#Hostile Wheels

[audiocityusa]

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[bleachbleachbleach]

On the topic of wheels, what do you think of Akon's giant cart? It was really funny to me that it only appears in two panels of the manga, but because of the nature of animation, they had to show him pushing that thing around for like 3 solid minutes. I'm a little disappointed they couldn't have come up with something to put in it, some writhing tentacles or something. Do you think the Squad 12ers ever push each other around in these things when it gets real late in the lab and they're feeling punchy? Has Rin ever napped in one?

There probably aren't more wheels in Soul Society because they are simply too powerful. Plus, too many simple machines and the physics of the place becomes just a little *too* legible and other things start breaking down. It's a delicate trade-off, and there's a faction of the 12th that privately believes that although the headliner balance that always gets talked about in Soul Society is the souls (it being the eponymous balance, and the one most directly related to the present shinigami mandate), it's actually the wheels you need to watch out for. (It's worth noting that, yes, of course this 12th faction is related to the Train Guys underground, being that the train 1) has wheels, and 2) is a Very Important thing in Soul Society that almost no one else thinks about regularly.)

Indeed, the train and these carts share some phylogenetic relation, though of course it's quite distant. But not so distant that most shinigami in the 12th aren't careful about how they comport themselves around the carts, as rumor has it they sometimes exhibit a mind of their own and a few of them can be very persuasive. (It's not unusual to push an empty cart around for three whole minutes with seemingly not ask or destination in mind, just to diffuse some of the animacy of the damn thing. Akon usually tries not to take the carts for a walk without some other express purpose, for efficiency's sake, but Nemu's needs don't often align with efficiency's sake, so they walk. They talk. They push an empty cart nowhere.)

Rin's heard all the warnings. He is also friends with most of the cart-walking shinigami (who are usually not Akon, and tend to have fairly high turnover because sometimes they just *disappear* and it's never been proven whether they were called to volunteer for what is listed in the budget as "other experiments" or whether the carts took them for a walk), because he is generally pretty excited about the carts, given his interest in Little Guys:

[Bleach e134]

One day he hopped in one, and was suddenly overtaken by the feeling that he should nap in it, as in a rowboat headed for a waterfall (according to the cart, this was a good thing).

When he woke up, he wasn't anywhere he recognized, though the tracks in the dirt (and even the hard stone--grooves worn into it as though wheels had been tracing this place for a long, long time) suggest he was not the first to find himself there. It was cold, but surprisingly dry, with a brine to the air like a sea without water. As his eyes adjusted to the dark and the rest of his sensorium to the nature of the reishi here, he realized he was in some kind of cavern. It felt a little like the walls of the Seireitei, the seki-sekki they were made from. Perhaps that was what made this place, too.

Whether he was there for a few hours or a week or several years, he's not sure, but at some point he fell asleep again and when he woke, he was back in the lab. Based on the date on the calendar, it had in fact been months, but no one could remember missing him, or else were playing a very elaborate game where they pretended not to for the sake of the bit; and Rin can't begin to guess which was more likely, because that commitment to indeterminacy is the nature of the 12th. All his work was... done... He wasn't behind on anything. But that only meant either his colleagues had done his work for the sake of the bit (less unlikely than it sounds--if there's one thing that truly unites the Gotei, it's not duty to serve but duty to the bit), or he'd managed to be in two places, two states, at once. He'd been in the cart and not in the cart. Naturally.

After his return, a bulletin did go out, though. A revision to the guest rules, which outside visitors to the 12th would all now need to sign:

Don't touch anything.

[toastandjamie]

This is me declaring to the entire world that this is a Min Farshaw fan blog and yes, that IS about Book!Min and I’ll defend her with my life and if I hear any “sexy lamp” comments I’ll bite you. You are the ones diminishing her to only a sex object for Rand because you refuse to acknowledge her actual characterization and actions in the series and also apparently have never had a crush on a person.

[adamnablelittledevil]

I'm watching True Detective and Jodie Foster's Gabriellism is CRAZY.

[prism-forgone]

page 1 of discord's mobile feedback site (x) is looking great

rant in tags and my feedback comment slash expose slash opinion piece here x

[asurrogateblog]

doctor who ass contraption

[sarahwatchesthings]

"Wheel in Space" is great because the women are repeatedly right about what's going on and yet the men continue to dismiss their warnings and concerns with profound confidence.

[clutterbrain]

I love that comic for biking, but I just want to point out one difference between urban cycling and bus riding.

When biking infrastructure is bad, the only people who bike are exceptionally athletic and/or brave. But for people who use bad bus systems, it's not that they're more capable of making the bus work than other people - it's that they have no other options.

When I lived in San Antonio, I realized it would be faster to just spend 40 minutes walking home than it would be to get a 1 hour delayed bus. So I walked, and I never took the bus again after that. It was hot and time-consuming and there weren't always sidewalks, but I could walk in that little dirt path by the road and make it work.

You know who was still left at that bus stop when I gave up? People who can't just decide to walk. If you pay attention, you'll see who's actually waiting at the bus stops: elderly people, people with visible mobility aids, blind people. The actual population that uses America's shittiest public transit is NOT super intense eco-activists or people who just really love the bus and choose to put up with it, it's people who literally have no other option. They cannot drive a car, they can't just walk, they can't even travel by electric scooter or wheelchair because we *don't build or maintain the fucking sidewalks.*

What is left for them but to wait out that 2 hour delay?

People who only take transit may be expecting it but that doesn't mean it doesn't fuck them over. How can you keep a job or make an appointment if it's impossible to predict whether you'll be 2 hours late or not? Disabled people have shit to do too!!!!

Better buses. Every 15 minutes. And fix the fucking sidewalks!!!!

If you are thinking about it on paper, the bus running every half hour doesn't sound so bad, until you're waiting at the stop and you miss a bus or it's delayed. Then you're waiting a very, very long time. To people who never take transit, that's probably fine. Why do you care. To people who only take transit, they're expecting it, it's baked in their lives. But the important part, what really impacts our cities, is what happens to people for whom transit is an option.

The spiral goes like this. You go to take the bus instead of driving, thinking "I'm going to o have a couple drinks" or "I don't want to worry about parking where I'm going." So you take bus. First bus is right on time. But then you transfer from your neighborhood line to the line that takes you where you actually want to go. And your bus is delayed. And it only comes every 30 minutes. And then you're waiting, 40 minutes later, wondering where your bus is, knowing you could have driven there in 20 minutes.

Why would you ever chose to take a bus again? The bus made you waste precious time on your day off just sitting there. So next time you drive. Ridership goes down. When the transit authority asks for more money for more buses and more drivers, people point to the ridership numbers and say "why should we pay for this instead of paying for our schools/police/baseball stadium/parks/police again (let's be real that's who's taking all the money)?" If we want to increase ridership we need to actually design and fund functional transit networks. If we want people to actually ride the bus we need to make it a better option than driving, which means reliable service, which you don't get with a bus every 30 minutes.

Every 15 minutes, everywhere, all of the time.

[gender-euphowrya]

is "ai-powered" the new "we slapped the word 'smart' on the name of this device so you think it's more high end than it actually is''

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[bigfatbreak]

I don’t know if you have answered this question before, but in your Dad villain au, what dream Gabriel and Emilie took from Natalie? Or is it an spoiler? Lov all your aus! I’m a big fan!

In short, Gabe and Emelie had been stringing Nathalie along as a third wheel for a WHILE, just for the sake of using her both for work and as an emotional crutch. All she wanted from them was an honest truth, and in the end, she wouldn't have minded being in an open relationship with them if they offered, but they only implied such a thing and always kept her in the dark. She would've even taken them having a full friendship-whatship breakup with her, but she wanted truth and communication, which they never gave.

By the time she started to come to her senses about how her two best friends were treating her, she felt like she was locked into a permanent situationship with them due to how much of her work history was reliant on their grace (if she quit and they hated it, which they would, she couldn't use the last 15+ years as a reference) and how hostile they would seem to get if she had any notion of dating. (Both of them are selfish about Nathalie, and won't hesitate throwing a "tantrum" of sorts if they discover she's with someone.) She felt as though she couldn't have a family or a lover, instead trapped by two extremely affluent people who could puppet her life on strings.

Then Adrien starts acting... different, and reliant on her, and asking for help from her, and there's something sort of wonderful about being an almost-mother to a boy who has parents - parents who are terrible at being parents, but obsess over BEING parents.

If they were going to ice her out of having a relationship, she's going to ice them out of raising their child. simple as that.

[audiocityusa]

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[cjlouwho]

Fell asleep then woke back up still pissed, because:

Tim was clear when he decided on bi buck, Tommy was chosen on purpose. Someone who fit in with the team already and could fit in Buck’s life. It solved the outsider problem.

They wrote Chimney talking about how cool he was, made him and Eddie friends, had Eddie invite him to a virtual bday party, had Bobby give a huge stamp of approval saying Tommy was good for Buck, that he was good people. Made a big deal of the wedding/coming out scene.

They could have made this an off screen breakup at the beginning of season 8. Honestly, I would have accepted it better. But they brought Tommy back, showed again how he fit with Buck’s world. Showed there was no hostility between him and Eddie. They showed Tommy going above and beyond for Buck, sleeping on a couch with too small of a blanket, doting on him, staring at him with so much love, “breaking the curse,” etc.

I don’t buy Tommy’s lame excuse for breaking it off. That’s such crappy, high school writing. This man is 40 fucking years old, he’s six months into this relationship, and I’m supposed to believe he just suddenly decides he and Buck aren’t made to last? That Buck needs other partners? Please!

It also pisses me off that they had him get Buck basketball game tickets for their anniversary. He has got to know by now that Buck doesn’t actually like basketball. And why even have Abby be part of it at all? That was all part of the red string of fate theory, so it felt like an extra slap in the face to include it in their breakup.

The whole thing was so poorly executed, and it seems wrong that they had Oliver and Lou do a whole ass interview at the end of 7 to just… go nowhere in 8. Then have Lou do two exit interviews when he’s not a main anyway, so it feels worse to actually hear from him (especially when he seems as genuinely confused as we do).

They should have had it be some random guy. They shouldn’t have made the effort to include Tommy as much as they did. They shouldn’t have mentioned wanting bucktommy to be like tarlos. Shouldn’t have mentioned getting Buck off his hamster wheel. They gave fucking Taylor more time than this, and she spent the majority of her screen time using Buck to further her career.

And someone, somewhere down the line could have made a statement to stop fucking harassing Lou, seeing as they’ve known for at least a few months that he was no “threat” to anyone or anything.

[tteotlma]

Body and Soul

mirror sex • orgasm denial  • amnesia

Logan/Reader (5kw)

a/n: im really obsessed w this man rn... its kinda sick

tw: NSFW 18+ MDNI, amnesia, graphic sexual content, orgasm denial, rough sex, domination and submission dynamics, emotional distress, violence, adult themes, and non-consensual situations.

---

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The mission was supposed to be straightforward—a quick extraction and takedown in hostile territory, something the team had done countless times before. But this time, something went wrong. An ambush. An explosion. The group was caught off guard, but Logan took the brunt of it. You found him afterward, battered, bleeding, and unconscious.

Dropping to your knees, you cradled him in your arms, your heart pounding with fear. His healing factor was working, but barely. The damage was severe. You gently pressed your palm to his cheek, your thumb brushing over the familiar scruff of his jaw— something you’d done countless times before, watching his body slowly knit itself back together. His body was limp in your arms, and the absence of his usual strength made your chest tighten with fear. Tears welled up in your eyes as you glanced up at Storm, who stood over you.

“Y/N—” Scott’s voice came from behind her, filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you said through your tears, though your voice betrayed the lie. “You guys go finish the mission. I’ll take care of Logan.” Your throat tightened as you looked down at him, the memory of his rare, soft smile flashing behind your eyes. Tears spilled onto his debris-covered face as your heart ached at the sight of him so still.

“There’s a safehouse about twelve klicks north,” Storm said softly, kneeling beside you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We were supposed to stay there tonight, so it should be ready. We’ll let the others know.”

You nodded, eyes never leaving Logan’s face. His hand, the same one that had held yours with silent strength so many times before, was now motionless at his side. You gripped it tightly, as if holding onto him with everything you had left.

The team helped you carefully lift Logan into the back of an abandoned military truck. His weight—usually solid and reassuring— felt different now, heavier with the uncertainty of what might happen when, or if, he woke up. Without a word, you climbed into the driver’s seat, your hands trembling as you gripped the steering wheel.

As you drove toward the safehouse, the road stretched out endlessly before you, and all you could think about was how it used to be— the teasing banter, the quiet understanding between you, the way Logan would catch your eye and make you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. Now, it was all slipping through your fingers, and you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—not like this. 

The drive to the safehouse was painfully quiet, the only sound being the hum of the truck’s engine and the occasional rustle of Logan’s shallow breaths. You kept glancing in the rearview mirror, your eyes fixed on his still body. Every bump in the road made your heart lurch, fearing it might jar him awake—or worse, that he’d never wake up at all.

When you finally arrived, dusk had settled over the forest, casting long shadows across the cabin’s wooden walls. You carried Logan inside, your muscles burning under the weight of his solid frame, but the adrenaline kept you moving.

Once you laid him on the plush velvet chesterfield couch, you stepped back, wiping the sweat from your brow. His chest rose and fell, slow and steady, but his face remained pale, drained of the vitality you knew so well. You knelt beside him, brushing your fingers through his unruly hair. The silence pressed down on you, the weight of everything unsaid between you making it hard to breathe.

For hours, you stayed by his side, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the lines of his knuckles. You tried to keep your thoughts focused on the practical—his breathing, his healing factor, his injuries—but the memories kept creeping in. The way the scent of whiskey and leather always clung to him, the way his voice would drop when he whispered your name.

By the time night fully set in, the cabin had grown cold. You grabbed a blanket, draping it over Logan’s body as you settled into the chair beside the couch. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over his features. He looked peaceful, but the emptiness in your chest was anything but.

The exhaustion hits you all at once, your body aching from the stress and worry. You rested your head against the edge of the armrest beside his head, your eyes heavy as you watched his slow breathing. The sound lulled you into a half-conscious state, the kind where dreams and reality blur together.

In the fog of sleep, you dreamed of him. Not like this—not broken, lost—but strong, whole. You dreamed of the way he’d hold you close, his lips brushing against your forehead as he’d murmur reassurances. You dreamed of the nights when the world felt far away and all that mattered was the space between you. But as the dream faded, you were left with the cold truth that those moments might never come again.

Hours passed in the quiet darkness, but as the first rays of dawn began to peek through the window, you felt it—a slight movement. Your eyes snapped open, and your heart raced as you sat up, staring at Logan. His fingers twitched, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

“Logan?” you whispered, leaning closer, hope flaring in your chest.

His breathing quickened, his muscles tensing beneath the blanket. For a moment, it felt like time stopped. You held your breath, waiting, watching. And then, with a low, guttural sound, his eyes fluttered open.

But the man who looked back at you wasn’t the Logan you knew. His eyes, usually so sharp and full of unspoken thoughts, were clouded with confusion. He blinked slowly, his gaze shifting around the room before landing on you. His brow furrowed deeper, and when he finally spoke, his voice was rough and unfamiliar.

“Who... who are you?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You’d been prepared for him to be hurt, for him to be weak—but not for this. Not for him to forget you.

“It’s me, Logan,” you said, your voice trembling. You reached out, gently touching his arm, hoping the physical contact would spark something—anything. “You know me. We’re... we’re together.”

But the confusion in his eyes didn’t clear. He shook his head, trying to sit up but falling back against the pillows, his body still too weak to move much.

“I don’t remember you,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t remember any of this.”

Your hand dropped to your side as the full weight of his words sank in. He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember you, the missions, the safehouse. The life you’d built together was gone from his mind, leaving only you to hold onto it.

“Logan, please...” You bit back the sob rising in your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He looked at you, his expression hard, but beneath it, you could see the fear in his eyes. He was lost—more than you’d ever seen him—and it broke something inside you to see him like this.

You inhaled deeply, grounding yourself, then gave him a small smile. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to make you something to eat. You need your strength.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his eyes followed you as you rose from his side. You could feel the weight of his gaze as you moved around the safehouse, doing things on instinct—things you had done so many times before. You moved through the small kitchen like it was second nature, reaching for ingredients you knew he liked: bread, meat, pickles, a little mustard. He didn’t remember you, but you still knew him—knew his preferences, his quirks.

As you worked, you glanced back at him occasionally. He was sitting up now, leaning heavily against the headboard, his brow furrowed in thought. His fingers absently traced the blanket, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he was trying to piece things together.

You brought the plate over and set it on the table in front of the sofa. He eyed the sandwich, and you saw the flicker of recognition in his expression, though he didn’t say a word.

“I... made it the way you like,” you said softly, sitting down on the edge of the sofa. “No tomatoes, extra pickles.” It was a small detail, something so simple, but it felt like an anchor—something that tied him to you in ways words couldn’t.

Logan stared at the food for a moment, then slowly reached for it. His hand shook slightly as he took a bite, chewing in silence. You watched him carefully, trying not to let your hope show too much. His face didn’t betray much, but there was a pause, a flicker of something in his eyes.

As the day stretched on, you busied yourself with small tasks around the cabin, always keeping an eye on him. You washed the dishes, cleaned up around the safehouse, and occasionally checked his wounds, though his healing factor had already taken care of most of the damage. Logan watched you quietly, his eyes following your movements, but he didn’t ask questions. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, but you didn’t push. You wouldn’t force him to remember, wouldn’t remind him of what he couldn’t grasp right now.

Instead, you just were. You existed in his space, filling the silence with small gestures. You brought him water without asking, knowing how he liked it cold but not with too much ice. When you caught him absently scratching at the bandages on his side, you didn’t say anything, just gently moved his hand away and changed the dressings, all while he sat still, watching you.

It was in these quiet moments that you could feel the pull between you, even if he couldn’t put words to it. Logan didn’t remember you, but there was something in the way his eyes softened when you brought him a clean shirt, or the way his shoulders relaxed when you sat nearby, that told you a part of him felt something. Maybe not memory—but an instinct. Something that made him feel safe with you.

Later in the day, as you prepared something for dinner—steak, lightly seasoned just the way he preferred it—you noticed him watching you again, this time more intently. His gaze lingered on the way you moved around the small kitchen, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Why are you doing all this?” Logan asked finally, his voice gruff, though not unkind.

You turned, meeting his gaze. “Because you need it. You’re still healing.”

He seemed to consider that for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to pull a memory from deep within. “You said we’re... together.”

“We were,” you replied quietly, wiping your hands on a towel. “Before the mission. But I don’t want to push you, Logan. I just want to help you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of it all was too much to bear. “I don’t remember any of it,” he muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. “I feel like I should, but...”

You walked over to him, sitting down at the edge of the sofa again. “It’s okay,” you whispered, placing a hand gently on his arm. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to remember everything. I’m here, no matter what.”

He didn’t say anything, but the silence between you wasn’t as heavy as before. There was something softer about it now, something that felt like understanding—even if it was unspoken.

You spent the rest of the evening in quiet companionship. Logan didn’t talk much, but his eyes followed you, lingering on the small things you did. When he asked for a second helping of the steak, a flicker of surprise crossed his face when you handed him exactly what he wanted before he could even ask. He stared at the plate for a long moment, that strange pull between you growing stronger.

By the time night had fully settled over the safehouse, Logan had fallen asleep again, his breathing deep and even. You watched him for a moment, the familiar ache of love and worry pressing against your chest. He was here. He was alive. And even if he didn’t remember, even if things weren’t the same, you knew that deep down, some part of him felt you. Maybe that was enough for now.

Gently, you draped a blanket over his sleeping form on the sofa. His face was soft in sleep, the hard lines of his expression relaxing. You ran a hand over his hair, your fingers tangling briefly in the coarse strands. Without thinking, your touch lingered, sliding down from his hair to lightly caress his chest, fingertips brushing over the familiar roughness of his chest hair. The subtle rise and fall of his breathing reassured you, though a small part of you ached for more—the connection you once shared, the warmth that was missing now.

You pulled your hand back, feeling the exhaustion catching up to you as you turned away. You hadn’t left his side for days, sleeping in that uncomfortable chair, always alert in case he needed you. But tonight, you finally allowed yourself a moment to breathe.

The bathroom attached to the bedroom was just a few steps away, but it felt like a world apart. You grabbed a towel and some clean clothes from the dresser, walking quietly through the cabin to the room you hadn’t touched in days.

The moment you stepped into the bathroom, you exhaled, finally letting go of the tension you’d been carrying. The space felt foreign, untouched since you’d arrived, but it was a welcome change. You turned the water on, letting it run hot as steam began to fill the room.

Stripping out of your clothes, you stepped under the water, the heat immediately soothing your aching muscles. You stood there for a moment, eyes closed, allowing the sensation to wash over you. It was a small luxury, something you hadn’t allowed yourself since the mission had gone sideways.

As your mind began to wander, you thought of Logan—how he’d looked at you throughout the day, those moments of unspoken connection. He didn’t remember you, but his body did. You could feel it in the way he watched you, the way his eyes lingered on your movements, how his posture shifted whenever you touched him. It was instinctual, primal even, like some part of him was still tethered to you despite the amnesia.

Your thoughts drifted further, imagining what it would be like if he did remember. If he remembered the way he used to hold you close, his hands sliding over your body, rough but tender. The way his breath would hitch when he kissed your neck, how his grip would tighten when you whispered his name—

You shook your head, biting your lip to stop the thoughts from spiraling. He doesn’t even remember you, you reminded yourself harshly. The Logan you knew was still there, but he wasn’t the same—not yet. It wasn’t fair to want more from him now, to think of him that way when he was still trying to piece himself together.

With a sigh, you turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. You wrapped a towel around your body, letting the warmth cling to your skin. Grabbing another towel, you began drying your hair, the soft cotton rubbing against your scalp as you stood in front of the mirror.

You wiped a hand across the fogged-up glass, revealing your reflection. Your eyes looked tired, a little red from the steam, and your cheeks were flushed. You stared at yourself for a moment, lost in thought, when you felt it—a presence behind you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw his reflection in the mirror. Logan stood behind you, his body close but not touching, watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He was wearing a robe, loosely tied at the waist, his bare chest visible beneath the folds of fabric.

“Logan...” you whispered, gripping the towel a little tighter around yourself.

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes focused on you, his brow furrowing like he was trying to make sense of something just out of reach. Slowly, cautiously, his hands moved to your shoulders. His touch was tentative, almost as if he wasn’t sure it was okay, but he didn’t pull away when you didn’t stop him.

“I don’t remember you,” he said, his voice low and gruff, “but... my body does.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his hands slid down the length of your arms, his touch both familiar and foreign at the same time. His fingers brushed over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and you felt your pulse quicken.

“Logan...” You tried to speak, but your voice came out shaky, caught somewhere between desire and uncertainty. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. He was so close, and yet so far from the man you knew.

“I’ve been watching you all day,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “I don’t know why, but... something in me recognizes you.” His hands slid lower, grazing the edge of the towel around your waist, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I feel it. Here.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, and for a moment, you didn’t care that he didn’t remember. You didn’t care that this was complicated, that things were uncertain.

All you could focus on was the way his hands felt on you, the way his body pressed closer, and the way his voice sent shivers down your spine.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing the back of your neck, just below your hairline. The heat of his breath made your knees go weak, and you had to grip the edge of the counter to steady yourself. He moved slowly, cautiously, but there was no denying the pull between you—the connection that ran deeper than either of you could understand in that moment.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice rough, full of something dark and aching. His lips grazed your skin again, sending warmth flooding through you.

You nodded, unable to find the words, your eyes locked on his reflection. His hands moved lower, sliding down your sides, but before he reached for the towel around your waist, he paused. You felt him shift behind you, his breath hitching ever so slightly, and then his hands found your hips.

“Look,” he murmured, his voice gravelly as he gently moved you back against him. The hard bulge beneath his robe pressed against you, unmistakable. “I don’t know why, but my body remembers you... remembers this.”

A soft gasp escaped your lips, heat pooling low in your belly as the pressure of his arousal against your lower back sent sparks of desire through you. But even in the haze of lust, there was a flicker of hesitation. You didn’t want him to feel obligated, or forced into something he wasn’t ready for. Not when his mind was still lost.

“Logan...” You bit your lip, glancing at him in the mirror, torn between the pull of his touch and the uncertainty in your chest. “I don’t want to make you do anything. If this isn’t—”

He interrupted you, his grip on your hips tightening slightly as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want this,” he breathed, his voice raw with need. “I don’t know you... but I feel you.” His words were filled with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, and his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over your hips, pulling you closer to him. “I can’t explain it... but it’s like you’re already a part of me.”

His words sent a rush of heat through you, and for a moment, you let yourself believe him. You could see it in his eyes—the truth of his body’s memory, the instinctive connection that defied the gaps in his mind.

Still, the hesitation lingered. “Are you sure?” you asked softly, turning your head slightly so you could meet his gaze, not just in the mirror, but face to face. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but reassuring. “You’re not,” he said, his voice rough but certain. “I don’t know why... but this feels right.” He lowered his head, his lips pressing gently to the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath setting your skin ablaze. “I know I want you... like I’ve always wanted you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and the last of your hesitation melted away as his fingers moved to the knot of your towel. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment, and when the fabric finally loosened, you felt a shiver run through you as the cool air kissed your exposed skin.

Logan’s breath quickened, his eyes darkening as he stared at you in the mirror. His hands roamed over your bare body, mapping every inch of you like he had a hundred times before—even if he didn’t remember. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, and the softness of your breasts, each touch sending sparks of electricity through your skin.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t recall your past. All that mattered was the present—the feel of his hands on you, the way your body responded to his touch, and the undeniable pull that drew you both together. And for the first time since this all began, you let yourself be fully immersed in the moment, trusting in what you both felt, even if his memories hadn’t yet returned.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he growled, his voice low and primal as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. The heat radiating from his body sent shivers down your spine, amplifying the desire swirling within you.

You watched him in the mirror, your heart racing as he gripped your hips, positioning you against the bathroom counter. The undeniable bulge of his arousal pressed against your back, heightening the tension between you.

“Let me show you how much I want you,” Logan murmured, his voice thick with need. He slid one hand down your body, fingers teasing along your inner thighs, inching closer to your core.

You bit your lip, anticipation building as he slipped a finger inside you, your body immediately responding to the intrusion. You gasped at the sudden sensation, your hips instinctively rolling against his hand.

“Just like that,” he encouraged, his voice low and gravelly. He began to move his finger in and out, curling it just right to hit that sweet spot deep inside you. The pleasure washed over you in waves, building with each thrust of his skilled fingers.

“Logan…” you breathed, unable to control the sounds escaping your lips.

He added another finger, the stretch causing you to moan louder, and he smirked at the effect he had on you. “I know you like this. I can feel how much you need it.”

The sound of his voice combined with the pleasure igniting within you made your head spin. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spat lightly onto his fingers before returning them to your dripping core. The mix of sensations made you shudder, the rawness of it all sending you deeper into desire.

“More, please,” you begged, your voice a mix of desperation and need.

“Yeah? You want more of this?” he taunted, his fingers picking up speed, driving you closer to the edge. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

You nodded vigorously, your breath quickening as the pressure within you mounted. “Yes, Logan! I want it!”

“Then let go,” he commanded, and with one final thrust of his fingers, you shattered around him, cries of pleasure filling the bathroom as you rode the waves of your orgasm.

But just as you began to come down, he pulled his fingers out, and you whimpered at the loss. “Not yet,” he said, his voice low and dark. He pressed himself against you, rubbing his length against your backside, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

“Logan,” you breathed, glancing at him in the mirror. “I need you.”

His grip on your hips tightened, a feral look in his eyes. “I know, babe. I know.” With that, he lined himself up, pushing into you with one smooth thrust that made you gasp.

You felt him fill you completely, stretching you in a way that made you dizzy with pleasure. He was rough and demanding, each thrust echoing off the walls, a primal rhythm that ignited the air around you.

“Tell me how it feels,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck as he continued to drive into you.

“Logan, it feels amazing!” you cried out, the sound of your voices mingling in the small space, heightened by the intensity of the moment. The connection between you was electric, as if his body remembered what it meant to have you, even if his mind didn’t.

With every thrust, he pushed you closer to the edge again, your body responding to him instinctively. You locked eyes in the mirror, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away—there was only you, him, and the raw, urgent need that consumed you both.

“Don’t hold back,” he urged, a growl rumbling from deep within him. “I want to hear you scream for me.” “Logan!” you cried, the sound bursting from you as he surged forward again, the urgency of his movements pushing you closer to the brink. The world outside the bathroom ceased to exist; all that mattered was the heat between you and the primal rhythm of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

With each thrust, the pleasure spiraled higher, and the echo of your voices filled the air, mingling with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You felt yourself approaching the edge once more, the overwhelming sensations taking over every inch of your being.

“Logan, I’m—” you gasped, the words barely escaping your lips before the pressure released, and you fell into a wave of bliss, your body trembling as the orgasm washed over you.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, chasing his own release. With a few final thrusts, he found his own climax, his body shuddering against yours as he filled you completely. The sensation sent you spiraling deeper into ecstasy, the intensity of the moment solidifying the bond between you.

Once the pleasure subsided, you both leaned against the cool countertop, breaths mingling as you tried to come down from the high. Logan pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “We should clean up,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with lingering desire.

You nodded, a smile creeping onto your face as you stepped out of the bathroom and into the small shower. The water cascaded over you, warm and soothing, washing away the remnants of your passionate encounter. Logan joined you, his hands tenderly working the shampoo through your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp with a gentle pressure that made you melt.

“Feels nice,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, letting the warmth of the water envelop you both.

“Good,” he replied, a small smile on his lips as he rinsed the suds from your hair. “You deserve to feel good.”

After showering, you both emerged, skin glowing and damp, the warmth of the water still lingering in the air around you. Logan grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders before pulling you into his arms, holding you close against his chest.

You felt safe and content, your heart swelling with affection. “Let’s just stay like this for a while,” you whispered, your voice soft and sleepy.

Logan nodded, his fingers tracing patterns along your back. You snuggled against him, the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat lulling you into a sense of tranquility. Eventually, the exhaustion from the past few days settled in, and you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, wrapped in his warmth.

Hours later, the soft light of dawn filtered through the window, gently stirring you from slumber. You felt a familiar warmth beside you, the solid presence of Logan. You turned to find him awake, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Y/n,” he said softly, the name rolling off his tongue like a forgotten melody. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, and you could feel the weight of his gaze as he took you in.

“Logan?” you asked hesitantly, your heart racing.

A slow smile spread across his face, a mixture of relief and longing. “I remember you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I remember everything.”

Your heart soared at his words, tears of joy welling in your eyes as you reached up to cup his cheek. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his thumb brushing against your wrist. “I remember us… and everything we’ve been through.”

With that, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that spoke of everything unspoken—a promise, a connection, a love that had never truly faded. You melted against him, the warmth of his body and the safety of his arms reminding you that you were home.

---

a/n: Das Ende. danke

[tojismain]

clenched jaws and promises — part 2

part 1

The both of you drove in silence for a while, you were looking out the window and Toji’s hands had turned white from his clutch on the steering wheel. 

“Sweetheart.”

You turn to him.

He looks at you for a brief second before turning back to the road, his face stuck in a glare. “What did she say to you?”

“What?” You asked, keeping clueless. “Who?”

“You’re not dumb, baby. Don’t act like it.” He replies.

You inhale a breath and look back out the window, “She didn’t say anything.”

You can see him turn to look at you again, quiet for a moment before he looks straight ahead. 

“Then tell me what’s wrong.”

“Toji, nothing’s wrong.” You say, exasperated.

“Bullshit.” He iterates and the car slows to a stop in the middle of the road. “I know you’re lying. I can see it on your face and I can hear it in your voice. Stop avoiding my question and tell me what’s wrong.”

Your heart pounds harder in your chest and you look at him, worried. “Toji, the car. You can’t just stop-” 

“There’s no one here. Tell me or I’m not moving.” His eyes were now fixed on you as he waited for a reply, and you feel scrutinized in the worst way. 

You were scared; what if what she said was true, what if toji throws you aside the moment he realizes you won’t change into someone else, what if the car gets hit because you couldn’t talk.

Tears gather in your eyes as you look at him. He notices them and moves his hands back on the wheel. 

He closes his eyes as he breathes in harshly. “Fuck.” He moves the car again and you feel like you can breathe again.

“I’m sorry, angel.” Angel.  He only ever used that pet name when he hurt you, and the fact that he was apologizing softened the fear in your chest.

You fiddle with your fingers on your lap, “She just got in my head about something.” You say. “It’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid. I don’t like the way you’re acting right now, baby. What did she say to you?” He was adamant on figuring out what was hurting you so bad. 

You swallow and explain, “That you have a type.” Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you continue, “And I'm not it. I’m not what you need. Sooner or later you’ll get bored and- I don’t know. It just makes sense—everything she said.”

“That makes sense to you?” He repeats and then parks the car on the side of the road. 

You turn your eyes away from him.

“No. Look back at me.” He was also adamant on making you understand something.

You felt hot, regardless of the cold air outside and inside the car. But you turn to look at him anyway.

“Get one thing through your head, right now. You’re it for me. I’d never get bored of you. I would never get tired of you. I don’t know what type of bullshit she fed you, but she doesn’t know us, does she?”

You keep quiet but he wants an answer.

“Does she?” He repeated and you felt like crying. Actually, you were certain you were crying.

You shake your head and look down. 

“Then tell me you understand.” 

You don’t know what it was about her and why her words affected you so much. Maybe you had been thinking about this for a while and she confirmed your doubts. 

“You’re used to a different life than mine. I can’t be that girl she was talking about—the type you have or used to have. I don’t want you to feel like you have to settle for me and then realize you have it all wrong.” 

All you could think was now was the time he would tell you to get out of the car, but regardless of his hostile kindness, he would never hurt you more than you’ve already been hurt. 

“Do you really think I don’t know what I want and what I like? Do you think I don’t know that I want you? You’re the only one I want and the only one I'll ever want and if someone gets in your head about that, you talk to me about it.” He reaches forward and tilts your head up.

“Does that make sense, sweetheart?” You look away but he follows your eyes with his own, his eyebrows furrowed as he waits. 

You look at him longer for the first time since you got in the car. He looked completely and honestly sincere. That’s when you decide to believe in someone for the first time in your life. 

You nod your head in reply, and he swipes his thumb over your cheek to wipe the tears.

“Good.” He looks at you for an instant longer, committing your face to memory.

He then places one hand on your thigh and the other goes back to the steering wheel. It was almost as if he was scared you’d disappear, and tonight more than any other night, he needed to know that you would stay.

aurelia

[coochiequeens]

Thousands protest against increasing violence against women in Kenya as they march to the parliamentary building and supreme court in the capital Nairobi [Gerald Anderson/Anadolu Agency]

Published On 27 Jan 202427 Jan 2024

Thousands of people have gathered to protest in cities and towns in Kenya against the recent slayings of more than a dozen women.

The anti-femicide demonstration on Saturday was the largest event ever held in the country against sexual and gender-based violence.

In the capital, Nairobi, protesters wore T-shirts printed with the names of women who became homicide victims this month. The crowd, composed mostly of women, brought traffic to a standstill.

“Stop killing us!” the demonstrators shouted as they waved signs with messages such as “There is no justification to kill women.”

The crowd in Nairobi was hostile to attempts by the parliamentary representative for women, Esther Passaris, to address them. Accusing Passaris of remaining silent during the latest wave of killings, protesters shouted her down with chants of “Where were you?” and “Go home!”

“A country is judged by not how well it treats its rich people, but how well it takes care of the weak and vulnerable,” said Law Society of Kenya President Eric Theuri, who was among the demonstrators.

Kenyan media outlets have reported the slayings of at least 14 women since the start of the year, according to Patricia Andago, a data journalist at media and research firm Odipo Dev who also took part in the march.

Odipo Dev reported this week that news accounts showed at least 500 women were killed in acts of femicide from January 2016 to December 2023. Many more cases go unreported, Andago said.

Two cases that gripped Kenya this month involved two women who were killed at Airbnb accommodations. The second victim was a university student who was dismembered and decapitated after she reportedly was kidnapped for ransom.

Theuri said cases of gender-based violence take too long to be heard in Kenyan court, which he thinks emboldens perpetrators to commit crimes against women.

“As we speak right now, we have a shortage of about 100 judges. We have a shortage of 200 magistrates and adjudicators, and so that means that the wheel of justice grinds slowly as a result of inadequate provisions of resources,” he said.

People gather to protest in an anti-femicide demonstration, the largest event of its kind ever held in Kenya. [Gerald Anderson/Anadolu Agency]

Kenyan media outlets have reported the slayings of at least 14 women since the start of the year. [Gerald Anderson/Anadolu Agency]

A protester holds a Palestinian flag during a march to protest against the rising cases of femicide, in downtown Nairobi. [Brian Inganga/AP Photo]

Women and feminists in Kenya took to the streets to march against the rising cases of femicide. [Brian Inganga/AP Photo]

In Nairobi, protesters wore T-shirts printed with the names of women who became homicide victims this month. [Gerald Anderson/Anadolu Agency]

Protesters react against the rising cases of femicide. [Brian Inganga/AP Photo]

A human rights activist reacts as she attends a protest demanding an end to femicide in the country. [Monicah Mwangi/Reuters]

Protesters gather during the anti-femicide demonstration. [Gerald Anderson/Anadolu Agency]

The crowd, composed mostly of women, brought traffic to a standstill. [Gerald Anderson/Anadolu Agency]