hour. oh! he’s slicing out the air bag?

bringing the air bag to the lab guy, who can turn the air bag into a facial pattern of whoever it crashed into. is this a thing that can happen??? big if true.

scully at the hearing. mulder not there!! so they just begin.

she’s trying to explain the mouth glow situation, and special agent bonnecaze basically accuses her of hiding stuff; she says she’s reluctant to speak for mulder, but he thought it came from a “visitation”. she has no other explanation! 

(wow, i love that she admits she has no idea here. you can tell who is intelligent by seeing who is willing to admit to not having all of the answers. it's a small thing but it says a lot about her character <3)

they ask her if she believes in paranormal phenomena, and she dodges the question by saying she views everything “through the lens of science”. a measured response. but they’re asking if skinner has become “enchanted by agent mulder’s notions” HUH?? what da hell does that mean? anyway, she says no. 

bonnecaze accuses her of protecting skinner by exaggerating the unexplained elements of the case, which she ENTIRELY refutes. and when she tries to say that she is NOT finished, they say she is. OHHH the bastards. 

scully calls mulder but he’s right behind her lololol. anyway, it’s no laughing matter that skinner is OUT OF A JOB. she says he would have had a better chance against a firing squad. and they used the x files to justify getting rid of him!! he thinks "they’re" doing it to hurt the x files, whoever they may be!!! (presumably cig man and his UN alien club??)

so mulder has a graph that looks like pixel art of whoever stole skinner's car that night and his sharon. "they" couldn’t try to kill him again, so a set up would be less obvious. it makes sense.

i think the lab guy’s name is danny?? well they can’t figure out who thief is, who must have also been the fellow who hired carina. 

oh no! now they’re at the scene of another crime. it’s the lady who runs the escort agency! she jumped off a building :( or it was staged to look like that

but they see the woman who answered the door when they visited her place of work!!! her name is judy. and she says that the pixel art man who hired carina said no one would get hurt!!!! so this dude stole skinner’s card!!! 

(is it krycek. i can’t stand him any longer!)

due to lorraine being dead, she can’t talk with this mystery client, so they ask judy to set up a meeting with him, to pretend she needs money to get out of town. she calls some unnamed men on the phone to arrange this meeting.

and the men on the phone are not krycek, but they ARE watching this all go down from their car!!!!!! WHO ARE THESE FREAKS!!!!

skinner is going to see sharon. and she can’t hear him but he’s telling her he’s not signing the divorce papers :( he says he can’t tell her the terrible things he has seen…. and that she was what got him through each day, knowing he had a reason to wake up :( NOOOOO

and as he smooches her forehead her monitor starts going off!!!!!!! but then he sees her turn into the scary old woman!!!!!! who looks out at him and beckons. so he goes back in and grabs the hand of the old woman but it’s actually his wife again!!!!!!! she says to listen to her. WHAT IS IT!!! what does she KNOW!!!

mulder at the bar where they planned the set up. sipping something and looking good, yeah yeah. the men who set this whole thing up are arriving. 

while scully and judy are upstairs and oh my god scully. she is so beautiful. both of these bastards are so utterly beautiful. 

sighs wistfully…….

well, whoever it is they’re waiting on isn’t showing up. but there’s a movement at the door! and she says mulder, get up here right now!!!

scully with her gun out in the hotel room……. the suspense…….. she finds judy in the bathroom but SOMEONE ELSE IS BEHIND HER!!!

it’s the guy from before, who was on the phone with judy!! and he’s firing his gun!! scully is on the ground but she seems unhurt beyond the head slamming??

WAIT! it isn’t that scary phone guy who fired his gun!! it was SKINNER!!! who shot whoever set this whole operation up!!!

SKINNER TELEPORTATION TO THE SCENE....

judy is crying and scully is on the floor still, but it seems all is well in the world?

back to skinner’s office!!! which is rightfully his office again!!!

they bring him the report on the case, and there are lots of unanswered questions, including who that dude who was shot was. there is no identity whatsoever.

OH! mulder points out that there is no explanation as to why skinner was at the hotel last night, so please fill out that line yourself. which he says he can’t do, because it has no place in a report.

so mulder asks skinner to tell him what happened, off the record, and scully is waiting with bated breath… and he says he has some catching up to do. mulder kind of looks like someone just kicked him but he walks away :(

(oh mulder, funny how you're trying to get him to break these walls down, but you have some pretty damn solid walls of your own. now you know how it must feel... i jest, but it is so sad to see him unable to connect to skinner in the way he wants to. nevertheless, this is a happy ending)

skinner puts his wedding ring back on!!! and gets back to work!!!!!!!!!!!

WHAT!!!!!!! 

omg. so much to unpack here. i kind of assumed we would never get any skinner lore beyond his vietnam story, so this was a deeply welcome surprise. earlier i was very suspicious of him- you may recall some posts where i repeatedly say things along the lines of "i don't trust this guy"- but you can see how the narrative is shifting, how now we are supposed to trust him after he has done so much for scully and mulder. and it is very interesting to see how he operates, how he tries to put on that strong facade, and how it needs to crumble for him to move forward.

so, i think that there are two things at play here: one, someone who was trying to frame skinner for the murder and the attempted killing of his wife, and two, the whole situation with the scary old lady. we know the scary old lady was the one he saw in vietnam, and the one he attributes to saving his life, so it makes sense to think that some sort of guardian angel spirit would show up to him as an attempt to make him realize that he was losing what really mattered to him (sharon) due to his own fear. so even though she is scary looking, she led him to sharon, and appeared when he was with another woman as if to scare sense into him.

now, what is LESS clear is who did the killing! we know his prints were found on her, but did they check everything? how does that even work? maybe he strangled her in his sleep on accident, but given that someone else paid her to be there that evening, it would make more sense that someone else did it, no? except they said there was no sign of any intruders... so perhaps whoever it was who set that whole scenario up knew enough about him to know that was a possibility. in that case, they must have access to his medical records and know about his visions.....

must be the work of the cig man and his cronies.

so, if you accidentally kill someone in your sleep... how do you proceed from there?

well, i guess it doesn't matter, because he got his job back.

interesting to explore the concept of a guardian angel sort of creature as a being of terror, to shock you out of the mistakes you make that ruin your life. and it doesn't explain the glowy mouth or succubus allegations, but hey, there's always some stuff that doesn't entirely add up!

overall, i thought this was a really great episode. it was very different from the last one, but the tone shift didn't feel drastic and uncomfortable. i'm really interested in how mulder handled this whole thing, how he clearly has these projections for what he wants skinner to be and how he wants him to act, as if he's idolizing him. i think that is very fascinating and i will be mentally chewing on that for a while. and scully being willing to admit what she does not know, and observe what she cannot explain... mmm, it's just delicious to me.

so huh! i'm pleased! shoutout to walter, sharon, and the sleep demon that saved their marriage

[free-luigi]

Donald Trump incited an insurrection and despite that is about to become President (again)… As an aside, this is currently illegal per the Constitution.

Luigi Mangione *allegedly* shot and killed a singular CEO, who was a billionaire. One who was responsible for the systemic murder of thousands and the suffering of many more. One who has garnered no sympathy from the working class, because Luigi exposed health insurance as the scam that it truly is. Which has started to show capitalism for the scam that it truly is…

Where is Donald Trump’s terrorism charge? Why is a felon rapist who incited a domestic terrorist attack on January 6, 2021 about to be awarded the Presidency for a second time?

Where is the FUCKING JUSTICE?!

Additionally, why hasn’t every single mass shooter gotten a terrorism charge? Why don’t we treat EVERY school shooter this way?

AGAIN, WHERE IS THE FUCKING JUSTICE?!!!!!

Donald Trump being inaugurated into office on January 20, 2025 is unconstitutional, under Amendment 14, Section 3 of the United States Constitution:

The vote mentioned at the end, underlined in red, has NOT happened. The disability to hold office has NOT been removed. He remains ineligible for office.

Article 1, Section 3, Clause 7 of the United States Constitution:

Donald Trump was impeached. TWICE!

The Declaration of Independence is clear on what action the people should take against the government in times like this:

Donald Trump is a convicted felon who is currently ineligible from taking office, yet he is about to be inaugurated despite of this. His upcoming presidency is illegal. He is also at the beck and call of the richest man in the world. And hellbent on setting fire to the Constitution.

Luigi Mangione is an independent citizen, who was following the guidance outlined in the Declaration of Independence. Since the powers that be are treating the US Constitution like toilet paper, it is the only recourse.

Will we be brave enough to follow?

[jupitermchai]

NNT Pride Day One - Red

Hi folks!! This is my first entry for the NNT Pride event, albeit a little sad. I hope you enjoy, Happy Pride!!

the art of desire (my only desire is you)

It was like any other book. The leather-bound book stood perched on his desk among the many assignments Meliodas had yet to sign. On the outside it looked normal, and for a few weeks, Meliodas assumed it was any other book.

But when he opened the cover, he recognized the colorful pages immediately. It was his art book!

Oh, Meliodas hasn’t drawn in ages. The sight of the tanned leather made his heart leap, and he was perched on his desk seat in an instant. The assignments were discarded on the floor, left forgotten as Meliodas carded through his old drawings and sketches.

Most were of Elizabeth before their marriage but there were a couple landscapes sprinkled in: between his newly-wed wife and the land, Meliodas was more akin to the former.

He plucked a piece of charcoal from the desk drawer and flipped to the last page. It was empty, just as he remembered, and he readied the charcoal in his hands. Then, almost instantly, Meliodas was reminded of why he hadn’t drawn in so long.

Meliodas didn’t know what to draw. There were many things he could sketch: landscapes, his comrades, Elizabeth; nothing seemed to be fitting for the end of this sketchbook. Then, another realization dawned on him: looking through the worn pages was like reading a story. In the beginning, there was a family portrait of Meliodas’ family in the demon realm and closer to the end, there was a group portrait of all the sins. Meliodas tapped his chin in thought. He made up his mind on the matter - “This was a book that documents my life, after all” - and the charcoal finally began to move.

Soft scratches filled the room as the charcoal glided across the paper. Black bled onto the creamy sheets of parchment, outlining the curve of a face. The remaining sunlight cascaded like an orange blanket over the valley of Liones and poured into the room, illuminating the paper as he worked. Soon, the moon burst through the thicket of clouds as darkness washed over the plains. Crickets chirped in the blades of thick blue-grass, yet Meliodas surged forward. Planets collided in his mind. Colors and shapes molded to create perfect harmony filled with adoration.

Meliodas ran out of breath as he finished. Had he held his breath the entire time? The man couldn’t tell. Despite the tightness in his chest and the burning in his face, the blonde man lifted the book from the desk to examine the marked paper.

No words could describe the tingling in his fingertips as he stared at his work. It was Elizabeth, Tristan, and him, but the meaning was so much deeper than a family portrait. Each curve, line, and shadow displayed his unwavering fervor for the woman and child he held so dearly to his heart. Their smiles were real, this family was his new reality.

Choked by his own tears, Meliodas pushed away from his desk. The finality, the pure nature of this life, made Meliodas’ heart stutter. This was everything he had hoped for - she was everything he hoped for. The fleeting moments of pain during those thousands of years were worth it. This family was worth it.

Deep in dusk, the great King of Liones wept tears of joy, for his heart held nothing but pure, unfiltered love. For his country, but also for the time he spent fighting for those he loved.

[ponder-the-orb]

Broken Horizons

(Actually chapter one. Read the prologue here)

Pairing: Fem Tav (named)/Gale

Chapter Tags: Post-Canon, Mystra, Angst, dealing with trauma, hurt/no comfort (yet) , Tara

Word count: 4K words

Read chapter 1 below or on AO3.

***

The pain is instant. 

It rips Gale from sleep like a fish speared in a pool, searing from his chest and burning into every nerve.

The silence of the dark study rings with his cry, then a series of duller thuds as he staggers from his desk. Papers flutter, something shatters and another flash of pain crumples his body to the floor.

He bites his lip until he tastes warm metal, trying to centre himself. He knows this ache, as familiar as an old nightmare.

This isn’t happening. It can’t.

The thought tears apart as he touches his chest. It pulses under his fingers, the dark outlines of the mark suddenly flaring with a nauseatingly bright blue light. A light he hasn’t seen in almost two years.

He squeezes his eyes shut and waits to wake up back in his bed, sweaty, aching but fine.

As if to spite such a thought, the feeling swells again and crashes through him. He swallows and hardens each joint, every piece of self control locked in on keeping it firmly inside him. The wave ebbs away slowly, along with his denial. 

It’s no dream. The orb is awake and it's desperately angry.

Old reflexes snap to life. He pulls a ring from his finger and presses it to the glow. He feels the weave wrap around it like a delicate veil, then instantly rip apart. He grabs another and does it again, then his earring, his pendant, the sending stones in his pocket. One by one their magic disappears into the orb’s waiting maw, just enough to mute the very edge of the pain. 

He sits up, shaking. He has minutes to write a plan lest his tower and the entirety of Waterdeep be levelled around him. The thought sits with cold weight on his shoulders as he heaves himself to his feet. How many people would be lost to his mistake? Babes sleeping in their Mother’s arms, wine-blushed patrons watching the stars through inn windows, sailors reclining on their boats and taking in the city’s wintery skies. A hundred thousand people, gone in a flash. 

Ciri.

The wardrobe door shudders against the wall as he yanks it open. It’s a dark mess inside, the small space piled with clutter from their old adventure they’d yet to find a proper place for. Blindly he searches, grabbing the few magical items he can find and shoving them into his chest. Hungrily it devours each one, gorging itself on the weave until he reaches the very back of the wardrobe. 

He touches the wall and breathes as slowly as he can. His body is sweaty and tight from the effort– but slightly calmer. He sinks to the floor, rubbing his damp forehead as he tries to piece the night together.

Whatever was keeping the orb dormant is gone, that much is clear. Why now or what caused it are questions Gale doesn’t have time to dwell on. The only thing that matters is finding a way to sate it in the precious few moments he’s managed to obtain.

His hands curl into fists as the only solution stares at him from a dark corner of the wardrobe.

The trinkets in here aren’t enough to hold it. Already he can feel his defences taking a battering under his skin, naught but paper strips holding a door closed against a hurricane. He needs its previous fix.

He carefully picks up a large wrapped object and carries it to the empty plinth at the back of the room. A fine layer of dust swirls in the air as he pulls the sheet free, revealing the effigy hidden beneath. 

Mystra.

He lights the candles with a snap of his fingers, then grabs anything gold or silver he hasn’t already torn to shreds and leaves it in front of her. 

Her flat eyes stare at him as he kneels. The statue stands a foot tall, but he feels smaller, sagging under the memory of her dispassionate expression from the last time he’d seen her. He can’t quite remember the exact immodesty in his words when he’d refused to blindly follow her orders; it would be foolish to hope she wouldn’t either.

“Mother of all Magic, I beseech you. As you spin the weave that lights our path, grant me the honour of your ear.” 

The formality feels strange on his tongue. Such summons were usually draped in more lyrical praises, but he’s more than certain she’d know he wouldn’t mean them. She controls his power, not his life and certainly not his love. 

It’s not a comforting thought right now.

His wedding ring bites against his finger as he repeats the words before continuing. 

“I know it has been some time and I am sure you do not wish to hear from me. I know… I know that I failed you, but I swear I can offer something much greater than an apology.” The hidden bitterness to his words curdle at the back of his throat. He takes a breath, then firmly presses forward.

“Let me bring you the crown and I’ll right this wrong. Just grant me a little more time to do so.” 

The silence stretches on. The air feels colder.

He swallows, then prostrates himself until the cool flagstones rub against his forehead. “The people of this city do not deserve to pay for what I did. So many wizards here will never finish their work. It’s an injustice to all magic.”

When no response comes, he sits up against his heels and finally looks her in the eye. He feels something piercing back, taking in all of him.

“You knew me once, better than anyone. That time together meant something.”

He touches the hand of the statue, gently rubbing its smooth surface.

“Mystra. Please.”

The candles snuff out the moment her name leaves his lips, her presence and his last hope dissolving into darkness. 

He tears his hand away, doing nothing to stop the statue as it falls and shatters into pieces against the ground.

There’s no remorse. No fumble to fix her or quiet whisper of apology for his rashness. No. He wants to smash harder, grind each sorry lump into dust until his blasphemy permeates the very air. Let his last act on this plane be one of defiance, finally breaking that old fatuous hope that if he begged harder, worshipped harder, unmade every shred of his dignity for her, then he might finally find that she has a heart to turn.

The breath caught in his throat pushes out in a high, jagged laugh. It happens again as flames engulf his hand, then again as his fist repeatedly meets the flagstones, again and again and again until they morph into sharper, drier sobs.

The hero of Baldur’s Gate becomes the cur of Waterdeep . The thought taunts him as the ache in his chest begins to eclipse the one in his fist.  

Another lightning bolt of pressure topples him to the floor before he can stop it. It tears at the restraints until his surroundings have melted into nothing but burning white pain. He wants to fight, to run, to do something to stop this but his body has long since given up the battle. The ache builds again as he desperately thinks, cresting like a tidal wave in his chest.

He closes his eyes, letting one final thought take him into oblivion.

Ciri. Please forgive me.

“Oh Mr. Dekarios. Look at you.” 

His neck protests as he lifts his head. A familiar blur of charcoal and ginger fur sits in front of him, watching intently.

“Tara?”

The tressym stretches her wings, slinking closer until he can see the concern knit in her broad feline features. She taps his cheek, then his temple before shaking her head.

“Goodness this is quite the mess.”

He reaches out with a trembling hand. “You need to get out of–” 

She shoves something small and shining against his chest before he can finish.

“Eat, Mr. Dekarios.” 

More powerful strands of weave bind themselves around the orb as he takes the object in, strong enough so that each breath feels less like stones being forced up his throat.

A pair of gloves drop by his knee as he sits up. Tara hovers above with expectant eyes.

“Now these.”

Something heavier lands at his side as he finishes absorbing them: a large necromantic tome this time. 

“And this,” she says as he picks it up, frowning when it doesn’t immediately comply. 

He brushes the series of twisting skulls poking out from the worn surface. “There are only three of these on this plane, you know.”

“Then we’ll find the other two afterwards,” she replies, batting the cover with her paw. “ Eat . I won’t ask twice.”

She brings him item after item until the ground is littered with shards of what Gale assumes is every rare artefact he’s ever collected. Little by little the pain ebbs away, a fire quenched by a handful of sand at a time, until the glow finally stops.

He exhales and touches his chest again. It’s bound enough for him to think clearly, at least for now. He flicks the fireplace to life with his finger and props himself up against the nearest wall. Tara follows at his heels, taking her usual spot in his lap.

“How did you know what was happening?” he asks after a moment.

“I may not live here anymore but I am still your familiar. I’ll always know when you need me.” She presses her head to his palm, purring when he starts to pet her properly. “There was an awful lot of shouting between you and Mrs. Dekarios when I first arrived, so I decided to come back later– and it’s a good thing I did.”

He rubs his forehead. “You heard that?”

“The patriars on the other side of the city most likely heard that, but it isn’t the most pressing issue right now. Your condition has returned.”  

“Returned and worse than ever. The artefacts are barely touching the sides anymore.” He traces the grooves of the orb as he speaks, trying to remember what it actually felt like when there wasn’t a permanent weight entrenched around his heart.

Tara stretches and turns away. “With this affliction there are worse places to be than a wizard’s tower. Stay here, I’ll find more.”

“I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Then I’ll be quick.”

“Tara. Listen to me. I can’t hold it in anymore,” he rests a hand against her back and looks over to the broken statue. “She’s made sure of that.”

He watches the quiet steel of his words settle across her face.

“No. No, I won’t believe it,” she declares, leaping from his lap. “Mystra wouldn’t do this. She could never be this senselessly cruel.”

He fights a cold laugh. “We both know that could not be further from the truth.”

“Well then, we will just keep feeding it until we think of a more permanent solution. There are powerful forces other than the divine out there.”

“I could absorb every strand of the weave in this tower and it would give me days at most. It’s never going to be sated; it’s never going to stop and we don’t have enough time to experiment anymore.” He’s speaking the lines he’d rehearsed for weeks in solitude those years ago, the ones he’d thought that he’d folded away for good the moment he’d got on one knee for someone else.

She hisses and starts pawing through the broken items as if the answer could be found amongst the disarray. “There is always something to be done. You told me you’d been keeping a careful study of it.”

“I was. There has not been so much as a twinge in my chest for two years now and, believe me, I tested a variety of different magics to see if any would aggravate it. I thought, well– assumed that because nothing had changed all was well.” He drops his head against the wall, fingers digging bruising stars into his thighs. “I’m a fool.”

“You’re only a fool if you think that I’m going to sit here and watch you give up.” 

“This is not giving up.”

“That’s exactly what it is, Mr. Dekarios.”

“Then tell me what I’m supposed to do!” 

Tara jumps back at his sudden shout, her wings slamming flat against her body. 

“Mr. Dekarios–”

“Go on, tell me then.” Blood thunders in his ears as he speaks, new tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “There is not a force on this plane that can stop it and the Gods that haven’t left me are not going to pull their fingers out for mortal affairs. They’d rather cower behind Ao then stop something that could potentially kill a city’s worth of people. So tell me. Tell me how I’m supposed to fix this. How I’m to pull the perverted power of a false God out of my chest and actually live the next sixty years like I so naively believed I could.” His voice breaks on the last few words, dropping to a more jagged whisper. “Please. Just tell me what to do.”

His words hang in the silence for a long moment. She sits quietly as his breathing evens out, before padding over and curling back in his lap. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, resting her head against his thigh. “I really am.”

He sighs and lightly strokes the length of her back. “Me too, Tara. Me too.” 

It’s as if all the heat of his anger has dissolved into the air. He should want to shout louder, scream, break everything around him until the whole tower is left in ruins but he can’t .

He’s just tired. So so tired.

Looking down, he remembers the first time she’d rested on him like this. She’d barely been an hour old: smaller, less grey, but just as fiery a presence. How nervous he’d been at scaring her off with a wrong word, but when she’d curled up warm as a fresh pastry in his lap, every silly fear just seemed to float away. What he'd give for it to be so easy now. 

“So, what is to be done then?” she asks, lifting her head from his leg.

“The old plan,” he answers, still gently petting her fur. He doesn’t need to elaborate any further than that, the details have been clear for three years at this point. “And thus ends the tale of Gale Dekarios. At least it will be with a bang and not a whimper.” 

She stiffens under his touch but stays quiet, letting him continue his rhythmic petting until the hearth dims into embers again.

Eventually she jumps from his lap, regarding him with a softer look. “Shall I wake Mrs. Dekarios for you?”

“No. Let me,” he says, his legs clicking with the effort as he finally stands.

He pauses when he reaches the door. “Tara,” he says softly, turning back to the waiting tressym. “You must know that-”

“I know, Mr. Dekarios,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “Unless you want the last memories of me to be a blubbering mess, you really do not have to tell me.” She nudges his calf and gently rubs the spot with her head. “It’s a terrible thing for a tressym to outlive their wizard, even if the one that summons them is as withered as an old boot. The most surprising thing to me when I first arrived here was that you were just a boy. A loud, talented, nervous little boy. And even though they say that only those with pure hearts can summon us, that doesn’t mean we are bound for good lives, so I really had no idea what was in store for me… or you.” She pauses and leaps into the air, hovering so he can feel every word. “Believe me when I say there is nowhere on this or any plane that I would rather have gone and I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. You may have stumbled sometimes and made some interesting choices when it came to your personal grooming, but you were never really lost.” 

It takes every ounce of his faltering restraint to swallow back a fresh round of tears. It’s the shake in breath that betrays him as he gathers her in his arms one last time. He loses himself in the feeling and, for just a moment, lets himself be that child again: innocent, happy, completely oblivious to how the edges of greatness are far sharper than he could ever have imagined.

“Who’s the blubbering mess now?” he whispers as he deposits her back on the floor.

She taps the wet corner of his eye with her paw. “None of that Mr. Dekarios. It’s hardly becoming of you.”

He brushes his eyes, then his cheeks, completely at a loss for how he’s supposed to even begin to approach the next conversation. He rubs his wedding ring for a few seconds before looking back to Tara.

“Promise me you’ll take care of her.” 

She bows her head, wings spread like a cape as he rises again.

“On my honour, I promise.”

***

Walking into their dark bedroom, he can almost forget the discord that has just unfolded below. There’s the pile of first year papers sitting unmarked on the desk, his slippers by the wardrobe, a copy of A Dark Day for Cormyr unopened on the bedside table– everything as neat as when he’d left them this morning. The only hint of disarray is a pile of Ciri’s clothes by the window from where she’d either dropped or thrown them. 

She doesn’t rouse as he sits on the edge of the bed. She’s bundled herself in the majority of the blanket against the cold, the sliver of visible face a mask of calm. It’s a far cry from the last time he’d seen it, so twisted and scarlet with anger. He can’t quite remember half the things he’d said before she’d stormed up here, just how deliberately he’d chosen the words, refusing to be the one that broke first.

It all seems so stupid now, those problems a thousand miles away.

For the longest time death had always felt like his waiting mistress. Those years ago, he’d accepted it, made it welcome even as he rewrote his will over and over again in this very room with a calm steady hand. Falling into adventure had only strengthened that resolve, made him more ready than ever to jump into its waiting arms if it meant his failures could mean something.

But, something else happened. She happened. Someone who loved him beyond the measure of his usefulness, enough to pull him from that embrace and tell him that he deserved more than being the discarded plaything of one God and the current puppet of another. 

So he did the hardest thing of all; he believed her. He turned away from Mystra’s forgiveness and the power of a God so he could make the choice to live. Really, honestly live.

He stops his hand as it lashes towards the bedside table.

And now all of that means absolutely nothing.

“I’m going to die,” he whispers into the darkness, then again, directly at Ciri’s sleeping form. “I’m actually going to die.”

The words don’t feel quite real as they linger in the air. He shifts closer and rests his hand on the warm curve of her cheek.

“Tell me that we will find another way,” he murmurs, brushing a few orange hairs away from her face. “You never stopped believing we could fix this, even when I thought I had exhausted every other possibility.”

He’d bore witness to the miracles she could perform first hand: commanding a devil to fall on his own sword, pulling an undead dragon from the sky, burning the very God of Death to cinders– why would it be such a foolish thing to hope she could stop this as well?

He leans closer, stopping but a breath from her face.

“I can’t do it. I’m not ready.”

She shifts slightly at the noise, the blanket slipping to reveal the patchwork of burn scars down her back and arms. He brushes each one softly, then her shoulder, the point of her ear, the sleek pattern of coppery scales by her eyes. She groans slightly as he presses her left hand to his lips, rolling towards him. 

“I love you. I love you so much.” He kisses the words against her palm, then again, over and over until his voice is raw and sentiment tattooed into her skin. 

Not even two years they’d been married. He has grey hairs older than that. It’s such a fleeting time for a human, but even more so for an elf. She could live another six centuries, him but a single page in the story of her existence. 

The matter of their lifespans was a conversation they’d had but once and they’d both decided that it did not need revisiting. Enjoy the time we have , that’s what they had said. Back when the assumption was decades, not hours.

He pulls another blanket from the bottom of the bed and drapes it over her, some soft navy thing patterned with the Tears of Selûne. His touch lingers against the silvery threads. Thousands of nights he’d promised her under those very stars. It’s hard now not to count the number they’ve actually had and see just how much of a liar he’d turned out to be.

“I’m sorry, my love. I… I wish– ” He trails off, no idea where he’s supposed to go from there. What words can he possibly spin to soften this or lessen the hole he knows he’s about to rip into both the earth and her heart. 

“Let this dream be a good one,” is what he settles on, pressing his lips to her forehead before quietly walking over to his desk.

Snow falls down in sheets through the crack in the curtains in front of him. He can imagine the children at Blackstaff lying awake and staring through the dormitory windows, grinning ear to ear at the thought of missing lessons. He’d already taken more than one snowball to the back of the head between classes, though he’s yet to work out whether those had been from his students or another faculty member. Now he never will.

He shakes the thought away, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment and quietly casting darkvision on himself.

He’s never liked winter all that much, but right now it’s a small mercy. Night will hang over Waterdeep that little bit longer, giving him a few more hours to plan and for Ciri to rest in blissful abandon.

He takes in the beautiful curve of her body one more time before turning back to his desk and beginning to write.

***

And there we go.

Updates will be posted on my AO3 and promoted here. (Hopefully every 2 weeks)