#Do dancing and playing mean nothing to you??!!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

sebek and his big ol' heart

Y’all thought I would be writing an extensive analysis on [REDACTED] or Skully but JOKE’S ON YOU, I love my lame idiot child Sebek 😭

When I tell you I actually CRIED MULTIPLE TIMES reading his Nightmare Suit vignettes… because all the pieces fit together SO well…

Before reading this (long) post, I’d like to ask that you also take your time to read this analysis and this analysis. They will help you understand some of the points I made later regarding Sebek and his internalized racism + how he expresses himself.

Have your recommended reading done? Great, then let’s hop to it!

***Spoilers for Sebek's Nightmare Suit vignettes, book 7, and various other Sebek and Silver card vignettes.***

Sebek is one of those characters that lives in infamy for how much time he takes to get warmed up to. He presents himself as loud and brazen, with these traits often earning him the ire of both in-universe peers and irl fans alike. Worst case scenario, Sebek can be seen as someone who is outright hateful. He’s rude to most people (including Silver, his childhood friend, sometimes), denounces humans, acts like Malleus can do nothing wrong, and doesn’t seem to respect his own father.

Well, I’m here today to tell you those claims are false and that Sebek is actually capable of so, so much love. All you need to really do is look at his Nightmare Suit vignettes—and how well they connect with the rest of his lore—to understand what I mean.

The vignettes start with Jack Skellington finishing a bento that Sally made for him. Sebek tells Jack that he should now return the basket that the bento was delivered in to her and to let her know what he thinks of her meals, but Jack says he can’t because he’s busy with Halloween preparations. Jack asks Sebek and Azul to return the basket in his stead, which they do. They aren't allowed to see Sally because Dr. Finkelstein has locked her up for misbehaving, so they leave the basket. Azul advises that they also pass along Jack's comments (he had called Sally smart, thoughtful, and kind; he often forgets to have meals when he's absorbed with his work, so it's generous for her to prepare a delicious meal like this for him). Sebek loudly refuses, as he believes that hearing these grateful words from Jack himself would be much more meaningful to Sally.

He later confronts Sally at Town Hall and asks to speak with her privately (in an ALLEYWAY lol). There, Sebek flat-out tells Sally that such roundabout tactics will never help her feelings reach Jack because he's way too dense. Of course, she reacts with denial which sends Sebek into a passionate speech about the lengths Sally will go to for love (short of actually speaking about it). She literally threw herself out of a window and put herself in bodily harm to get to Jack when Dr. Finkelstein locked her in her room. She deliberately disobeyed her guardian and brainstormed a way to get out when theoretically she should not have been able to move around freely. If that's not motivated by love, then what is? Sebek declares that it's really annoying to watch Sally dance around the issue and to see her devotion go to waste. IT'S LIKE HE'S WATCHING/READING A ROMCOM AND THE TWO MAIN CHARACTERS KEEP PLAYING THE "WILL THEY, WON'T THEY" CARD... She admits that she can't share her feelings because Sally thinks she's not worthy of someone as impressive as Jack... They're not compatible. And you know how Sebek responds??? BY TELLING SALLY ABOUT WHAT IS BASICALLY TWISTED ROMEO AND JULIET... Sebek reading tragic romance confirmed 😭 He describes the story as one of two lovers whose families do not approve of their union. In desperation, the lovers try to elope--but their plan fails and they return to their warring families. Instead of committing dying like in the original tale, the lovers live the rest of their lives lamenting the outcome and how they can no longer see the person they love most. Sebek shares his own interpretation of the story and its moral: because the lovers gave up hope that they could get their families to accept one another... because they never tried to get their families to get along... because they could not properly articulate their feelings to their families... the lovers could not be together. He is convinced that if they had communicated better, the story would have a happier ending. Sebek is of the firm belief that a story itself cannot come to be without the author wanting to share their own thoughts or feelings; he even suggests that maybe the author of Romeo and Juliet experienced something similar--a regret that resulted from neglecting to express deep-seated feelings. It's not just this book either, Sebek claims to have many stories with a similar theme or miscommunication leading to conflict.

Above all, Sebek stresses to Sally that she must believe in herself and take swift, decisive action. And why does Sebek whole-heartedly throw himself into this belief? Because his own family is living proof that a happy ending is possible if you try hard for it.

If you've paid attention to Sebek lore prior to this, you'll know that he has a human father and a fae mother. Their marriage faced opposition and scrutiny in Briar Valley, a country which is isolated from the rest of the world and suffered greatly from human invaders pilfering the fae lands for resources. One of these sources of opposition and scrutiny is Sebek's own grandfather and his mother's father, Baur. Apparently, Mrs. Zigvolt married Mr. Zigvolt against the wishes of her dad.

Sebek shares even more details with Sally in his Nightmare Suit vignettes. To this day, Baur does NOT approve of his daughter's marriage--but Mrs. Zigvolt doesn't let that get her down! No, she does everything in her power to prove to her father that she made the right choice and she's perfectly content with her life. She'll send letters enclosed with photographs of her family, take her children to visit Baur's home, and invites him to join family dinners. Sebek adds that he's sure his mom made other efforts too--all to try and get Baur to acknowledge her marriage. More recently, Baur seems to have lightened up a little... as in, he always used to turn Mr. Zigvolt away at the door, but now lets him in about once a year (though Baur still avoids eye contact with him and continues to frown). Mrs. Zigvolt stubbornly believes that if she keeps this up, her dad will one day change and bless her marriage with the man she truly loves. Sally commends Sebek and his mother's ability to speak their minds loudly and proudly, but then disparages herself again by saying she can't do the same. Sebek then confesses that he can relate to Sally's frustrations. He related her feelings to his own inadequacy in serving Malleus, the powerful and noble king-to-be of his country. That feeling... Sebek describes it as akin to heartache. But instead of wallowing in that heartache, he pushes himself to close that distance between himself and his idol. If he keeps hesitating, then there is absolutely no way he can catch up to where Malleus is! Sebek must dedicate himself to becoming someone worthy of serving him. He encourages Sally to do the same through both her words and her actions! At that moment, Jack walks in and Sally makes good on Sebek's advice. (This part isn't important to the analysis on Sebek's character, so I'm glossing over it.) The vignettes end with Epel complaining about Sebek being loud as per usual. Sally doesn't take issue with his volume though. She simply giggles and informs Epel that Sebek speaks so loudly and clearly so that his words can resonate with others--like how his words gave her courage.

We have learned new lore about Sebek's grandfather and mother. What does this tell us about Sebek? A lot, actually--if you slate it with all the other lore we have on hand.

We see just how strong of a woman his mother is. I suspect this is where Sebek picked up a lot of his hard-headedness, as well as the tendency to express himself very overtly, from. However, it also speaks to the loving environment he grew up in.

His mother seemingly never questioned her own life choices and never gave up fighting to prove her happiness to a father--and likely an entire community--that rejected her marriage, her husband, and maybe even her children. She fiercely loves and defends her family and the life they have made for themselves. Sebek states that he looks up to her for her magical strength, but that he also admires her principles and strong convictions. Indeed, it was her who ardently pursued Mr. Zigvolt and did not allow naysaying to deter her.

Then there is Mr. Zigvolt. In Sebek's Birthday Boy vignettes, he describes his father as "a strange man" who is "magically deficient" and "never lets his smile fade, no matter what I say to him [...] he defies comprehension." Though Sebek doesn't seem to hold the same amount of respect he has for his mother for his father, we don't hear Sebek openly insulting his dad, just expressing confusion about him. When asked about it, Sebek denies depending on his father--but it's clear there is a fondness there that he's not addressing. Mr. Zigvolt is impressed whenever his children use magic, buys them snacks they never asked for, and talks with them for long periods of time in a calm, patient manner. His father, too, has given Sebek so much compassion and understanding.

We don't know a lot about Sebek's siblings, but they seem to get along fine! He has mentioned going to parks with them. They've also gone fishing together and witnessed magic competitions, which they were all amazed by. The Zigvolts in general (or at least the parents) seem to be accepting too, as they volunteer to take Silver in whenever Lilia is unable to take care of him.

And you'd think that's where it ends, but NO. Baur ALSO has a lot of love to give. Despite not approving of his daughter's marriage, he doesn't actively despise his grandchildren. Quite the opposite, in fact! Though he's rough around the edges and looks scary, Baur doesn't fault any of his grandchildren for being born half fae and half human. He actually makes it a point to bond with them, and especially with Sebek. It was Baur who taught Sebek the language of nocturnal fae and instilled in Sebek his love for reading (as he bought many books for him and tells many stories himself). He also personally reached out to Lilia to train Sebek, as the young boy (at around age 7) expressed an interest in martial arts. Sebek has a love for salmon carpaccio because he and his siblings would fish at Baur's house and then prepare the dish for him--Baur was so happy about it. Additionally, Baur values getting a good education and was proud when Sebek shared with him that he was invited to attend Night Raven College.

Sebek grew up in a country that dislikes humans, but he was raised in an household where he was loved unconditionally and provided with all the resources he could need to get a good education and become someone who is physically strong. So of course he becomes frustrated when he sees Sally, who is so nervous to act on her feelings. What would have happened if Sebek’s mother had been like Sally? Sebek, as the youngest of three, might not event exist. His parents may not still be together… or maybe they wouldn’t have gotten together in the first place. It’s exactly because Sebek knows what love is supposed to be like--courtesy of his own family—that he can see it so well in others, and wants them to act on it. His very existence is proof that love is possible, and it transcends arbitrary labels like race that serve to divide people into categories.

One quirk of Sebek's is how he's always dishing out back-handed compliments or making comments that come off as rude but aren't at their core. He can't seem to help but say a good thing that sounds like something bad. His Diasomnia classmates, usually Silver, have to translate these Sebek-isms for others, who misunderstand him or interpret his words in the worst possible way. For example, from one of Silver’s Fairy Gala lines; “Sebek said to me that no self-respecting disciple of Lilia’s would dare get a single stain on this clothing. That's his way of encouraging me.” In Silver's Dorm Uniform vignettes, Sebek tries to reassure his friend and tell him to not let other people's opinions hurt him--but he phrases it as, "Hmph, ridiculous! I see no reason for you to heed a few random comments from some humans." The duo is also shown to be competitive with one another in training; it's never malicious, they both want to prove themselves as the superior knight, and the other serves as motivation to improve and/or a means of measuring one's own growth against a fellow disciple. When the mostly elderly population of Harveston is in need of physical labor, Sebek comments "[...] the humans in Harveston are woefully out of shape," yet he insists he "still [has] energy to burn" (as if to volunteer himself to do more work) and call such tasks "simple" (as if to point out how easy it is for him to do, so don't worry about troubling him). He hauls apples and helps the villagers with whatever they need, declaring that they should "be grateful"--but if he truly did not care, he could have stopped at any time or settled for just making fun of them. But Sebek doesn't, because he DOES care deep down. This aspect of Sebek is made even more obvious in Fairy Gala: What If. He appears at Ramshackle and opens by declaring, "NO! I am by no means worried about anyone! [...] Don't mistake my intentions. I am NOT here to help! If your mission doesn't succeed, the repercussions will definitely affect Malleus and Lilia. Hence... I shall lend you uneducated humans my aid! [...] You're welcome to weep with joy at my magnanimity..." Time and time again, we see Sebek demonstrating a lot of kindness, but deflecting or not being totally transparent with his intentions due to pride or embarrassment. This behavior is very reminiscent of Baur, the grandfather that Sebek loves dearly and spent so much time with. Baur, too, can be very passionate and loving, but struggles to speak of those feelings openly. Just look at how the man deals with Mr. Zigvolt. The behaviors of the family, then, imprint on Sebek and influence his behaviors--and being that Sebek is from such a loving group, it follows that Sebek puts out a lot of love into the world too.

A lot of times when the fandom discusses Sebek's attitude, I feel it's from the context of him being hateful towards humans. I'm not going to deny that Sebek has said some pretty nasty things about half of his own identity. The point I would like to make here is that Sebek can love just as strongly.

The most obvious thing that supports the claim that Sebek is capable of strong love is how he views Malleus. It's no great secret that Sebek practically worships the ground his dorm leader walks on. That's essentially Sebek's key defining character trait. What I'll ask you to consider instead is the nature of Sebek's love--not the obsessiveness of it, but rather the unconditional nature of it.

In Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas, Skully laments that Sebek has not been disappointed by his idol, Malleus. Sebek actually corrects him by saying that love isn't imposing your own views on your idol, it means preparing to accept them, flaws and all. He says the same of Malleus; should the time ever come where Sebek's expectations of Malleus falter or their paths have to diverge, then he will still embrace his young master, never once turning his back on him. And where does Sebek gets this from? His parents. The father who loves his children no matter how critical Sebek may be of him. The mother who remained so strong in the face of her friends and family being against her life choices.

A common fandom sentiment regarding Sebek is that he blindly follows Malleus--but when speaking about his idol to Skully, Sebek says that agreeing with someone and continuing to love them are different things. You can disagree with someone's actions and still continue to love them and accept them. This follows what Sebek does in book 7; though he is betrayed and hurt by Malleus turning his powers against the world, Sebek does not let up on the hope that he can bring his young master back. He even sillily calls the yet-to-be-hatched Malleus tamago/egg-sama, showing even an infant form of Malleus great respect after witnessing his OB. Skully took the opposite path that Sebek did; when he realized that his own idol, Jack Skellington, was not as he imagined him to be, Skully became enraged and lashed out over it. Sebek points out Skully's inadequacies as well, which ties back to how he spoke of his own drive to improve in his Nightmare Suit vignettes. Skully confesses to trying desperately to emulate Jack--so much so that he breaks down when Sebek's UM destroys his iconic shades. He wallows in his current state and doesn't make efforts to change or to be better; the past and his own vision is where he's comfortable. It's a strong contrast to Sebek, who has made it clear he will continue to train and work hard to prove his merits and to be someone worthy of protecting the great Malleus Draconia.

It is Sebek's passion and boundless love that makes him a hero both in Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas AND in the main story's book 7. He serves as a foil to Skully in the former and actively saves Silver when he's on the brink of despair in the latter. After learning that his biological father is the man responsible for killing Malleus's mother and leading the Silver Owls' onslaught on Briar Valley, Silver despairs and comes to the conclusion that his father must loathe him. "He could never love the son of the man he despised! He has to hate me! He has to!" Sebek rushes to Silver's side using Living Bolt, a UM he has yet to master (thus causing residual damage to him when he casts it), to correct him:

"You have this much strength... and you dare to say you weren't loved?! That you were hated?! [...] If [Lilia] hated you, he didn't have to give or teach you anything. He could've just raised you into a dimwitted coward and made you a servant. But he didn't--and look at you now. Even alone and helpless, you stood firm. You spoke up, unfaltering in the face of our liege's madness. Even trapped in the darkest despair, you kept on fighting! Who raised you to be so strong? LILIA DID! Why don't you see? Why do you doubt? You should have understood years ago! What can you call your strength, if not the direct result of Lilia's love?!"

WHETHER SEBEK REALIZES IT OR NOT, A LOT OF WHAT HE TELLS SILVER HITS HOME FOR HIM TOO... Like, thinking about it... Sebek must have faced a lot of prejudice from his community because of who his father is. He might have grown up thinking he, too, was hated, had he not been protected by his loving mother, father, and, yes, even grandfather, who is still struggling to accept the human in their family. Baur must have been feeling very complicated emotions upon meeting his half human grandchildren for the first time... but even though he dislikes humans, he could never find it in himself to dislike his grandkids. If he had hated Sebek, he wouldn't have wanted him to get a good education. Baur wouldn't be happy that he got into NRC. He wouldn't personally ask Lilia to train the grandson who expressed an interest in combat. He wouldn't buy so many books for Sebek or read with him or tell him stories or teach him his language. But Baur DID do all of these things, because deep down he loves Sebek no matter what he is. If it was anything less than love he felt for his grandson, if he decided to neglect his grandkids, then Sebek would have grown up as some "dimwitted coward". IT'S ALL CONNECTED.

And now here Sebek stands, able to tell others that they are loved and should be cognizant of that love. He reminds Silver that Lilia loves him. He advises Skully to reevaluate how he sees his idol. He tells Sally to speak honestly about her feelings, because it was his own mother speaking honestly about hers that led to Sebek and his entire family being as happy as they are now. He shouts at people to act and to speak their minds because he doesn't want them to live with regrets, because he doesn't want to see them be weak and timid--a version of himself that could have resulted if he hadn't been loved so strongly.

You can say many things about Sebek: that he's loud, that he's rude, that he's a fanboy, that he has big muscles. But of all those muscles, Sebek has a very big heart too. And what made him so strong? All the love he received from his family, despite growing up an environment that surely invited hatred for humans.

[just-some-random-blogger]

BESTIE IM GAGGED NAAKJAMAKKAKAKAKMANANAHAHAHBA IDK BLUE BEARD BUT I DO KNOW CRISTI AND SHE ATE WITH THIS

“It is for the best. Father says that he…” Alicent begins justifying her actions, and you tune out. You know it will just be a repetition of your father’s lectures. Duty. Bearing children. Women knowing their place.

Man fuck Otto. RAT ASS PIECE OF SHIT. you and me 🤝 writing tormented hightowers

You pitied her, for believing in his bullshit.

😭 she's just a girl

“And King Viserys asked me about you, the other day. He would like for you to marry Prince Daemon…”

EWWWWWWWW NOT OTTO MAKING ALICENT DO THE HEAVY LIFTING FOR THIS TOO I HATEHIM

“Be as it may…” She raises a hand, halting you. “Father says you shall marry him, if he finds you agreeable.”

👎👎👎👎 agree with my ass

Lady Royce had no heir. Her castle had gone to Daemon, the King needing little convincing to award it to his beloved brother. Imagining all that bronze in your hands, in House Hightower’s hands, would have him salivating. At getting his enemy away from court? That was only an unexpected bonus. If the man liked you and decided he wanted to play Come-into-my-castle with you, you were sure your father would dance a gig.

"I think it would be nice. To belong to the same House even after marriage. To be never parted from my sister.”

😭✋ I'm stealing this for tormented spirit. CRISTI WTF SO ANGTY SO GOOD

In contrast, you doubt you have ever seen your father this happy. Ever. He is alight with pride. As if throwing his daughter to an old man is some great accomplishment.

Gwayne has left you far too soon, off to dance with some ladies.

L MOVE GWAYNE

“Bitch.” He spits the word from clenched teeth. You laugh loudly.

MSKJSJSSN WHY HE KINDA

“I don’t know, care to find out?”

She ate him up with that HAHHAAH

“Will you?” You roll on your side, stretching. You have done nothing today, not even dress. Daemon and you have spent the whole morning tangled in each other, warm and naked.

😭😫SHE OUT HERE LIVING MY LIFE 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

“I mean it.” He is cruel about it, slapping again the stinging flesh. “I do not want you in there. If you disobey, I’ll know.”

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ HELLO

DIE

Yet, as his touch turns back into loving, you do not forget. There is something about what lies beyond that red door that turns him into a monster. A creature capable of hurting even you.

GWORLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL HES AN ABUSER DONT DO IT.

You grab the dagger at Daemon’s hip and stab him in the stomach, hard. And you do it again, and again, until your hands and face are covered in blood, and Daemon does no longer move.

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ well that'll do it. I'm GAGGED he dead dead fr fr. I almost thought she was like if I'm going to die might as well do it myself and jump out the tower. 😭😭😭 I'm just a masochist lmao

honestly. Deserved. Abusers dying no one crying.

Threefold cord (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon’s wife is presumed dead. But is she?

A/N: Blue beard, to finish my Halloween celebration because I cannot write on schedule. Also @just-some-random-blogger look! The fic I told you about.

Warnings: Hightower!reader x Daemon. Smut. Alicent, Gwayne and reader as siblings. Death of Rhea Royce. Happy ending!

“ARE YOU TRULY about to wed him?” You set your teacup down on its saucer. When your father had summoned you to the capital, you had known it was important news. But Alicent becoming a Queen? It surpassed everything you had imagined.

Your father wanted to make sure you were there to witness her triumph. Alicent lacked allies in court, beyond the Princess. And that relationship would sour as soon as the other girl heard just who her father was to wed.

Alicent was too naive to see it. Or purposefully blind. She claimed to not know what she had been doing when visiting the King, too. You guessed the thought made it easier to bear for her.

You didn’t blame her. King Viserys was old and beginning to show signs of being sickly. The thought of offering yourself to such a man, twice your age, on your father’s orders, wasn’t pleasant. You would rather pretend you were just being kind.

“It is for the best. Father says that he…” Alicent begins justifying her actions, and you tune out. You know it will just be a repetition of your father’s lectures. Duty. Bearing children. Women knowing their place.

You pitied her, for believing in his bullshit. It wasn’t as if either of you could escape your fate, but you at least tried not to lower yourself into thinking you were a lesser, gentler being, made to be bred. Instead, you enjoyed thinking you were a person. Just as human as any man, just as smart, just as strong. Only one trapped by your status as a noblewoman.

You sip at your tea. You are cautious not to make a sound when doing so, and not take too big of a sip. Anyone who gazes at your courtly smile and comely manners would not guess your innermost thoughts.

Alicent continues her tirade, describing animatedly how much she wants to do her duty and birth children. How she knows her body will not fail her as it did for the late Queen. She has an unfortunate thirst for proving herself, your eldest sister.

“And King Viserys asked me about you, the other day. He would like for you to marry Prince Daemon…”

The tea you are drinking goes down the wrong way. You start coughing, and have to hurriedly set down your teacup as to not burn yourself.

“Excuse me?” You say, once the coughing fit subsides a bit, and you are able to wipe your mouth with a napkin. “I will… What? Does father know of this?”

She looks at you, concerned, but says nothing about it. She pours herself another cup of tea.

“Prince Daemon’s wife has been missing for a while. They think she might have…” Alicent leans in, voice lowering. You are in the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by men loyal to your father, and yet she feels she cannot say it freely. You wonder what has Lady Royce done to scandalize her such. “Ran away. With a lover.”

“You prude!” You laugh. You had thought it much worse. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so, don’t be nai…”

“A female one.” Alicent interrupts, setting down her own teacup. The movement is a bit harsh, making the porcelain screech.

You open and close your mouth. You had not known that was even a possibility.

“How does one..?”

“Be as it may…” She raises a hand, halting you. “Father says you shall marry him, if he finds you agreeable.”

There was not much you knew about politics, but you were pretty sure the Prince despised your father and your house by extension. You doubted he would find you agreeable. Your father would doubt it too, but he was too blinded by the hope of getting Runestone.

Lady Royce had no heir. Her castle had gone to Daemon, the King needing little convincing to award it to his beloved brother. Imagining all that bronze in your hands, in House Hightower’s hands, would have him salivating. At getting his enemy away from court? That was only an unexpected bonus. If the man liked you and decided he wanted to play Come-into-my-castle with you, you were sure your father would dance a gig.

You wouldn’t. If it did happen… You shuddered, thinking of the man with the lecherous grin, always whoring. Twice your age, and crass as they came. The only times you had crossed paths, he had been busy ogling Alicent or his niece.

“I am not marrying him.”

Alicent frowns at you. Her eyes turn sad. When she gets contradicted, she looks much like a kicked puppy.

“I have never met him.” You explain, feeling guilty over upsetting her. She is just so much like your father, sometimes. It angers you, even when you know it is not her fault. She doesn’t have the same anger in her veins as you do. All she ever wanted was to please your father.

“He is looking for a wife, and King Viserys thinks it would be marvelous if you married him. I have told him all about you.” Alicent sounds excited about the whole thing, and just… No. You do not want to marry a man twice your age. Gross. Her tone turns softer. “I think it would be nice. To belong to the same House even after marriage. To be never parted from my sister.”

The want in her expression makes you soften. It is not often that Alicent admits to desiring anything, and you do not wish to discourage her.

“I’ll meet him.” You decide. “Just that.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

And the Seven bless her, she actually seems delighted to hear it.

THE WEDDING IS awfully dull. The Septon drones on and on about the Mother and the Father, and the duties of marriage. Alicent looks stunning in her silk gown, beautiful but modest. It is no use. People already speak of what she has done to trap the King into marriage.

Princess Rhaenyra keeps sending her glares during the feast. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in hurt. She is not quite sure what to feel. You can tell from the way she pauses when looking at Alicent. You pity her too.

Losing a mother is a terrible thing. You can only imagine how much it hurts to see her replaced by a girl your own age.

The Princess is a woman who has everything and yet, it's still a woman. No power to stop her father from bedding her best friend, no power to change anything at all. The realization of her powerlessness is clear in her features.

In contrast, you doubt you have ever seen your father this happy. Ever. He is alight with pride. As if throwing his daughter to an old man is some great accomplishment. He has spared no expense on this wedding, the ceremony and feast lavish in a way that feels almost tasteless.

The pomp and luxuries have you feeling morose. You sip at your hippocras, tucked into a corner of the high table, and try to pretend you are invisible. Gwayne has left you far too soon, off to dance with some ladies.

He has always been the courteous sort, just like you. You enjoy watching him charm the ladies, and enjoy more the fact that he hasn’t tried to drag you to the dance floor.

For that, you are grateful. Some ladies are lively and dance as if gliding through water. You do not. Dancing had not been on the list of abilities you had acquired during your etiquette lessons.

It had always felt like peacocking to you. Showing yourself to others, showing how pretty you smiled, how graceful you were. The attention it brought made you uncomfortable. You much preferred blending in.

“Strange choice of drink you have there.” Prince Daemon says, sitting across from you. “Even stranger that you are still sitting at your sister's wedding.”

“I could say the same.” You reply, colder than you planned to. The hippocras is hitting you already, making your temper shorter. You have little interest in Daemon Targaryen.

There is a secret plan in your head. When you reach thirty, you will claim a sudden awakening of Faith and retire to the comforts of life as a Septa. You have done enough charity to know that Septas don’t do as much as they like people to think. The only thing you will miss will be the alcohol.

“Ah, but I am just sitting now.” He idly reaches for the carafe of hippocras you are monopolizing, and serves himself a goblet. “Is this any good?”

“At least it’s not dornish swill.” Dornish wine has to be the worst thing you have ever tasted, not even fit for pigs. Bitter and watery, the mere thought annoys you.

Prince Daemon barks out a laughter.

“Good Gods, where was Otto hiding you?”

“Probably in the same place as your decency.”

“Thread carefully.” Daemon’s expression turns far colder. His hand tightens around the stem of his goblet. “I might like your cheek, but I am still a prince of the realm.”

“One soon to be displaced.” You toast. A bit of hippocras spills from your goblet. You are far too drunk to care about his thoughts. “Be it by my nephews or your niece.”

His face reddens.

“Bitch.” He spits the word from clenched teeth. You laugh loudly.

“Knave.”

“You are an insolent little thing, aren’t you?” Daemon snarls, leaning over the table as if to throttle you. Drunk as you are, you don’t feel any fear. You have just enough rational thoughts left to believe you will be alright, since even the darkened corner you have chosen to sit in is too public for him to murder you without repercussions.

“I am small but fierce.”

“I can see that. Do all Hightower cunts have teeth?”

You smile at him, lazy and warm from the drinks you have had.

“I don’t know, care to find out?”

And Daemon laughs. He asks you to dance instead. As he twirls you and dips you, you come to find he is not bad company after all. And if you laugh a tad more than necessary, and accept his offer to walk the gardens the next afternoon, no one can blame you.

“IT IS BUT a couple of days.” Daemon says to you, softly. You lay on your stomach, head propped up on your arms. You twist your head just so to force him to see your sad little pout.

His hand comes to rub at your shoulders, as if you were a spooked horse he is trying to soothe. His touch is warm and calming against your bare skin.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He has soothed you into complacency, this husband of yours. He allows you to indulge in fine wines, and be as frivolous as you wish. The only thing he asks of you is that you are warm and willing when he is. It is no chore.

Long gone is your rage. Now, you exist in a perfect bubble, where no one constricts your freedom. There is no screeching father to tell you that you are a disaster, nor is there a horrified Alicent. Instead, Daemon encourages all your eccentricities, and teaches you some new ones.

“Will you?” You roll on your side, stretching. You have done nothing today, not even dress. Daemon and you have spent the whole morning tangled in each other, warm and naked.

He smiles. That same grin that had once seemed so lecherous to you, now looks inviting.

You bite your lower lip, already anticipating what is to come.

“Minx.” Daemon laughs, before leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. The contact of his lips against your skin makes you shiver, a delicate sigh leaving you. “You won’t even notice I am gone.”

“Of course I will.” You whine, as he kisses a path down your spine. “Who will bring me such pleasure?”

A sudden, sharp pain on your arse makes you yelp and sit up. Daemon smirks, and feigns taking another bite out of you.

“You are so spoiled.” He laughs. “Cannot take even a little pain. I’ll leave you some coin, and you can invite your sister to keep you company. How does it sound?”

“Think the King can spare his Queen?” You have not seen your sister since your wedding. The ravens fly fast enough that you know the news already, but you doubt King Viserys will allow her to be out of his sight for long. Not when pregnant.

Daemon nips at your thigh. You jerk, but he coaxes you back into laying on your stomach.

“Before she gets too round to travel, yes. In a few moons, it will have to be us making the trip.”

“Gods, I hate babes.”

“So do I.” He rubs at your inner thigh, slowly prying your legs open. “So? Is my spoiled wife happy?”

“Very.” You rub your face in the pillow, all kittenish. You like being called his. “Do I get the keys of the castle, too?”

Daemon kisses the place where your thigh meets your arse. You can feel his smile against your skin, promising sin.

“Of course. Just don’t go into the room with the red door, alright? I forbid it.”

“You do?” You challenge, thinking it part of the game. So far, you have yet to explore all of Runestone, always too entertained by him to do so. There are a few rooms he is cagey about, but you have always blamed it on Daemon being very private and needing his space. He has never allowed you into his personal library, either. Says you would ruin the books.

You have never minded it. You understand your place here, the dumb young wife. Men never like thinking the woman they are with can be more interesting than them. To think you can also have an interest in books, apart from being frivolous, would be too much for him to handle.

The warning about the red door only registers to you as part of the games you usually play in the bedroom. Something he can punish you about later on, something that might excuse a round of rough lovemaking.

But his expression turns into a frightening mask of utter rage. He pinches you in the thigh, and this time, it really hurts.

“Fuck!” You cry out, fighting his hold. His grip has turned from the sweetest chains into unforgiving iron around your hips. You cannot move. Not even as he slaps your thigh, hard enough to make your eyes water. “Daemon, what the..?”

“I mean it.” He is cruel about it, slapping again the stinging flesh. “I do not want you in there. If you disobey, I’ll know.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed, You cannot comprehend how fast he has flipped, from kind lover to whatever this is. The rogue Prince is mercurial, you think, echoing the letter your father had once written complaining about him, his moods dangerous.

“Fine!” You cry out, desperate to evict this creature that has taken sudden hold of your husband’s body. “Fine! No opening the red door.”

Daemon softens then. His shoulders slump, and his face goes back into a mask of devotion.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, to the place he slapped. You tense. “It is dangerous for you. Like the Moondoor in The Eyrie.”

Yet, as his touch turns back into loving, you do not forget. There is something about what lies beyond that red door that turns him into a monster. A creature capable of hurting even you.

You intend to find out what it is.

THE FORTNIGHT SPENT with Alicent is by far, the best of your life. Runestone is grand, with intricate tapestries and artwork decorating the walls. Your sister has always loved art, and the time spent surrounded by beautiful things seems to rejuvenate her.

Her pregnancy appears to be easy and without fuzz. There is no nausea preventing her from having as many lemon cakes as you two wish, or from exploring the Vale’s markets, trying on dresses and tasting expensive food.

The money Daemon has left you is enough to fund your shopping sprees. You have so much fun, running in the halls and trying on dresses, it feels as if you are little girls again. The only thing missing from your childhood is Gwayne.

So you send for him.

Despite how much joy your time spent with your sister brings you, you cannot shake the thought about the red door.

It is situated in one of the towers, near the place where Daemon keeps his books. You pass by it daily, for Alicent’s rooms have been placed in the same tower. Housing a Queen is no easy task, much less when she carries the heir to the Iron Throne inside her. She had come with servants and guards, who had to be housed too. There was no space but that tower.

That tower. Each time you pass it, you have to clench your fists hard to stop yourself from reaching towards it. Every time you open a door, your hands linger on the only key you will never use.

What lies behind the red door? What can possibly upset your husband such and change him from a careless hedonist into a violent man?

When no one is near, you kneel by the door and try to look through the keyhole. The lock on the door is old and smells faintly of iron. The only thing you can see looking through the keyhole is rust.

Trying to look under the door gives you the same results. Rust and iron, and a nagging curiosity that will not leave you alone.

You try to forget about it. You owe obedience to your husband, and you remember all too well the tale of the woman who owned a jar that should never be opened. It had been a favorite of your father during your youth.

A wife must never pry. For she might find something she doesn’t like.

Yet, when you think of Daemon grabbing you hard enough to bruise, you realize you already have found something you do not like. It is that thought what helps you make up your mind. One afternoon, when Alicent claims to be too tired to keep you company, you decide to open the door.

Your hands are slick with sweat, and shaking so much it takes you two tries to fit the key into the keyhole. Your heart feels like it will leap out of your chest. Suddenly, you are paralyzed.

You cannot turn the key. Your hands have gone rigid. Your fear overwhelms you. What could possibly be in here, if not a terrible secret?

You turn it. The lock clicks, and the door gives with an ominous creak. You step inside, as careful as you can. The floor is slick and sticky. When you look down, your shoes and the hem of your gown are tinted red.

You scream. You turn towards the walls, only to find more blood. Bloodied rags, stains, a bloodied dagger. You begin to feel lightheaded. When you stumble towards a corner, you see her.

A corpse of a woman, hugging her knees to her chest. Her body is rotting, half of her face gone, but enough of it remaining so you can see that it has frozen in an expression of utter horror, much like your own. She wears a rune covered armor, and has several cuts all over.

This time, you fall down. The keys slip from your grip, and you scream so loud, you are sure you wake the whole castle.

The missing Rhea Royce.

“Good gods!” Alicent cries out, behind you. You stumble to your feet, terrified. She cannot see it. Daemon… Daemon was going to kill you both. “What is this? By the Seven, is that..?”

“He is going to kill me.” You say, wiping the blood clinging to your hands on your dress. You try to clean the keys as well, but the stain won’t come out. No matter how hard you try. “He’ll know.”

“He is not going to, we can go to the King, and I am sure there is…” Alicent sounds horrified. She lingers on the doorstep, already on her nightshirt. Her belly is barely beginning to show.

“Alicent!” You say, sharply. “He’ll know. You have to run, Alicent. He will kill us both.”

“And leave you to die?” Your sister sounds indignant. “I cannot. You cannot…”

You cannot run, you wish to say. You cannot because if you do, Daemon will know even quicker, and chase you both. If you stay, maybe you can fool him. Or at least, give your sister a fighting chance.

“Please!” You cry. “Do it for the babe.”

Alicent’s lips turn white from the force she uses to keep them closed. She looks into your eyes, and hesitates. You fear she might not go through it.

“Go!” You cry, slipping on all the blood.

And Alicent, big brown eyes wide, hikes up her skirts and runs.

DAEMON NOTICES AS soon as he asks for the keys. You have never been a good liar, and the blood still stains them. When handing them over, you shake.

His smile drops. He no longer is the happy husband, but the creature that had frightened you the other night. The creature that had killed Rhea Royce, and took her lands.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He grabs you by the neck, snarling.“I told you to leave it alone.”

Your pulse begins to race. You cannot speak, and you can only take shallow breaths. Your panic must show on your face because Daemon smiles at you, coldly. He squeezes a tad harder, enough to cut off your breath.

You gasp. It comes out more like a choked hiccup.

“Look at what you are making me do.” When you are starting to feel lightheaded, breath coming out in desperate wheezes, Daemon gives you a shove. “I never wanted to do this. This is all your fault.”

“You don’t have to kill me.” You plead, voice shaking. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Daemon looks at you, and laughs.

“I assure you, I have not gotten away with it this long because I believe every pretty thing telling me they will keep their mouths shut.”

Your eyes widen. The phrasing is strange. Every pretty thing…

“There had been others?” Daemon scoffs at your question, but doesn’t answer. You look into his eyes, and try pleading once more. At this point, tears are streaming down your cheeks. You are sure you make a very pathetic sight. “Just… Don’t kill me.”

“Good Gods. Are all Hightowers this dumb or is it you and Aliwhore?” Daemon grasps your face, roughly. You cannot believe your ears. Where is all this hatred coming from? It seems like the man you loved, the one that had courted you for endless summer days, is gone. All that is left is his profound hatred for you and your family. Had he only pretended not to hate you, and was showing his true colors now? “At least die with some dignity, you pathetic cunt.”

Dignity. Dignity could buy you time. You need it, to think of a way to survive.

“Allow me to pray, then. To make my peace with my death.”

Prayer wasn’t your strong forte. But you guessed you could possibly buy an hour with it. You had never been as devout as your siblings, but you could pretend well enough to fill the time as you tried to make your own miracle happen.

Daemon studies your expression closely. He tilts your head up and down, and then gives you a patronizing little pat on the cheek.

“Fine.” He spits out. “Pray. Only a few minutes, not a second more.”

You walk past him, intent on going back to the tower where a statue of the Mother stands. You watch his face carefully when you pass by him, worried he is only toying with you and has no true intention of allowing you to pray in solitude. But he doesn’t stop you.

You make your way to the highest tower, kneel by the feet of the statue and weep. Your weakness only lasts you a moment because when you lift your gaze, you catch sight of a green standard approaching the gates.

Could that be..?

“Are you done?” Daemon asks, from behind the closed door. You can hear the drag of steel against steel, and picture him in your mind’s eye. Taking Dark Sister out of her sheath, face full of bloodlust.

“Just a minute more.” You beg, watching the rider stop at the gates and being allowed in by the guards. “Don’t kill me, please! Not yet!” You cry out, as loud as you can, hoping your voice carries.

Daemon bursts in, Dark Sister held by his side. His smile is cold, his face the image of calm. One would never guess he is about to kill someone by watching his expression. You notice the dagger he carries at his hip, but do not dare to try to take it. Not when Dark Sister’s reach is much longer.

“Oh, spare me the hysterics. More prayer will not spare you.” He lunges at you, and you evade him, but there are only so many places one can run to in a small room. Daemon catches you by wrapping your braid in his hand, giving you a harsh tug that makes you tumble down. You scream.

“Shut up. Seven Hells, quiet.” Daemon places the sword at your throat. “You will…”

The door is thrown open by a kick, the loud bang startling him and making his grip falter.

“She will do nothing.” Gwayne says, firmly. You can see Alicent standing behind him, wrenching her hands together. You have never been more grateful to see them. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“Oh?” Daemon shoves you. You do not fight his push, laying limply on the floor. He turns towards Gwayne, sword no longer focused on you. “You think you can beat me, boy?”

Gwayne cannot. He had lost to him in a tourney not even six months before. You do not hesitate. You grab the dagger at Daemon’s hip and stab him in the stomach, hard. And you do it again, and again, until your hands and face are covered in blood, and Daemon does no longer move.

You look up at your siblings, then. Alicent’s face is horrified, but when she senses your eyes on her, she smooths down her expression. Gwayne watches with vague interest. At some point, he seems to have taken Dark Sister from Daemon’s hand because he now holds it.

The three of you stare at each other. The blood on your hands is rapidly cooling and turning sticky. You wipe your hands on your dress.

You had thought you would feel something if you killed another person. Instead, you only feel numb. Empty. Daemon is gone, and so are his things. His kisses, his threats, the monster that lurked beneath.

It’s Alcent who first speaks, face pale. “The red room. We need to get to work.”

By the end of it, it is as if he never came home at all. The three of you hug, on the brink of tears. Another string tied you now, beyond the sibling bond. The man you had murdered, and the duty to forget him.

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ DUTY-BOUND ꒱ AKAGAMI NO SHANKS X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! very suggestive. alcohol use. period talk. foot worship. scent kink. female reader. reader and shanks are married, and shanks uses a few pet names—some silly, some serious—including: “lady love” / “ma’am” / “my love” / “my wife.” please note that shanks only has his right arm.

word count ⟢ 1115

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was shanks + period sex. this is my first time writing shanks, and truthfully, it reignited my lust for him... i hope i did him justice. please enjoy!

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

It’s late; you lost track of time when the sky was still an azure ocean, the sun floating peerless in its splendor. An expensive—now empty—bottle of spiced rum lies at your feet, its warmth eddying through your veins, limbs steeped in honey. Swathed in night’s royal velvet, your hotel room is illuminated only by shivering candlelight and stray moonbeams. You left the balcony door ajar. Outside, the balmy breeze stirs palm leaves, and the sea’s siren song plays, ebbing and flowing with the tide.

For the first time in months, you’re on a real bed. Swapping your trusty hammock for a down-filled mattress feels like a luxury—one you refuse to take for granted. While your earlier beachside dinner left you satiated and wooed, your date led you to a nearby bar for drinks and dancing. Laughter rang in your ears as you draped your wrists over his broad shoulders, a thick arm anchored low across your hips, chin kissing the top of your head. The merriment concluded with what he insisted would be a “borrowed” bottle of rum.

(“Cap’s favorite,” he whispers conspiratorially against your temple, cradling the stolen cargo inside the billowing fabric of his cape.)

But as you lounge in bed together, your mind wanders. Shanks rests on his side, head propped up with his right arm. You’re curled against his bare chest, the vitality of his battle-worn flesh and the ardent beat of his heart setting your nerves alight. His hooked nose is buried in your hair, lips pressed to your crown.

“Nothing much,” you belatedly reply.

“Hmm…” He pulls back to study your expression, playful gaze narrowing, mapping the contours of your profile as though he’s navigating an uncharted island. After a few beats of silence, he finally announces: “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He hums. “You always have something to complain about.”

(That earns him a swift smack to the shoulder.)

“Ouch!” he gasps, face contorting in mock anguish. “My lady love wounds me.”

“If you must know,” you huff, ignoring his antics to instead twirl a delicate finger through his chest hair, “it’s my time of the month. So I’m not exactly feeling my best and brightest.”

“I see…Is that it?”

You indulge the petulant urge to roll your eyes. “If only I could ball up my pain and force it upon you, Mr. Can’t-Leave-His-Hammock-All-Day-When-He-Has-A-Mild-Cough.”

“No—you misunderstand me,” he sighs.

Slipping his arm beneath your waist, he shifts to hover above you, the ring hanging from the golden chain around his neck gleaming with reflected moonlight. His frame is almost comically large; almost. The way he so effortlessly maneuvers you, his body eclipsing yours, trapping you in place—forcing you to stare up at him: your captain, your lover, your husband—has heat blooming in your belly.

“What I mean is that there are ways to deal with this sort of pain.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, craning your neck to brush your lips against the ring; his jaw flexes. “Enlighten me, then,” you challenge.

You’ve fallen right into his trap and you know it. His grin is devastatingly radiant. Vast and blinding as the horizon on a cloudless day, it holds a sly promise. He leans down, lips grazing yours, breath so sweet your teeth ache. “Yes ma’am.”

Shanks considers himself lucky that you’re mostly undressed: your frame drowns in one of his old, sun-bleached shirts, the excess fabric pooling at your thighs. Underneath it, a simple pair of cotton panties is all that separates him from what he desires most.

Sliding down the length of your form, his excitement is apparent as it strains against his breeches. He nudges the hem of your makeshift nightgown with his nose, teasing it upward, careful to scrape the stubble on his cheeks and chin across your tender flesh. Continuing until the garment reaches the apex of your thighs, he then bites down on the soft linen, dragging it up to your hips with his teeth.

When you raise an eyebrow—Leaving your work half-finished, Akagami? he can hear you goad—he rasps, “I quite enjoy this view. As long as my love doesn’t mind, that is.”

(If the quickening of your pulse is anything to go by, you don’t mind in the slightest.)

Sitting back on his heels, he skims his fingers along the sinuous outline of your leg, supple hip to the arch of your foot. He splays his palm across your ankle, rough thumb stroking the bone. Gingerly, he raises your foot to his mouth, blotting a kiss against the sole before lifting his lips to your toes, slick pink peeking out, messily dragging his tongue across each digit. His eyes never leave yours, stormy with lust—fresh ichor seeping onto the salt-damp deck of a pirate ship: sublime.

Even in the throes of worship, crimson strands marring his vision, he looks every bit the Emperor he is.

Soon, he works his way back between your legs, wasting little time as he shoves his face into the seam of your underwear, inhaling deeply with a groan. You want to harass him for acting like an ill-trained mutt, but the knowledge that he’s getting off on your scent—that after a day of exploring and sweating and bleeding he still yearns for you—makes your head fuzzy.

You clear your throat. “Shanks. You don’t have to…you know.”

He doesn’t move even a hair’s breadth, eyelids heavy, the low rumble of his voice resounding in your core as he drawls, “I’m a big boy; a bit of blood isn’t gonna hurt me.”

His hand creeps downward, slowly—purposefully—until it rests atop your final layer. His fore and middle fingers sneak past the waistband and tangle in your pubic hair. Meanwhile, he stretches his thumb out to stroke your aching clit, featherlight, still not touching you directly.

“Besides,” he adds, no mirth in his manner for the first time all evening, “it’s my duty to help my wife.”

[bumpkinspice0]

Know One Knows the Trouble, Honey, That We've Been Through 3/3

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6

Summary: He lied to you. They all lied to you. They didn't want you back. This was all some sick ploy to get you to dig up the past you worked so hard to bury. You've held it inside for so long… time to let it out. Thanks for all the comments! I love you! We made it babes, buckle up Warnings: canon typical violence, fighting to resolve feelings (cause that makes sense), S M U T, Logan: Pussy eating champion, knife play? (blink and you'll miss it), fingering, dirty talk, P in V sex, switches switches everywhere, praise kink, multiple orgasms, smut with feelings

Series Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

Funny how perspective can change in an instant. A few words shared in confidence can be used against you. Someone you thought you could trust was just using you the whole time. Nothing but a means to an end.

Night was finally here. You stand on the opposite side of the fire, Logan on the other with his hands raised as if you were a spooked animal. 

Getting close to you, the drinks, the kiss— all to get to this. This is what he actually wanted from you— to know your past to help himself. 

“Weapon X isn’t a person.” you spit

“It’s what they called me. What I’m told they called me.” he pleads back, circling the fire.

“What do you mean you were told?”

“They put metal in me— adamantium. They gave me claws and made me a weapon—a monster. That’s all I know. I don’t remember anything. They took everything from me. My memories, my humanity, everything.”

You can’t see past your rage to fully process what he’s saying. Another person stolen and experimented on. In a different life, you’d pity him— but not tonight. 

“Is… is that why you’ve been talking to me? Is that what this is? You think I can help you find something?”

“No! Of course not, I never—”

“You grilled me about my life! Questioned me just to—“

“Listen! Would you please just listen!” 

You turn away, each step making the concrete around you rumble. You storm into the mansion, slamming the door behind you. Logan follows. You’re halfway through the living room before he reaches for you. 

“Darlin’, I didn’t know anything, I swear to God,” he pleads behind you.

“Don’t!” you whip around before he can grab your wrist, “Just don’t, you fucking liar.”

“He’s not lying.” you both turn to the sound of Charles’s voice. He sits at the edge of the room, Scott and Storm behind him. “He didn’t know anything.”

You feel cornered, all of them looking at you expectantly— like you have all the answers. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to be reminded of it all— and all for the benefit of someone else. 

Your anger has a new target. 

“But you knew, Charles.” You spit at your old mentor, “Is that why you really brought me here? To help tame your new stray?”

“Of course not.” His voice is so calm and level, it only infuriates you more. 

“We had a right to know about this, Charles.” Logan bites out behind you. 

“You don’t get to talk right now,” You point an accusatory finger at Logan. 

“You’re not the only one allowed to be mad right now,” he growls back. If this is all true, deep, deep down you know he’s right. Then you were both pawns, the game was just being played by Charles. 

“It would have been addressed in time.” The Professor simply replies. 

“Oh, bullshit.” you bark out a mocking laugh before making your way past Charles and your once friends.

“Dozer, please,” the pleading in Storm’s voice almost makes you pause. Almost. 

You’re at the front door now, hand resting at the knob. A million possible responses are at the tip of your tongue.

They knew—they all knew—and this was just some big dance to get you to dig up things you didn’t want dug up—for him, for their new pet. They didn’t want you back. They didn’t want you at all.

“Fuck you.” You hiss before slamming the door behind you. You think you hear Charles telling the others to let you go before you do. You don’t know. You don’t really care. 

Still, that doesn’t stop a hand from clamping down around your wrist when you're only just steps from your truck. 

“Don’t go. Please.” 

“Let go of me, Logan”

You don’t bother to face him. He doesn’t deserve anything from you. No one does. 

The truck is so close yet so far away.

“I can’t help you.” You bite out. 

“I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that. Just—” His grip tightens, “You said you wanted to stay. You wanted to come back. Please… stay.”

“Let go.”

“You’re angry, with every right to be. I am too.”

“You don’t know a damn thing.”

You’re tired. You’re so tired of being used. 

“I get it. They deserve it, darlin’. All that rage.” He dares to take a step closer, “Charles, me, Weapon X… your father.”

“Let. Go.”

You rip him off, a pillar of rock sending him flying across the lawn. You finally turn to look at him. He gets up as if nothing has happened. He holds his hands out— a challenge.

“Let it out, darlin’. You deserve to let it out. I can take it.”

Anger needed a target, and he was offering himself up to be yours. 

The fucking masochist. 

You should leave. You want to leave but it’s a shame how all rationality goes out the window when rage is at the wheel.

The ground quakes, rocks and dirt swirl in the wake of your thundering steps. You run towards him almost blind. You don’t know what you’re doing but you don’t want to stop either. 

Let it out, he said— fine. 

You’ll let it out.

Rocks of all sizes come crashing down around him— pebbles the size of quarters to boulders the size of people. You rip them all from the ground with no regard. There is only fury. There is only white, blinding rage. 

Logan is fast, dodging every new obstacle you throw at him in an instant. He runs, he pounces but still, the claws stay sheathled. What good is a knife against a stone, anyway? It doesn’t matter, you don’t really care. In its own fucked up way, it felt good the let loose— consequences be damned. 

You don’t notice when you start to pull dirt from the gardens. 

“Bastard!” It’s screamed at Logan but you’re not entirely sure who you’re thinking of when you say it. 

Logan doesn’t have a scratch. It’s not just because of the healing factor, nothing’s touched him. He’s playing cat and mouse with you, drawing you further and further away from the mansion. He wants you to fight, but he won’t do it himself. 

Coward.

You plunge your fists into the ground, massive cracks in the earth jutting out from the force. The ground around Logan breaks apart from the rest, a small platform of earth lifting him into the air.

Try running from this, you think as you slam it all back down in one thunderous motion. The small island breaks apart on impact but Logan breaks free, claws finally bared. 

“You ready to fight back now?!” you scream through wheezed breaths. It’d been so long since you’d exerted yourself this way. You do your best to hide the creeping exhaustion. 

“This isn’t a fight, darlin’,” still he holds his claws at the ready, “Never was.”

“Oh, shut up! J-just shut up!” you hurl a small rock at him. He deflects it easily, a metallic ping ringing out as it bounces off his claws. His expression remains blank— unreadable.

Cocky asshole.

You throw more, stone after stone, not one meeting its target. Gradually, they get bigger and bigger as you continue. He starts the move again when the rocks become too big for him to simply slice through. With a single stomp of your foot, the ground beneath him turns to sand. He sinks down to the ankles and before he can react you harden it to stone. He pulls at his legs uselessly and you can't help but scoff at his efforts.

Try to run away now.

With shaking arms and legs you raise the debris-field around you, thousands of pounds of shattered earth at your command. Your whole body shakes with the effort.

“Is this it? Is this what you wanted?!” You scream at him through ragged breaths.

Logan only stands there, feet trapped in the dirt and ready to accept whatever your blind rage would bring down on him.

But he’s not Logan. 

He is your father. He’s the faceless men that held you in a metal box. He’s every scientist that pricked you with needles. He’s everyone you killed on that boat. He’s Charles. He’s you.

You fall to your hands and knees, the ground cracking and crumbling under your palms. 

You wanted to run away from this. Forget Weapon X ever existed but proof of it has been standing in front of you the whole time. Logan, a man stolen and tortured by the same people who did the same to you. A living weapon. Weapon X incarnate. They wanted to turn you into something like him. You could have been him. 

You could have been him. 

No memories. A quiet rage only scarred people like you recognize. Running until someone like Charles takes pity on you. That’s all anyone ever had for you. Pity. 

In an instant, it’s all still. All that power you were exerting into the earth boils out and rips through your throat in a harrowing scream. Everything falls around you, dust engulfing you in an instant. Long-held-back tears sting at your eyes, finally escaping down your cheeks. You curl into yourself, the earth and your mind finally still.

You don’t register the sound of metal claws digging at the ground. You barely notice the strong arms pulling you in. You think comforting words are being whispered to you, but you can’t bring yourself to listen just yet. 

Slowly the dust settles and you see the destruction you’ve brought to the land you worked so hard to rebuild. It only makes it all hurt more.

You did what he said. Years of holding it down— you let it out. You let it out on him and now he’s holding you like a blubbering child. With the initial anger quelled, the shame finally has a chance to creep in.

You did it again. You destroyed something you love because something was already broken inside you a long time ago. 

Why do I do this? Why do I always do this?

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Logan's quiet voice breaks through finally.

“Fuck… y-you,” you manage to gasp out between the sobs. They’re harsh words, but you have no strength left to fight him. 

You practically killed him and now he’s comforting you. Was he so desperate for any ounce of knowledge you had… or he was just someone who understood in a way no one else had? You’re not ready to face the implications of it all yet. You’re not sure you’ll ever be. For now, crying will have to do.

The dust has settled completely, covering both of you in a pail brown coat. Still, he doesn’t move, holding you as long as you need. Until the tears settle, until the remaining anger subsides, until your friends gather at the front door in the distance… waiting for you to come home. 

You look up from the crook of his neck, still surrounded by the results of your rage. You’d both sat in the center of a newly formed crater at the center of the yard. 

Sometimes, you forget how destructive you can be when you don’t hold yourself in check. Yet… somehow, you feel lighter. Maybe Logan was right. 

“Is the house still there?” you find yourself asking first. 

“Yeah, hon. She’s still standing just fine,” he answers.

“Told you I could t-take you.” 

“I didn’t doubt you, darlin’.”

A beat. A few wheezed, calming breaths.

“What do you want from me, Logan?” your voice is coming out horse, throat raw from dust and sobbing. 

“Nothin’ you don’t wanna give,” His voice is equally as ragged, “Just stay. Start with that.”

“I don’t think I can anymore.” 

“What… this? This ain’t nothin’. I’ll take the blame,” he nods his head to the side, gesturing back to the house where the X-Men stood silently, “They’re already waitin’ for you.”

And they always would, a hopeful voice echoes in the back of your mind. It’s small, but you still hear it. Maybe even believe it too. 

“Yeah, well, maybe all the self-destruction makes it even for lying to us.” you wipe your eyes, desperately trying to find a little composure again.

“Us, huh?”

“Yeah, us,” you push back against his chest, finally looking him in the eye, “The class fuck ups, remember?”

Part of you was broken, you know that. The same part of him was broken too.

A cauldron of emotions was boiling between you both. You’re not sure where to even begin to sort it out. Part of you is still angry with him. Another part of you pities him— but the biggest part of you just feels safe with him. 

Despite it all, knowing what you both know now, he still made you feel safe.

Your lips find his and he pulls you in close again. This kiss is different from your first. It’s a truce, in a way. Everything’s changed now. You don’t know what this is, you don’t know what you wanted it to be. You just know you still wanted him. Despite it all, you still wanted Logan.

He pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I…I don’t want anything from you,” his voice is just above a whisper. A quiet promise, “That shit hurts, I get it. I won’t make you dig it up. Just stay… please.”

“Logan… I—”

You both jump at the sound of a phone alarm, a melodic beeping coming from Logan’s pocket. You’d heard it before dozens of times— the alert system of the X-Men. Something was wrong. 

“Goddamn it,” Logan pulls out the phone, the yellow X emblem flashing rapidly on the front. You look over to the front door and see the rest of your friends do the same. 

It takes only a moment for Logan to read the message. You see his face drop as he does. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“The Trask rejects. They’re making a public attack.” He growls out through gritted teeth. 

Impeccable timing.

“Logan,” Scott stands on the edge of your little crater. The rest of the X-Men were already inside, surely preparing for deployment. “We have to go.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, bub,” You feel Logan’s grip tighten. 

“It wasn’t a request,” Scott stands strong, “And we don’t have time to argue. We need the whole team.”

You think for a brief moment Scott means you too. Of course, he doesn’t. It would be a horrible idea. You're emotionally turbulent right now. It could be dangerous. The best thing for you to do is sit down and cool off. Scott was trying to separate you both.

Logan pulls you in tighter.

“I’m not–”

“Logan,” your voice finds strength again. You stand up from his grasp, hugging your arms into yourself. You already miss his warmth, “Go. Just go.”

There’s a flash of pain in his eyes but you think he understands what you’re really asking for. 

Space. I need a little space.

Logan stands, dusting himself off in the process. Scott, seemingly satisfied with Logan’s efforts, makes his way back to the house. 

Still, Logan pauses. 

“Will you be here when I get back?” There’s almost a pleading in his voice.

“Logan, I—”

“Let's go, Wolverine!” Scott’s voice cuts through the tension. You're almost thankful for it.  

Logan grimaces before stepping out of the crater. He pauses at the top, back to you and fists clenched at his sides. He storms up to the house without turning around. 

You collapse back down into the dirt, burying your face in your hands. You’re not sure how long you sit there until you find the strength to get back up.

__________

The mansion is eerily quiet. A house this big should never be this quiet. Rooms upon rooms that should be filled with children giggling. Gossip spreading like wildfire. Someone sharing a first kiss or first cigarette. Normal kid things that non-normal kids get to do in peace. 

You used to be one of them. 

It’s late. You stalk the dark halls of the mansion like a ghost. You heard Charles come up from Cerebro over an hour ago— a good sign the team was successful in their mission. He’s been sitting in his study ever since and you can’t seem to work up the courage to confront him. 

It’s only the two of you in this big house. Not a single thing is standing in your way except your pride. He’ll wait for you to make the first move. You’re not sure what you’re going to say to him, but you know you have to say something.

How dare you?

Sorry I re-wrecked the lawn?

I thought I wanted to be an X-Man again, but Logan has made this all vastly more complicated and I’m not sure I can forgive you for keeping such a big secret from me?

Decisions, decisions. 

You sit on the bench just down the hall from his study, the same place you’d sat so many times before waiting for a lecture. This time is no different, you suppose. 

Once a student, always a student. 

“I’m old, you know,” Charles’s baritone voice booms from his office, “I can’t do these late nights as well as I used to.”

It’s a gentle encouragement. He probably has a migraine from overhearing your raging stream of consciousness while managing an actual crisis. He wanted to discuss this like adults— You did too. Unfortunately, only one of you really knew how to be an adult. 

Mostly you just wanted to get it over with.

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself to your feet. You shuffle into his office, tail between your legs. He sat by his desk, his chair turned to face out the window behind the desk. You quietly take a seat next to him. The sense of betrayal was still there but it was now mixed with a healthy dose of regret.

You both silently look out over what was going to be a beautiful garden— now in ruins once more. 

“How are they doing?” you meekly ask. 

“The offenders are all finally apprehended and contained,” Charles answers bluntly. Neither of you turns to face the other. “Everyone is okay. They should be back within the hour.”

You simply nod, staring blankly out the window. You’re not sure how to start this. You didn’t really want to begin with. 

“You want to ask me why I didn’t tell you about Logan’s history right away.” His words cut through you. Charles wanted to get this over with too, you suppose. 

“Well… why didn’t you?”

“Would you have come if you’d have known?”

You don’t answer— not out loud at least. The silence is answer enough.

“Why didn’t you tell him about me, then?” You press forward. 

“That’s not mine to tell, now is it?” You can almost feel his eyebrows raising, “Logan has a long journey ahead of him. I will help him in whatever ways I can, but that is my burden to bear. Not yours,” you hear the pain in his voice. The sincerity. He’d seen what you’d been through. He’d likely seen what Logan had been through—parts of it at least. Charles always knew everyone's pain. Always carried it with him.

“Would you have ever told him about me?”

“Only if you wanted. Only if the situation presented itself. I must admit, I didn’t anticipate you two getting so close.”

“Making us kiss wasn’t part of your master plan?” You scoff. 

“I like to think of myself as a decent storyteller but I’ve never been much good at writing romance.” He lets out a small chuckle, “Though I should have known you’d be a bad influence on each other.”

He’s trying to lighten the mood. You can���t blame him, but there are still things you want to know. Things you need answers to. 

“When was he…there?”

You can’t say its name anymore. Not tonight at least.

“Years before you. I’m not entirely sure when. I believe he was the very beginning. You were the beginning of the end.”

The answer doesn’t bring you the comfort you thought it would. There may be some solace in knowing he wasn’t locked up in that boat with you. He was their first test, and he got out. You both got out. 

“Why am I here, Charles?”

He lets your question linger longer than you’d like. Jean could have likely done the work you’ve been doing. Hank would have been more than happy to plan the tunnels. You didn’t need to come back. Not really. He risked a lot bringing you here with Logan. 

Charles takes a deep breath.

“I won’t deny I could have handled this better, but I can be a selfish man sometimes. Every now and again I get reminded how fragile this little world I’ve built here is. How vulnerable we all can be. As a teacher, I always found it difficult to detach myself from my students completely. Checking up every now and again is a thing of habit for me. I hear all the things no one else can hear. I know it can be lonely out there. I know self-doubt is rampant. But I could help… If I could bring everyone home and remind them that they’re loved–”

“Charles,” you don’t mean to interrupt, but if you didn’t he’d ramble on forever and you wouldn’t ever get a straight answer. Even if he was just reminding you of things he’d already told you a million years ago.

“Something terrible happened here, and I got scared.” Charles admits with a heavy sigh, “I got scared and I wanted something. I wanted those closest to me to feel safe again. And, selfishly, I wanted to feel safe by having those I loved back home. I didn’t consider the larger consequences of those actions, and I am sorry. I just found an excuse to call a child home.”

You almost choke out a sob. Fortunately, your tear ducts seem to have had enough crying for one night. 

You hated that he could always do this. You came in here so ready to be furious with him. You were so ready to give him a piece of your mind and storm off. Tell him you’re never coming back to this godforsaken school again. 

“I’m not your child, Charles.” You coldly say instead. 

“No… No, you’re not.” He turns his chair slightly to face you. You finally look him in the eye. Despite it all, he still smiles warmly. “You’re my student. Always will be.”

You were wrong, a few stray tears still escape. 

He opens his arms without hesitation when you lean into him, muffled I’m sorry’s said into his suit’s lapels. This was a familiar scene. You’d been here so many times with Charles. God, he even smelled the same. Some old man cologne you could never place. He’d talked you down so many times in school and now he was still doing it into your adulthood. You never felt like you deserved his patience. Maybe you could try a little harder to earn it though.

You pull away, wiping your nose for hopefully the last time tonight. You both gaze back out over the decimated garden. Well, that was the hardest part done. Now there’s just the matter of Logan.

“You think I can help him?” You ask.

“I think you can help each other… if you want to.”

“What if I don’t want to help him?”

“Then don’t.”

You roll your eyes at his bluntness, “Say what you really mean, Charles.”

 “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He starts to move his chair around the desk.

“But?” You prod, following behind him.

He halts in the middle of the room, “But you might be denying helping yourself then. You’ve been fighting these demons too long, my dear. Face them. He can help you face them.”

You do believe it wasn’t Charles’s intent for all this to happen when you brought you here. He and the team respected both your and Logan’s privacy by not telling the other. You and Logan opened this book together unknowingly. It’s too late to close it, and it’s too big to just ignore. 

Charles makes his way to the door, but you still have one more thing to say. Or really, one more thing to ask.

“I was—I was going to ask to stay. Before…before everything.”

“Do you still want to stay?” He pauses at the door.

“Do you want me to?”

“Well of course I do… you need to fix the mess you’ve made of my gardens and finally plant those damned flowers.”

_________

You stand in front of the full mirror in your room, an ill-fitting navy blue shirt with a bright yellow X plastered across the chest hastily draped over your body. Jean always kept a few changes of school clothes in all the closets. All of your clothes were dirty, so this was the only option. Your regression back to a new student was complete now. If you were a more superstitious person, you take this as an omen— whether it was good or bad, you hadn’t decided yet.

You collapse face-first into the bed. It felt nice to be clean after everything today. You’d practically turned the floor of the shower black with all the dirt that was caked on your body. At least you finally got that shower.

You’re still here, after everything you’re still here… probably for the long run. You tell yourself you’re going to sleep on it tonight, but your mind is practically already made up. It would hurt, you’d be challenged, but you wanted to be here. You wanted to just fucking try again. The X-Men, your friends, they brought out the best and worst in you, but that’s what family does, isn’t it? That’s what you were always told, anyway.

You think you heard the team land while you were in the shower. They were home, and the mission successfully completed.

There was still one more thing you wanted before you made your final decision. One more thing you had to face to see if this would all be worth it. You sit up, face the door, and wait. You asked him to come to your room tonight, you hope he’d still come. 

Eventually, there’s a knock.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast you jump for the door. You pull it open and there he is, still fully suited up in lemon yellow with the fresh smell of smoke and sweat wafting off of him. To your surprise, it’s not entirely unpleasant. 

“You….You stayed.” He says first. 

“I did.”

“Finally got that shower too, huh?”

“I did.”

That’s the extent of the introduction. You both stand there awkwardly for a beat. Neither of you knows how to start this. You didn’t necessarily end on the best note. You didn’t start on the best note either.

You both decide to break the silence at the same time.

“How was—

“I’m sorry you—”

You both catch yourself before continuing. God, why was this so hard? Luckily, Logan is the first one to try again. 

“I uh— I wanted to say I’m sorry,” His gaze dropped to the floor, “I’m sorry you got roped into my shit.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

“I’d understand if you don’t want to see me again,” he looks back up at you, “If you want me to leave, I’ll go. If you’re gonna stay for the long run, I’ll leave.”

Unbelievable. This man was absolutely unbelievable. He gets back from saving the goddamn world and comes straight to your room to say you can kick him out of his house. How do you tell him that’s not an option? How do you tell him you want to start over with all this?

Actions were so much easier than words.

Your hands snake up his arms gently as you step closer. You think you feel him relax under your touch. His hands find your waist as yours loop around his neck. You pull each other into the kiss, sensual and slow. Everything you’d shared so far had been violent or painful in a way. This was… it was nice. A quiet embrace in the early hours of the morning. Two people seeking comfort in each other's arms. Simple. You liked simple.

He pushes you both further into the bedroom. Excitement pricks at your every nerve but you still have more to say. You need to get it out. You need to. He has to know before you forget to say it. 

I think you can help each other… if you want to.

“Logan—” you pull away, almost painfully. “Just… wait.”

He leans back, “We don’t have to—”

“No! God no, I want to! But—” you shake your head, desperately trying to gather yourself despite the aching that was building inside you, “I wanted to say— I wanted to tell you, I— I want to help. I want to help you— help both of us. I want to try at least.”

You feel him tense under your touch. Great, another moment ruined by your self-righteous big mouth. 

He looks you in the eye, expression almost pained. “Darlin’, I told you, you don’t—”

“I know,” your fists curl around his collar, “But I want to. I’ve been… I’ve been running from this a long time, Logan— ignoring it almost. I think you have too. They need to pay…For what they took from me. For what they took from you. I don’t remember much but… I know names. Locations. Places we can—”

His lips crash back into yours, hands squeezing your body flush with his. He kicks the door shut behind him and walks you both backward towards the bed.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he growls, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“Logan—” You moan, clawing your hands through his hair. 

You both collapse back onto the bed, the wooden frame creaking in protest. Your movements get more frenzied. You claw at the various zippers and latches of his suit while his hands drag down your body, pulling off your shorts in the process. Your quickly dampening underwear stays in place. You manage to get the upper half of the suit open. He leans back, pulling off the top of his suit the rest of the way. You peel off your own shirt as he does so. You look at him towering and bare-chested above you, his knees caging your hips in. Only one thought flashes through your mind. 

Holy fucking shit.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, rough hands finding your body again. He cups your breast, “Fucking look at you, sweet thing.”

His mouth comes down over a nipple, fingers rolling over the free one. You arch under him, hands clawing up and down his back. God, his body is so warm against yours. So heavy.

He grinds into you as his tongue moves to your other peaked breast, his hardening length rubbing against your pulsing cunt. These underwear are probably be ruined after this. 

His movements were rough, almost desperate. You loved it, you loved every fucking bit of it. 

His mouth comes off your breast with a small pop. He glides his nose over your heaving chest with a deep inhale, small kisses peppering your skin as he moves. Slowly, he moves down your torso, pausing at the hem of your panties. 

“Oh God, Logan—” You gasp, feeling his hot breath against your waiting pussy. He places a sloppy kiss over the already damp fabric, tongue rubbing against your clothed bud. An almost pained gasp escapes your lips. 

“I really do like the way you say my name,” his mouth moves to your inner thigh, fingers curling around the hem of your last scrap of clothing. “God, you’re so—”

A single claw unsheathes. The blunt side runs against your skin as he slides it under your panties at the apex of your thigh. The cool metal sends electric shivers up your body. He rips through the fabric with ease, the claw retracting as soon as you’re fully exposed before him. He takes his time pulling away the final scraps of your underwear, rough hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. Yep, definitely ruined.

His eyes come up to meet yours, his brow heavy over them, deep brown and almost animalistic. 

You all but scream when he comes down on you. His mouth engulfs your entire cunt, tongue running up your seam and circling around your clit. Your legs curl around his head, hands shooting out to grip his hair. A growl rumbles up from his throat when you pull and reverberates through your whole body. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. His movements are almost frenzied again. Stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin as his tongue attacks your pussy, hands squeezing your hips so hard to the point of bruising— pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Taste so good, baby,” he moans against your mound, “Knew you would. First time I saw you, I knew you—”

His tongue flattens against your seam, slowly dragging up and pausing at your bud. You gasp when you feel a finger breach you, curling against that delicious soft spot inside. His mouth and fingers work in unison, pulling heated breaths out of you almost rhythmically. 

He’s good at this. Fuck, he’s really good. 

That familiar heat starts to build in your stomach as he works you slowly, his rhythm getting rougher and rougher as he goes. Mouth sucking as his fingers curl, back and forth, back and forth. He’s fucking enjoying this, you think. The thought makes you even more excited. He wanted to take his time with you, selfishly milking sinful moan after sinful moan out of you as he did so. 

Too bad you’d been sexually pent up for god knows how long. 

The heat rises in your stomach. 

“L-Logan–I–I—” the words barely make it out. 

His heavy-lidded eyes shoot up to yours, “Give it to me.” He growls against you, “Let me feel you.”

His tongue circles your clit once— twice—

Your back arches off the bed with a pained moan ripping through your throat. You push him closer as liquid fire pulses through your veins. His mouth doesn’t leave you the whole time, tongue in a frenzy of movements as your orgasm rocks through you. He draws it out longer. Makes it stronger. 

Even when the initial wave subsides, his mouth doesn’t leave you. You squirm under him, hypersensitive and brain fogged over with pleasure you didn’t realize you’d desperately missed. 

“L-Logan… Please,” You pull at his hair. 

He stills, pulling off of you slowly. He leans back, chin dripping with your release. His hands stroke gently up and down your shaking legs. You look down and see the straining bulge in his pants, a faint wet mark forming against his thigh. 

You sit up, hands trailing up his heaving chest and looping back around his neck. You pull him in, tasting yourself on his tongue. He grasps the back of your head and pulls at your hair just slightly. You push against him, he falls back on the bed. You hover over him, bringing your hands down to his belt. You undo the clasp and he pulls them off the rest of the way, his pulsing hard cock finally springing free.

Holy fucking shit— you think for the second time tonight. 

He gives himself a rough stroke, a bead of pre cum escaping his already wet head. You can’t resist the sight. You lean down and drag your tongue over the tip to lick it up. He hisses in a sharp breath as you do. 

“What do you want?” you whisper against him. You’d honestly be happy with any answer.

He moans at your words, hands coming up to cup your breasts again. 

“Wanna see you ride me, tough girl,” you swear his voice has dropped an entire octave. “Want you to take me. Wanna see that pretty pussy stretch around me.”

You feel his hips squirming ever so slightly. It felt so powerful to have a man like him underneath you, almost begging. 

You place your hands on his massive chest as you lean forward. You can’t help but touch him— Maybe even dreaming about touching these fucking muscles. You can’t resist giving his pecs a rough squeeze when you do. He hums in approval, his hands trailing down to your rising hips. 

You drag your sopping cunt along his cock a few times before lining up with him. Small gasps escape as you do. The motion was just as much for your pleasure as it was for ease. Logan was big, and with no lube, you’ll need a little extra help. 

His grip tightens when you start to take him, a low rumble starting in his throat and traveling through his chest. You feel it reverberate up your arms. Your legs are only a little shaky but you manage. You finally let out a heavy breath when you bottom out. You take a moment to savor the feeling. It’s a stretch, but not at all unpleasant. You’re so full. So fucking full. 

“Fuck.” Logan hisses underneath you, “F-fuck, you’re so—move, baby. You gotta move or—”

You immediately oblige, rolling your hips against his. You find a rhythm, slow and sensual. His head tilts back into the pillows, his jaw tensed to the point where you can see almost all the lines and veins in his neck. You rise, pulling him out just a little more with each thrust. He practically drools out the most delicious moan you’ve ever heard.

You love seeing him like this, see him falling apart for you. You made The Wolverine into this. 

The pain of being stretched so wide starts to subside, melting into your building pleasure. You shift, and your movements become more deliberate. Searching almost. You gasp out when you find it, that spot that makes your vision go blurry. You grind down against it again and again and again.

“God, that’s it, darlin’,” Logan chokes out, “T-take it. Take what you need.”

His hands shoot up to your breast again, giving them a rough squeeze. His fingers massage into the soft, sensitive flesh there, thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples. 

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he praises, the white of his teeth flashing in a grin. 

You’d probably blush at the compliment in any other situation. Instead, you lean down and kiss him. It’s messy, a bunch of feverish tongue and teeth but, god, it was perfect. You drink down each other's moans, gasping for breath in each other's air as you grind into him. 

Your hips start to betray you, the fatigue catching up the muscles in your legs. It’d been so long since you’d gone this hard with anyone. You weren’t out of practice by maybe a little out of shape. You lose your rhythm just a little, but Logan doesn’t seem to entirely mind, but he does seem to take notice.

His hips rise, giving you a few experiment thrusts before he sits up, pulling your chest flush with his. Your movements are subdued into small rolls against him, an entirely new pressure against your clit.

 His lips still haven’t left yours. They don’t leave as he pushes you further back. They don’t leave when you collapse into the sheets and he crawls on top of you. They don’t leave when he almost completely pulls out of you and slams back in. 

“Fuck!” You scream. You think you hear him chuckle as he pulls out again. His laugh is slowly overtaken by a moan as he slides back in. Gentler, slower this time. 

His mouth trails down to your neck again, nipping and suckling in ways that would surely show tomorrow. The thought of people seeing what he did to you excites you.

You hook your legs around his hips. He rises from you, just for a moment.

Seeing this massive man hover above you was a sight you wanted permanently burned into your brain. His massive arms caging you in, veins popping against the tense muscles. His chest is red with claw marks from your hands. Eyes glossed over with animalistic bliss.

This was fucking, hard and dirty fucking in almost every sense of the word000 sure. But there was something about it that made your mind go fuzzy. The deliberateness of it all. The roaming hands and heated eye contact. Not just pleasure for pleasure’s sake, but connection. Making love.

Neither of you wanted just a quick dirty fuck to get it out of your system. Something more. This all had the potential to be something more.

For now though, hard and dirty was still good. 

He bites at your lip with a growl and you moan at the prick of pain. All of you, Christ he wanted all of you. You’ll give it to him—gladly. 

You shift your hips and you feel it again— that perfect spot. He notices. 

“That’s it, huh?” he grunts, thrusting back into the exact same spot again. “Oh yeah, that’s it.” 

His mouth attacks you while his cock makes you go cross-eyed. This can’t be real. He can’t be real. You died. You’d crushed both of your bodies under the yard hours ago and this was some sadistic heaven your dying brain had cooked up. 

That’s the only explanation for something feeling this good. 

He licks his fingers, two of them finding your clit as soon as they leave his mouth. 

“Give it to me. You got one more don’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs against you, “Give me another one. W-wanna… wanna feel you… Fuck.”

“Oh G-god, oh fuck, oh God—” You chant, seemingly unable to say or process anything else in the blinding pleasure.

Your hips raise, grinding into his palm while his cock continues to drill into you. The feeling comes on fast. It was building in you again. You become desperate for it, that sweet impending release. You claw at his neck for any sense of stability.

“N-need you, Lo-Logan,” you find yourself begging, “N-need to feel y-you—Wanna feel you—”

“C-christ, don’t say that,” he growls, “Give me one more. One more more and—and I—”

He trails off, losing himself in his sporadic thrusts. He was getting close, his movements getting more desperate— but you were close too.

He ruts into you, rolling his hips against yours and you’re done for.

“L-Logan! I– I’m–”, you can’t finish, your words melting into a silent scream. You arch and squirm under him. He continues to relentlessly pound into you, chasing his own high. 

“Oh— G-God— Y-you— You’re so—” his lips crash back down to yours, a growling moan reverberating down your throat. You drink him in selfishly. His hips still against yours, his cock pulsing and spilling into you. You grasp at him, pulling him close as you both lose yourselves in the waves of white-hot pleasure together.

You don’t know how long you both hold each other there, lost in the euphoria of it all. Eventually, your muscles start to loosen

His lips leave yours with a ragged gasp like he’s desperate for air. His sweat-slicked forehead lowers down to yours. You both hover there for a moment, choking on each other's air. His eyes bore into yours. 

You can still feel him pulsing inside you.

“Holy shit,” you break the silence with a small giggle.

He chuckles back, placing a kiss on your forehead.

He rises, pulling out of you with a moan and you gasp at the sudden emptiness. He collapses next to you, hand still lying heavy across your stomach. 

“So… you’re gonna stay?” he asks, thumb rubbing comforting circles on your sensitive skin. 

“Only if you keep that up every night,” you joke back.

He nips at your neck with a growl, “Don’t tempt me, honey.”

God, what have you unleashed. 

He curls around you, pulling the covers up over the both of you. The exhaustion was creeping in. It had been a long day. He pauses, looking at you almost for permission. He’s wondering if his assumptions about staying the night have maybe crossed the line. You simply smile and pull the covers up the rest of the way.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck as he pulls you in closer. Your hand finds his own, resting on top of his chest. You run your fingers between his knuckles. There weren’t even scars to show. To your surprise, he doesn’t flinch away. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” you assure him, “I… I want to help you. Help us.”

You feel his breath hitch just a little as his fingers close down around yours. 

“I know you will, darlin’.”

“I don’t know where we’ll start, but—”

“Don’t,” his nose nudges your head gently, “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I told you you don’t owe me anything. Just stay. Start with that.”

You don’t think you’ll ever understand how he can quell your anxieties with so few words. Maybe it was the reassurance in his voice. The confidence. You place a gentle kiss on his chest. 

Your scars are the same as mine.

It was the unspoken words between the two of you since the beginning, whether you knew it or not. Something inside the both of you knew the other— stripped away all the layers and saw what was underneath.

Someone who was just like them. What a rare thing to find.

“I’m happy I came home, Logan.”

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.”

____________

Hope you loved it! I loved writing these two. I might do a little one shot or two, not sure yet. Just not quite ready to let them go. Let me know if you want more of these idiots!

[hiddenreamers]

The Soprano & Midnight Wonderings - Oscar Piastri

SUMMARY: When he can't sleep, Oscar ponders the could-have-been. You're happier now, aren't you? That's what all your friends say. Now that you're away from the limelight of being a "WAG", you have exactly what you wanted. Still, he can't help but think about the things we lose too soon.

WC: 792

Oscar can’t sleep.

It’s not that he’s not tired, quite the contrary – he’s been craving the soft hotel bedsheets ever since he stepped out of the car after today’s practice. But slumber is like a capricious lover and rarely comes when called.

How funny it is, to speak of lovers at a time like this. It’s the same kind of humour that earns a bitter chuckle when you see your late relative's favourite flower or eat a snack that was once loved by a friend you no longer talk to.

Despite the melancholic droll, Oscar isn’t keen to laugh. Not even a sad giggle will brush past his lips. He’s haunted by a ghost that never truly leaves.

Instead, he finds himself scrolling through a conversation. It’s been on his mind ever since he had it a few days ago. Curiosity and heartache had gotten the better of him, so Oscar messaged one of your friends a very simple and yet fateful question: How is she? The answer he got was entirely expected but still, it hurt in the most profound, inexplicable way.

Your friend gave him a short, straightforward answer. As much as Oscar knew that she had no reason to lie to him, the text was only that – some words. Later on, however, she sent him a few videos from a recent party the two of you went to. It was then that the reality set in for him:

There you were, even more lovely than the day he met you. Laughing, yelling something, dancing like you’ve never known anything else. All of that, all of you, is painfully familiar to his heart and yet the person in the video is vastly different from the girl whose heart he had broken. Your style has changed, your hair isn’t the same, the music you’re so eagerly singing along to is not the one you’d play in the car. At first, he thinks it strange, perhaps you’re trying to distract yourself from your own pain? But as time goes by and the scraps of you Oscar sees present this new you, he realizes what it truly means: you’re happier.

It should make him feel good, relieved, shouldn’t it? This is what you’ve wanted, is it not? Living in the limelight, suffering public opinions, being nothing more but “Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend” made you miserable. Now that it’s over, he should be glad you’re finally thriving. And yet, he’s far from it.

“Why?” he whispers into the night. “Why couldn’t it be both?”

Maybe one day he will get the answers he seeks. Maybe one day Oscar will finally know why he had to lose you too soon; why it is that we must let go of the ones we love.

He remembers all the instances when he asked why you were upset. When it wasn’t online hate, it was something else caused solely by the fact that you’re his lover. Now, he wonders if someone ever asks why you’re so happy all the time. Would you tell them the truth? Does anybody ever wonder why the heartbroken girl has blossomed into a walking ray of sunshine?

Oscar definitely does. Although, he does know the answer. What he’s curious about, however, is how much he didn’t do. What if he handled it differently? What if he was more brash and made it clear for the world to leave you be? How much of this is caused by him and him only?

For a moment, he considered texting you. The rather aloof messages of you congratulating him for his endeavours only egg Oscar on. What right does he have to come back into your life and mess it up again? But then, is it not a lover’s right to hopelessly seek the other half of their heart?

He lets out a ragged breath. With what’s left of his reason and composure, Oscar tosses his phone on top of the clothes neatly folded inside his suitcase.

Desperate to free himself from the ghost of loves past, he turns in bed to now face the large window. The world outside is calm, unlike him. Once in a while, a car drives by. The moon like a silver coin lights up the otherwise empty sky. Oscar knows that feeling all too well. What’s the point of being the brightest when there’s no one to share the light with?

He closes his eyes, hoping to find sleep before the memories of you find him first.

Sometimes, when he’s awake at night, he thinks about it – the story of you and how he has no place in it if that story is to have a happy ending. And Oscar does not have the heart to ruin his most beloved tale.

Check out other fics in the Ampersand Themed Works

[dimesdimesdimess]

I’m going to rant about this whole thing now. The fact that he removed the post AGAIN. Because of all the sensitive ass people complaining about it. If you don’t watch the show don’t comment on it. He wasn’t dressed like that for Halloween. (Which I’ve seen a lot of people on TikTok saying this was a costume) This was for a show! A show if anyone was watching would know is complete blasphemy. That’s the whole point of it. I don’t see what’s wrong with him just goofing around on set in between takes. This is a heavy show with heavy storylines. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting to do a TikTok dance. There’s also another video of him doing it with three other people. They were just having fun.

If something like this offends you, I hope you’ve never watched AHS, or anything Ryan has done. Or any sort of horror movie or show that has religious elements if you’re that easily offended. I’ve also seen people saying no one forced him to take this job or no amount of money is worth mocking god.

First off.. he’s not mocking god. Second.. So to make all of you happy he should turn down jobs that could really further his career???? I mean I know Ryan Murphy is a piece of shit. But working with him is actually a huge thing for an actor like Nicholas. So he’d be a fool to turn that down just because some of yall don’t like something. DONT WATCH IT.

Another thing that trips me out about this is so it’s okay for us to lust after him playing a priest that’s doing the most wildest, disrespectful shit with sister Megan in a church. It’s okay for us to fangirl over edits of him as Lyle Menendez, someone who’s a SA victim. But now THIS is where we draw the line and where we have to stop supporting him? Right. Okay, got it.

[wistfulnightingale]

"An Old Married Couple"

(Why Aziraphale and Crowley have been a Couple Since the Bus Stop, Part 2)

Mini-Meta Musing # 7

After the Almost-Apocalypse and outwitting the deadly powers of Hell and Heaven, our Ineffable Heroes were finally left alone so they could finally be together. Commtting to that choice was their Heroes' Reward. There was nothing either of them truly wanted more than the chance to be "Us", enjoying the world they both love.

When Season 2 opened, we knew (at least for a little while) what we were seeing. An "old married couple!" Whether arguing, apologizing, reconciling and diving back into their teamwork, the compatibility was flawless. In a long-term relationship, that's not the same as "perfect."

They are mature Beings who are secure in their relationship. They are a couple who is completely at ease with each other, who understand each other’s rhythms and flaws, and who love each other, flaws and all. Imperfect and sweet.

They still like holding hands. They naturally are comfortable being close to each other now. Flirting has evolved to natural physical contact. There's more touch, more closeness, more comfortable easiness. They look and move like a long-established couple.

Crowley knows just what makes his Angel want to call him on the phone when they're apart. And it's almost all the time-- when Azi's bored, proud, or worried!

And although they're apparently not living together, they "both get plenty of use out of the bookshop." I don't get the impression that they're apart most of the time, do you?

Crowley's startled that there's a "naked man" in the bookshop, but he's not stressed or jealous. He's goes right back to trying to figure out how he can help. Look at Azi's face when he introduces Crowley to Nina. "We go back... a long time," said with a heartfelt sigh full of memories.

The first time Aziraphale mentions "Jim", Crowley is puzzled. It's a truly adorable line that long-term couples will recognize -- "Do we know a Jim?" Not "I don't think I know a Jim." The "WE" of an established couple making a holiday list. "Should we invite Jim?" "Do we know a Jim?"

The arrival of Gabriel shatters their peace. We are rejoining them at the onset of a crisis. We miss out on the calm, sweet relationship-building that happened in between seasons.

They are who they are -- Like any long-time couple, the stress leads to an argument. Azi eventually does a fine pout, and Crowley eventually storms off, complete with lightning bolts. But even while they quarreled, look at the improved moments of connection.

Azi was so anxious before he told Crowley about "Jim." Once it's out, Aziraphale is calm and reasoned. He trusts that even if Crowley doesn't agree, he'll listen.

Crowley is worried for Aziraphale. The memory of "Shut your mouth and die already" is still vivid and triggering for him. Yet, Crowley stops mid-rant to clarify and to connect -- "What does your 'Exactly' mean, exactly? I feel like your exactly and my exactly are different 'exactly's'."

Crowley returns later, knowing his temper got the better of him. Azi is secure enough in their relationship to actually show genuine anger -- not a sulk, or petulance, or a high pitched semi-meltdown. Just outrage. He wasn't heard. He wants a proper apology. If he didn't feel safe in the relationship, he wouldn't insist on something that's not easy for Crowley. Especially with a DANCE!

Despite his embarassment, Crowley does the Apology Dance. He knows his Angel deserves it. He admits he was wrong, and that Azi was right. This isn't a young couple avoiding talking about problems. This is an "old married couple" who've had the same exact argument for years -- the topic changes, but they’re both aware of the patterns that keep playing out. They're both working on it. They both understand it. Apology made and accepted. 'Nuff said. Let's get to work!

Sometimes, in "old married couples," we forget the playful romance amidst all the problems. It's not a romantic reunion when Aziraphale gets back from Edinburgh. Look at his face -- he'd hoped it would be! Crowley, Mister Practical, just shoves the plants in his arms. He used to woo his Angel at every turn, gazing and rescuing and being helpful. Now, in this established relationship, life is more "ordinary" -- the plants need to be put back in the car? Sure, of course we do it together... Btw, welcome home!

Aziraphale, ever the hopeless romantic of the pair, steals the romantic moments whenever he can:

In my marriage, I'm the playful one, and this feels very familiar! Grumpy partner needs reminded that there's more to our life together than all the problems (bills to pay, archangels to hide). Playful partner tugs them into something FUN...! Again, look at Azi's smile as he's pulling Crowley out onto the dance floor. No worries, no uncertainty, no nervousness. Just the excited grin, then a smile of complete confidence and satisfaction.

This isn't a "first date" dance. It's a reminder to not get lost in the stress. "Don't just toss plants at me to carry, My Dear. I Love You, so I'll gladly do it, but let's not forgot there's romance in life too!"

And despite the literal Demons-at-the-Doorstep, Crowley lets himself get led onto the dance floor, no questions, doubts, or resistance. No surprise either! There's important stuff Crowley needs to tell his Angel, but he still dances in flawless partnership.

----------

For more about Aziraphale and Crowley as an established couple in Season 2, check out my blogpost on Crowley as a Romantic Hero , or the more detailed Somewhat Heroes, a Couple Since the Bus Stop.

[tmntgirlie]

Discussing Spin the Bottle with Leonardo (Leo x Reader)

(re-uploaded from 2020)

(also yes the formatting is different but we're just gonna roll w it)

It was the morning after the party. You woke up alone in your makeshift bedroom, only a little confused. You swore you remembered Leo bringing you to bed last night-

Or was that just a dream? Didn’t you just kiss, nothing more?

Oh, yeah. You remembered now. Spin the bottle.

You remembered going to bed after far too many drinks, and Leo walking you there. He had told you goodnight. He kissed your cheek.

Man, that felt good.

You finally made your way out of your room and straight to the kitchen. You knew tea was the usual go-to drink in this family, but damn it, you needed coffee and Tylenol.

“Morning.”

You jumped at the voice. “What the- Oh! Leonardo. You’re awake.”

The blue-masked terrapin smiled at you, gesturing to two mugs on the counter. “I made you some coffee. I didn’t know how many creams or sugars you like, so it’s just black. Hope that’s okay.”

He made you coffee?

You felt like you could melt.

You walked towards him and slowly added as much sugar and cream as you liked. “So… That party last night, huh?”

“That sure was somethin’,” he said with a nod, not looking at you.

“Sure was.” You slowly brought the coffee to your lips.

“We’ve never thrown a party like that before,” he said after a silence. “It was really fun.”

You cleared your throat. “Oh, yeah? What was your favorite part?”

You were positively dying to know. You had basically planned that entire party around the whole point of kissing him. You were just so drawn to him, drawn to who he stood for and what he stood for. Not to mention his looks.

Yeah, sure, he was a turtle. But it wasn’t like he was an ordinary turtle. Belle fell for the Beast when he wasn’t human.

Not that you wanted to turn him human, you were sure he was just fine-

You could feel your cheeks getting hotter.

Stop overthinking.

“The games were pretty fun,” he said carefully. “Good food, good drinks, fun games, good company.”

“I hope I didn’t go too far,” you said softly.

Leonardo looked at you with a frown. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “You know. The games. Specifically that last one. Hope I didn’t push any… Boundaries.”

“You’re specifically referring to Spin the Bottle, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He hummed, looking into his mug of coffee. “I thought it was fun.”

You were both dancing around the topic you both knew you wanted to talk about. One of you had to break eventually.

“Was there anybody you were hoping to land on?” you asked finally, internally crossing your fingers. Me, me, me, say me.

“Considering my options? I’d say I landed on who I had hoped for.”

He wasn’t going to admit it easily. You told yourself it didn’t sting, but damn. It kind of did.

“Your options, besides your brothers, were April, Casey, Vern, or me.”

“Yup. I’d say the bottle chose well.”

Okay, he was giving a little now.

You set the coffee mug down on the table and turned to face him. “Two can play at this game, boy.”

“Another game?” the terrapin smirked, but judging from his eyes, he wasn’t being sarcastic. He was being… Playful?

“Another game,” you confirmed, but then you sighed. “The only reason you hoped for me wasn’t because I was the only girl option that wasn’t taken, right?” You spoke softly now.

He followed your lead, setting his coffee down and turning to face you, hands crossed over his chest. “I can’t say that was the only reason, Y/N.”

“Did you want to kiss me?”

“Maybe.”

You groaned in frustration. “Why are guys like this? Dodging around questions, never giving a straight answer- men are so-”

You stopped when you felt his lips against yours. It was a familiar feeling, but also different. You were both sober now. You could really take in the moment.

It was over too soon.

He pulled away. “Is it so bad that I wanted to kiss you just because I wanted to?”

“No,” you said. “It’s bad that last night’s kiss lasted longer than that one.”

“Who am I to deny you?” he gave you a half smile before pulling you against him, wrapping his arms around you.

It took you by surprise, definitely, but it wasn’t an unwanted advance. You were just surprised he was doing this so easily.

Oh, God. He wasn’t still drunk, was he?

It felt like an eternity before he pulled away, but it still didn’t feel like enough. It was like a drug, and now that you had a taste, you wanted more.

“There’s just… Something about you that draws me to you,” he told you quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

Words, Y/N. Use words. You can do it. It’s word time.

But you couldn’t find any.

“Uh…”

Leonardo took a step back. “I was being too forward, wasn’t I?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no! I just… I’m surprised is all. You’re really drawn to me?”

“A girl from a different dimension comes into our lives, is accepted by our father, throws a party just for me and my family? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, look at you.”

You frowned. “Besides being from a different dimension, I’m really nothing special. Believe that. I’m not. I’m just a girl who somehow ended up here.” You considered saying ‘the wrong place’, but it didn’t feel right to say that. It didn’t feel wrong for you to be here.

Was that so bad?

Maybe it was selfish of you.

“I feel like I have an unfair advantage here,” you said.

Leonardo snorted. “Really? How so?”

“I came into this universe already knowing who you were. I know how you act, how you think kind of, how you grew up. Who you know. What you’ve done. It’s like you’re dating your stalker.”

“Dating?”

Oh, shit. Did you just say that? “Um…” Come on, Y/N. Remember those words? Use those words!

“In my opinion, it makes things just a little bit easier. I don’t have to explain myself to you, why I am who I am,” he told you, placing a three-fingered hand on your shoulder gently. “Trust me, Y/N, I don’t think of you like our stalker. Maybe an admirer.”

“It doesn’t weird you out?” You looked up at him.

“Not really.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t think you were like a stalker.

“I did not mean to insinuate that we’re dating,” you said quickly. “It just kind of slipped out.”

He smiled at you. “I’m sure.”

You squinted at him. “Right. Where were we?”

For a terrapin who had never had a kiss before the night before, Leonardo sure knew how to lift you onto the counter (and not knock down those precious coffees) to give you a better angle to, you know, kiss him.

You hoped nobody walked in. This was not how you wanted Master Splinter to see you with his beloved eldest son.

[izzylovesmatt]

Confessions

matt sturniolo x female reader

summary - one drink after another matt found himself telling you somethng he never thought he would even say out loud.

⚠️warnings⚠️ suggestive content but no actual smut,use of y/n, pet names,mentions of alcohol, lmk if i missed anything

dividers by me if your going to use tag me

It was a cold october night out at the bar with your mini skirt and tight skimpy shirt. You were out with your closet friends, Nick, Chris, Matt, madi, and a few others who's names you don't remember. This had been the triplets first time drinking so it was pretty entertaining. of course i was stuck driving though since matt wasn't in any place to be doing so. "chris your speaking nonsense" nick says slurring over his words "shut up kid go bother someone else" chris says walking away to the dance floor to flirt with girls and to make a fool out of himself . Soon after chris left nick followed too, then madi leaving just me and matt at our table. Matt had been relatively quiet this whole time but nothing new, he had also been following me anywhere i went always sitting next to me, always having atleast a finger touching me, eyeing whatever guy came over to talk to me, it was very strange and not like matt to do so. "kid why aren't you having fun get up lets do something besides sit in a corner." i say trying to break the silence "mm no im good here where you are." he says sipping the last sip of his 4th drink "you better slow down y'don't know what your limit is yet" he ignores me but doesn't look away. he's looking at me like a puppy "stop staring at me like that" but even after saying something he just shakes his head and doesn't look away. I go to get up to get a non alcoholic drink but before i can i feel a arm snake around my waist "nuh uh where are you going" matt says his tone almost malicious "im just going to get a drink chill out" hes look burns my eyes i feel like i could never escape his stare "and have all the boys in this club try to take you from me? nuh uh your staying here." take you from me what is he talking about. my mind races with thoughts wondering why he's being like this. i have always thought matt was attractive i mean its not something you can deny but why is he being like this "take me from you? stop being crazy" i say loosing from his firm grip "no please don't leave me" matt pleads and gets up following me to the bar. " Can i just have a-" i cut myself off in surprise as i feel matt hug me from behind wrapping his arms around my waist digging his nose in my neck, i feel something else poking me in my lower back. is he serious? "a coke sorry" i say pulling my wallet out and handing the nice lady cash while i grab my drink and push matt off of me but he pushes me back. Now he's pressing me up against the bar his face centimeters away from my face our bodies almost touching. i can feel the heat radiating off of his body. "matt what are y-" i get cutoff by matt's soft lips touching mine. i pull away from his face as fast as i can. matt is a drunk mess he's barley even standing up now he's kissing me? "matt stop it you are drunk lets go it's time to leave." i say sipping my drink putting it back on the counter then going to the table and grabbing matt's stuff as he follows behind me pleading to not leave and that he's sorry and it won't happen again. i text nick "hey got to go home early left money for uber sorry be safe love you". Then i drag matt by his arm back to the car "baby i said i was sorryyy i i don't wanna leaveeee." matt says babbling so hard i can barley understand him "matthew stop calling me that get in the car we are leaving."

time skip

When we arrive at matt's house i drag him inside and put him on the couch. i take my heels off then i go to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water and crackers just incase. i walk over to the couch to see matt playing with his lips and crying. "matt why are you crying are you okay?" i say worriedly placing the water and crackers on the table and i kneel down to take his shoes off. " i can't feel my lips or my tounge" he says in broken sobs. i can't help but laugh at him also remembering when i first got drunk and cried over the same thing, he started crying more because j laughed at him. "are my lips still there" he says barley understandable. "yes matt your lips are still there your fine, come on." i say trying to help him off of the couch. he doesn't stop crying all the way to his room just crying and repeating "why can't i feel them" also not appreciating the fact i can't stop laughing at his hysterical state. as we get into his room i put the crackers and water on the nightstand and grab a trash can from his bathroom placing it next to his bed, i walk over to his drawer and grab pajama pants for him to sleep in. "matt here are pants im gonna go now are you okay?" i say waiting for a response from the boy who is laying on his back finally not crying. "no your not leaving please don't leave" he says starting to cry again and shooting up trying to get up but failing. " hey hey it's okay sit down and get dressed i won't leave i guess but i have to change." i say walking over to his dresser and grabbing myself a shirt and some sweat pants but when i turn around i see matt in just his underwear trying to change right infront of me. i can't also see the buldge in his pants due to his calvin cline underwear being tight. i turn right back around. "matt you cannot change with me in here hurry and put your pants on" "i don't wanna im hot" he says walking closer to me. "matt put on your pants i do not wanna see that." i say still not turning over despite my half naked best friend behind me. "your turn to change" matt says grinning hoping he can't watch me change. " matt you are so gross." i say turning around not looking at him and walking into the bathroom shutting the door and locking it. "when i'm done changing and i come out if your not dressed i'm leaving." i shout through the door so he can hear. " okay im sorry please don't leave". i'm changing but all i can think about is matt's dick, even though he's my best friend and i shouldn't even see him that way. after i go to take my shirt off i realize i don't have a bra and i know matt's just gonna say something since he's already acting weird. I finished getting dressed into a blue fresh love hoodie and just grey sweatpants, i walk out of the bathroom to see matt laying on his floor. "lets get you to bed okay?" i say reaching my arm out so he can grab it. "okayyy yeah sureee" matt says taking my hand and leaning onto me. When i finally get matt into his bed he begs and begs for me to cuddle him. "please just lay with me i'm not being weird i miss you." he pleads over and over again. I give up and just pull him towards me, his head is now nestled into my neck i can feel the heat of his slow breaths. "y'know your really pretty and i really do like you not just because your pretty but because i love your personality and i love you but i would never tell you that" he says while his finger traces circles over my leg "matt shhh go to sleep" "hey so y'know how your y/h?" matt says after 5 minutes of not talking "yes i know of my height." matt giggles then says "well i can add 8'inches to that if you want" he says in between laughter "MATTTT ewwwww your so weird go to bed" 10 minutes later i can hear the faint snore coming from matt and soon i fall asleep too. I wonder what will happen tomorrow once matt figures out what he said to me.

i hope you guys liked this i haven't posted in so long lmk if you want a part 2 feedback is appreciated!🪄🦢

[timkontheunsure]

With Stolas he's big regrets are about not letting them become more.

It's very telling his voice breaks on the "never will" bit.

Not anywhere like all the other time he previously played it of as only transitional, or try to deny Stolas being his boyfriend.

So many of the Stolas bits of the film are where he missed opportunities to make it a real relationship.

He could have just not added the "fuck you"

and Stolas wouldn't have walked away.

Could have told Stolas he's wrong in thinking that what they have ment nothing to Blitz.

Could have tried to believe Stolas does really care, and dose sees something in him Blitz doesn't.

"This whole thing we had going... I'm- I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody".

Could have comforted Stolas, like he really really wants to do. And told him he does think of Stolas as the only one he wants.

And he could have listened when Stolas told him he wants someone who cares if he stays or goes.

He starts off well saying they're busy talking together.

but then ultimately tells Stolas just to leave, because it doesn't matter as much [to him] as someone else asking Stolas to dance.

Blitz would fail an English comprehension test so badly 🤦

you know there is something very satisfying about the fandom going on and on about how stolas hurt blitzo when he hid his face behind a menu in "ozzie's" when that doesn't even register in blitzo's worst memories reel.

he feels worse about the way the he rejected stolas there than about anything stolas did that night.

what actually gets his tears flowing is the memory of verosika chewing him out for being a serial heart-breaker while stolas watches.

[fragmentedblade]

Not happy with Kafka's take on Nihility. I wonder if this is a thing of hers or if it's the approach of the overall game. Kind of sick of nihilism being regarded as just the negative nihilism in media, when the true nihilism is active nihilism, which aligns with Kafka's words about how they "believe existence has meaning, but that meaning is bestowed by ourselves"

[dreadful-luck]

GGS TEAM PAST!!!

[netherdevil]

so i have 9 hours so far on ZZZ

i downloaded it JUST TODAY. AT 1PM. thats not normal

[gaywario420]

oh, i love you omnium gatherum, im pretty sure youre not my very favourite album (thatd go to murder of the universe id figure) but oh lord youre up there <3 this album is such an excellent mish-mash of everything i could want in a king gizzard album, i love it.

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[starpros-sunshine]

It's is especially at one in the morning that you realise how ridiculous "I shouldn't go take dancing classes even though I desperately need a hobby that would let me fix the issue of me being so ridiculously short of breath that they genuinely worried about my health because, well, i can't dance." actually sounds. My brother in Christ you're supposed to learn how to do that there.