#I feel like this has to be green screened!

[ncoincidences]

Reasons why Blumbridge slaps -

Blumbridge refers to the ship Regulus Black/Dolores Umbridge.

There's an idea floating around that Dolores Umbridge would have attended Hogwarts the same time as Regulus Black, and I've seen a couple of posts on it, many by @plecotusauritus and today as I was soaking some sunshine, I thought to myself: why not, actually. And here you go, a mini essay on why Umbridge and Black were secretly lovers, or could-have-beens, or perhaps Umbridge is actually harboring an assumed-dead Black scion during OoTP.

All in good fun :-) Feel free to add your own reasons!

A. They're passionate about their interests and hobbies. Pair this up with good decor taste, and you've got Regulus’s room with clippings of Voldemort, his path to a better Wizarding World, and a beautifully painted Black Family crest, and green interiors. Why won't you pair that up with Dolores' setup of her offices - both at Hogwarts and at the Ministry - where she has the prominent theme of pink, and florals and of course, her special interest: cats and teapots?

Which brings me to my next point:

B. They have clear ideas of what they want to look like. I'm talking the colour schemes they've figured out for themselves.

Pink for Dolores, and not just any pink, it's the in-your-face pink, to portray the image of a saccharine, feminine witch, a purposefully deceptive image once you hear her vocalise her decidedly unsweet agenda.

Now, Regulus has a lot less screen time so we cannot be clearly sure if his passion for green and silver runs as strong so as to appear prominently in his daily attire, but from the glimpse of his room, and the fact that he's, well, a Slytherin, you bet he flashed his House colours as much as he could. Perhaps to rub it in the face that he was a true Black, honoring their traditions and respecting his forefathers.... unlike a certain brother of his.

C. Vocal about their agenda. Remus cannot get a job because of her draft of the Werewolf Legislation. Her reign at Hogwarts seeks to let people know that following Umbridge's rules are the only way to live. Regulus definitely lets his superiority over muggleborns in school known, and considering what Kreacher says of him in Deathly Hallows, his becoming a Death Eater is to seek out glory and power over those inferior.

D. Okay, the most interesting part, CANON will support me on this ship. Hear me out. Umbridge wears the Slytherin locket Regulus died for! It's practically fate the way it wound into HER hands, all the way from Grimmauld Place. The tragedy??? Plus in a world where Regulus didn't die and the locket wasn't a horcrux, you bet that he would give it as a courting gift.

E. Of course Umbridge denies that Voldemort is back!! (In An AU where Regulus is alive) She doesn't want her boy to be in trouble!!!!

F. Dolores' bloodthirsty approach (literally) and abuse of her authority contrasts against Regulus’s search for autonomy after Voldemort violates the rules of magic by creating a horcrux, and his failure to find authority over Muggles. So, Dolores being successful in pushing out the Muggleborn Registration act makes her all the more attractive to Regulus.

And, in a world where Voldemort didn't exist, if Regulus took a career in the Ministry, a workplace romance with an ambitious and cunning woman sounds like an easy setup for a good story.

There can also be a parallel drawn between the two on how they are less attractive than other characters, Umbridge described as a "toad" and Regulus as "rather less handsome than Sirius"...

In conclusion, to me, it seems like the strong dominance of Umbridge's character will balance the quiet resilience of Black's. And that maybe, amongst the felines covering Umbridge's decorative plates, one of them is the feline Animagus form of Regulus Black.

[kathlare]

quiet divide

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Both Amelie and Lando try to avoid the other, yet the unspoken connection between them lingers, leaving them to navigate the uncomfortable situation in their own ways.

Wordcount: 1.5 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

August 3rd, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

The day at Wimbledon was as grand as everyone had promised. The sun was out, making the green grass of the courts look even more vibrant, while the white seats of the stadium shimmered under the light. There was a festive energy in the air, with laughter, the clink of champagne glasses, and the buzz of conversation around the court. Amelie had been looking forward to the day for weeks, a perfect blend of relaxation and fun.

She was with Kit Connor, her co-star from Wicked. They had been enjoying the day, making light of the celebrity gossip around them. Kit was always easy to be around, his sharp wit and dry humor a welcome escape from the intensity of her life lately. Amelie had finally started to feel like she was getting back to herself, her focus now shifting to Wicked and her music, after stepping away from the F1 world.

She glanced at Kit, who was leaning forward to catch a better view of the match. —This place is insane,— he said, laughing as someone in the crowd yelled a particularly loud cheer.

Amelie smiled, nodding in agreement. —It really is. It's a different kind of energy here.—

Kit's eyes flickered toward the screen, which had just displayed a close-up of some VIPs in the crowd. There was an amused glint in his eye as he turned back to Amelie. —You know, they’re showing a lot of celebs today. They’ve got your ex in the crowd, too.—

Amelie froze, her hand still holding her glass of champagne. She forced herself to laugh it off, but there was a tightness in her chest. It was only then that she realized, looking up at the screen, that she had seen Lando. Lando Norris, looking dashing as ever in a sleek white shirt and sunglasses, sitting with his girlfriend Lusinha Oliveira by his side. The sight of him stirred something in her chest—an uncomfortable mix of old emotions she had long tried to bury.

Kit glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up knowingly. —I guess it's a small world, huh?—

Amelie exhaled, shaking her head. —Small indeed.— She took a deep sip of her drink, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to drown out the emotions the sight of Lando stirred, or just to keep herself from thinking about how everything had ended between them. Not since he’d walked away, leaving her behind as she filmed Wicked and tried to move on from everything that happened.

Kit noticed her sudden quietness, and without missing a beat, he nudged her playfully. —I don’t think we need to worry about that guy. You’re in good company here with me.—

Amelie offered him a half-hearted smile. —Yeah, I’m just... not in the mood for this right now.— She didn’t need Kit to know everything. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but she didn’t want to get into it.

Kit raised an eyebrow, his voice taking on a more teasing tone. —Right, sure. You're totally fine. But hey, if you need to talk or need someone to distract you, I'm your guy. You know that. Plus, Wimbledon has a way of making everything feel better. Let's just focus on the match. It’s kind of hard not to get swept up in it all.—

Amelie nodded, forcing herself to relax, trying to push down the odd rush of emotions that had surfaced. She didn't want to think about Lando, not here. Not now. It had been over a year since everything fell apart between them. She'd let it go, she'd moved on.

She turned her attention back to the game, focusing on the way the players hit the ball with precision, the crowd roaring with every point. But in the back of her mind, Lando's image lingered. His smile, his laugh, the way they used to be before everything changed. Before he stopped understanding her life, her commitments, before the way they both hurt each other.

As the match went on, Amelie managed to push the thoughts of Lando to the back of her mind. Kit was right; it was easy to get lost in the atmosphere of Wimbledon, to just be in the moment. She laughed and joked with Kit, enjoying his company, her focus gradually shifting to the match. But every now and then, her eyes would drift to the big screen, and she'd catch another glimpse of Lando and Lusinha, still sitting in the stands, chatting, laughing, completely at ease.

Meanwhile, across the arena, Lando was trying his hardest not to look up. He didn’t need to see her. He didn’t want to. The moment he’d walked into the stadium with Lusinha, the last thing he expected was to be reminded of Amelie. And yet, there she was. On the screen, sitting with Kit, looking effortlessly beautiful as always. The memory of their last conversation—the way everything had ended so badly—flashed in his mind, but he quickly shoved it aside. He had his life now, with Lusinha, who was his girlfriend, and everything seemed fine.

—What’s wrong?— Lusinha's voice broke through his thoughts. She was watching him closely, noticing the tension that had crept into his posture.

—Nothing,— Lando said quickly, forcing a smile. —Just... not the biggest fan of big crowds.— He tried to mask the frustration creeping into his chest. He wasn't about to let his ex affect him. Not when he was here, with Lusinha, enjoying the day.

Lusinha gave him a skeptical look but let it go. —Well, it's a hell of a place to be if you’re not into crowds.—

Lando chuckled, but his mind was still preoccupied. He didn’t want to acknowledge what he was feeling. It had been over a year since they’d last spoken, since everything had fallen apart. Yet, seeing her again on the screen brought it all back—the way they used to be, how easily everything had slipped away. How it had been too late by the time they realized what they’d lost.

He glanced up at the screen again, trying to distract himself, but this time, Amelie was looking right at the camera, her face lighting up with a smile. It hit him harder than he expected, like a punch to the gut. She looked so... different. So far away from the girl he’d known. And yet, in some strange way, she still felt like the same person. The girl who used to play video games with him during the pandemic, who would tease him and laugh with him. The girl who had once been his everything.

—You alright?— Lusinha asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

Lando blinked and looked down at her, a forced smile on his lips. —Yeah, I’m good. Just... just watching the match.—

Lusinha nodded, but Lando could feel her eyes on him, her curiosity piqued. It wasn’t hard to read him. But he couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not here.

Kit, on the other hand, wasn’t as subtle. He knew the history between Amelie and Lando, but he wasn’t about to make a big deal out of it. He could tell Amelie was trying to hide her discomfort, but he didn’t push. Instead, he kept the conversation light, making jokes and commenting on the game, hoping to take her mind off whatever had momentarily clouded her mood.

—Hey, let’s grab another drink,— Kit suggested. —I could use something stronger.—

Amelie agreed, following him out of their seats. She tried to shake off the nagging thoughts of Lando that kept creeping back into her mind. She wasn’t going to let him ruin this for her.

Kit’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. —You good now?—

Amelie smiled, nodding. —Yeah, just needed a second.—

As they made their way toward the bar, Amelie caught a glimpse of the screen again. For a brief moment, Lando’s face flashed on the large monitor as they panned over the crowd, and just like that, the tension in her body returned. She had successfully avoided him up until now. She wasn’t about to let him invade her day, not after everything. But that tightness in her chest wouldn't go away.

Across the stadium, Lando exhaled, his grip tightening around his drink. They were both here, in the same place, but they hadn’t spoken. They hadn’t even acknowledged each other. They were both avoiding the inevitable confrontation, the moment that would undoubtedly come.

And yet, despite the time that had passed, despite the lives they had built apart from each other, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still connected somehow. Maybe it was because he still cared. Or maybe it was just because, no matter how much he tried to move on, some part of him still wanted to make sure she was okay.

But for now, he was doing what they both were: staying as far apart as possible.

And, in that moment, avoiding each other felt like the only thing they could do.

-------------

liked by f1gossipgirl, ln4nation, and others

lanelieship: Spotted at Wimbledon today... 🤭 Lando Norris and Lusinha Oliveira together, looking all cozy, and Amelie Dayman in the crowd with her friend Kit Connor! First time in weeks that we’ve seen them in the same place—could this be the moment they finally cross paths again? 👀💔

Fans have been wishing for this reunion ever since they were the definition of ‘good vibes only.’ We all know they share a history that’s hard to ignore... But with Lando with Lusinha and Amelie out here living her best life, does that mean we can’t dream of a comeback? 🤷‍♀️💭

View all 929 comments

landoandameliefan: THE CHANCE WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. Will they finally talk?! 👀 → ameliexlondon: @landoandameliefan honestly? Lando is probably trying to act all chill but I know he’s lowkey thinking about it 😭

sailawaywithme: Can we just get a “hello” from them already, PLEASE? 🙄

wimbledonvibes_: If Amelie and Lando don’t make eye contact today, we riot. 🤬 → loversforlife: @wimbledonvibes_ WE LITERALLY WILL. What’s the point of being in the same space then?!

notf1fan: I don’t care, they need to at least share a glance 😭

lovers_shipper22: OH MY GODDD they’re literally in the same place 😱💀

karenf1fan: Just me or is this a sign they’re about to rekindle things?? 🤔 → soccerbabe88: @karenf1fan I want it to happen, but I’m also scared for them 🤧😭

f1_dramatic: Not them being in the same spot but acting like they don’t know each other 💀

futbol_and_f1_lover: I’ll just be here waiting for them to be besties again, okay? I’m not giving up. 😤

soccerf1love: If they don’t speak, I’m calling it, the ship has sailed. 🛳 → ameliexameli: @soccerf1love STOP! Don’t say that. I’m still rooting for the reunion 🙏

[eye-spy-an-eye]

A portrait of @joehills inspired by this post! +a Juppet

[howling-medic]

I read this yesterday (2 days ago? Time is confusing and a construct), and I had to step away and pick my jaw up off the floor. I queued the post and intended to return before it actually posted and add commentary. I have lost my original queued post that has long since been posted now, so I'm starting over with a fresh post. I would apologize for the essay length commentary and general praise I'm about to write... but I do not beg your forgiveness. It's not often that I read something that impacts me this much, so I will simply do this and continue on my merry way:

I have now had sufficient time to process and go back and reread this masterpiece. Zara, my friend, you have reduced me to tears twice with this piece, and I now have a very concerned 70 pound dog curled on my lap who refuses to accept that I'm okay.

My gods, woman. This is impeccable. It was soul crushing and healing all in one. The imagery and connections drawn across multiple mediums and genres? Brilliant.

I know you were worried about using too much jargon or leaning too far towards essay style writing vs scholarly writing, and I think you found the middle ground perfectly. Of note: I'm also a nerd who reads journal articles for fun, so I would happily read either end of that spectrum; however, this balance suits your message and the interplay of prose and analysis incredibly well.

You wove in your own narrative thread to the analysis brilliantly. Each section exponentiated the impact of the others, and it flowed perfectly.

I have to take a second, and probably multiple hundred words, to pull some quotes and try to dissect this piece of perfection, or at least highlight some of its most impactful ones. Maybe draw on some personal reasons they stuck out. Who knows. It's 0451 at the time I am writing this, and I'm uncaffeinated. We're operating on vibes alone.

I am not only Elrond's wife, I tell her. And I am not only the taking.

This was the first place I cried. There are a lot of reasons I had to stop and walk away from my computer when I read this line. "I am not only Elrond's wife," hits home in a way that I will talk about more in a piece I'm writing, but I have lived perpetually as Medic, daughter of [redacted] and Medic, sister of [redacted] (daughter and sister being their own issues to comment on another day). Oh so rarely am I my own person. To see that refutation set down in black and white so simply, to see someone say it so definitively, brought me to a screeching halt. Suddenly, I was Celebrían while also being back in that motel room where I first found her footnote - running for my life.

"And I am not only the taking." I knew what I might remember when I read this series. I knew what I would likely feel. The soul crushing feeling of helplessness this dragged up in me made me nauseous. The rawness of that line evokes is incomparable. The sheer defiance in it. The refusal to be reduced down to one moment. It set up everything to come perfectly. At the time I didn't necessarily know that was where we were headed because your narrative wandered and allowed a gradual build, but once the destination became clear, I had to return to that line as a whole and read it several times over.

In these timeless interruptions, despair is not dark and silent but “dazzling green”, dancing across the screen.

[In a time and place where I wonder when it will be illegal to be myself, I will strive to remember to keep despair "dazzling green" and keep "dancing across the screen.] However, outside the personal, and in the context of the essay, the tie back to the Elessar and the way this sentence began to pull everything into focus for me. The parallels between Celebrían and queerness was unexpected and worked seamlessly. I still don't have adequate words to describe the moment I first read that paragraph as a whole, actually.

[I could probably pull out something from every paragraph because this entire piece was a hyper-concentrated emotional and intellectual gut punch of the best kind, so I'm going to force myself to choose like one or two more lines I want to talk about for the sake of brevity. lol. Ain't that cute of me to say now? Brevity came and went a few hundred words ago.]

Put simply, the cinematic courtesan frames death, failure and grief as an aesthetic performance, one full of joy and decadence. Her dances and laments, aesthetically pleasing events within a self-professed arena of death, performed by dying women, are a re-capacitation of destroyed bodies: sexually and societally persecuted, yet capable of creating beauty.  A society that allows a group of people to live in a state of perpetual dying is a failed society; hence the courtesan’s embrace of death and embodying of corpses evidences the difficulty of queer survival in a heteronormative world. In this domain, immortality is nothing but a death scene drawn out for eternity.

I - ma'am - I couldn't even choose one part of this to pull out. I tried, and I couldn't. Remember when I said this was deeply healing? This. This. This was the first time I felt a piece of myself put back in place. I could analyze this, sure. I could, but I don't feel like it needs anything else said.

The texture of it is familiar, yes, but the shape remains strange. The bees have formed their comb around an irregular thing, one which turns the whole hive into a glowing, radiant, discoloured thing. The octagons of the comb wrap around over and over the object, another second skin I am meant to peel off, and it is harder than I thought it might be, as if the strange object belonged in the comb.

The perfect echo back to the chrysalis, the perfect echo back to the first mention of the beehive while sitting with Elrond, which seemed like such an odd and lovely little note at the time. I am in awe. The comb being harder to pull off than she expects? How indescribably perfect, and so true. So incredibly true. It was the perfect payoff from small moments scattered throughout. That moment of realization for Cel, for the reader....for one's soul.

Gods, I've waxed poetic for long enough. I can't thin it out, though, and I could write something about nearly every line.

TLDR: This was a triumph, and I am bookmarking it to turn back to on dark days.

Fun stuff from Dr. Balls — an essay collection published on the Silmarillion Writers Guild across the upcoming year that intertwines fanfiction and nonfiction in the pursuit of Celebrían + most women in the legendarium turn up at some point ✨

Head over here or click ‘Read More’ below for a brief introduction to and overview of the essays in the collection, which can all be read independently. Fans of Crablor and Mr. Balls, you will enjoy Chapter 5 & 6, which should be out in the summer.

—————

“But there is also something deeply strategic in the act of spectacle. To make a ‘lost woman’ like Celebrían into a vast, operatic, hyper-visible character is to place her where she cannot be ignored… no longer dependent on the fragile benevolence of the archive. She becomes impossible to overlook. Across this collection, Celebrían will be written, rewritten, and repeated, until her absence is not only rectified but reversed — until she looms larger than the moment of violence that defines her. To put it bluntly, she takes her story back, and does whatever the hell she wants with it.”

The introductory essay, ‘Dazzling Despair: Life, Death and a Spectacularly Lost Woman’ considers the radical potential of performing one’s own ‘death’. On the fictional front: Celebrían’s search for the Elessar transforms loss into an act of deliberately poetic spectacle.

Read ‘Dazzling Despair’ here.

Would honestly love to hear what you think of this so far — feel free to comment here or DM me as well. I really want to make sure my tone isn’t too jargon-y and that it flows well: combining fanfiction and nonfiction is something I haven’t done before.

Introduction and Overview

An Elopement with Life is a 9-part essay collection that intertwines literary fanfiction with the nonfiction essay form, exploring the idea of a Celebrían who stays in Middle Earth.

The fictional narrative follows a year in the life of Celebrían who, across conversations with various 'lost women' of the legendarium, makes the deliberate choice to not-sail to Valinor. The essays use Celebrían and “courtesan laments” as a general framework but traverse a wider thematic landscape, engaging with historiography, investigative environmental journalism, and critical queer/disability theory to unpack how mythic and literary narratives shape our understanding of loss, resilience, and reclamation.

The introductory essay Dazzling Despair considers the radical potential of performing one’s own ‘death’, as Celebrían’s search for the Elessar transforms loss into an act of deliberately poetic spectacle. The Art of Dying Twice deconstructs Lúthien’s legendary defiance, revealing how even the most celebrated figures of resistance may be vexing in their contradictions. Sea-cure is an intertextual meditation on the sea’s ambivalence—both vessel of liberation and instrument of dispossession—as Elrond attempts to communicate with the Valar across an unfathomable divide. The Poster Child examines the distortions of historical memory, positioning Celebrían as an uneasy object of mythmaking who must navigate her own commodification into a cautionary tale, paralleling a “poster child” in narratives of disability.

The collection then shifts toward a mode of speculative investigative journalism with The Crab-Eaters and The Crab-Saviours, in which Celebrían, Arwen, and the elusive Fëanorian wives cross paths with an eccentric cryptid who runs a farm of extinct-yet-not-extinct shellfish, mirroring the author and their partner’s real-world pursuit of brutalised waterfowl in the United Kingdom. Does Your Mother Know? takes on the ethics of retribution, as Celebrían and Elrond are at odds after she demands to see her sons' orc hunt, raising fraught questions about complicity, cycles of violence, and the power of bearing witness.

The collection concludes with the two-part essay The Bravest Girl in Arda, where Celebrían, alongside her father Celeborn, constructs a living reconstruction of Taur-im-Duinath, a sunken forest in Beleriand. This final couplet articulates restoration as a quiet, persistent act: the renewal of the self through reconnection with the nonhuman world, the submerged histories that whisper beneath dominant narratives, and the “little revolutions” that exist under the weight of the great ones — resonating with Tolkien’s own attentiveness to the dignity of small acts and overlooked labours. Across the collection, An Elopement with Life engages with resilience as both concept and praxis, unfolding through a dialectic of rupture and repair, disappearance and re-emergence, myth and materiality, and the histories we choose—or refuse—to inherit.

Zara is an essayist and novelist who works broadly across queer world literatures and ecocriticism. She holds degrees from SOAS, St. Andrews and Oxford.

The work will update every 6-8 weeks, hosted exclusively on the SWG, and each essay in the collection can be read standalone.

Go to Collection.

[freaky-flawless]

Headless Headmistress Bloodgood redesign!

I've been wanting to redesign her for a while, in a way that would marry the aspects from each of her designs that I like. I'm pretty happy with how she turned out!

At some point I would like to design some more Monster High teachers and staff, because no matter what gen, that school is struggling.

[cowboy-robooty]

everyday im fighting for my life because i always hate the sex parts of my gay porn comics

[sskk-manifesto]

Atsushi's back in the game!!! ۶( ˆ o ˆ )

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images from the past year or so... posting my evil little photo diary collections once again..

[s0fter-sin]

i still don’t know how i feel about the hazbin hotel trailer, purely animation wise. it looks almost too clean? to the point that it almost looks seperate from itself? the characters don’t feel like they’re in the same world as background, it looks like they were put in after and like they’re on a completely different plane to each other and can’t touch. you compare it to the pilot and everything looks the same, the style and movement feel consistent and realistic

[reignpage]

Lying To Himself

Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence

You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye. 

“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”

And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.

The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines. 

“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face. 

A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.

He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to be balls naked in their own kitchen.

"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.

Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."

His friend gives him a look, half amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.

It’s been great. Really fucking great. 

You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and making sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you. 

It’s fine. 

At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.

More days pass just like that. 

And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring and obnoxiously loud. It’s like he's suddenly realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the mornings that’s always greener than the last. 

His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack when it’s not from you. 

“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”

The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say as if you’re yapping right in his ear. 

“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake as fuck. What was the fucking budget for this shit?”

Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways? 

When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye nowadays. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up. 

“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”

Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that. 

Instead, he eats on the sofa or in his car.

Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question. 

“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”

He gets two nights of decent sleep after that.

But then…

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood. 

But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week. 

Fucking texted. 

Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 

He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out. 

Everyone knows he’s losing his mind. They can tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he’s started snapping at women who are either flirting or just doing their jobs. And sometimes they even have to block his view of couples practising PDA. That’s the closest to hell they ever want to get around Toji. Suddenly, everyone’s hoping you throw the guy a bone and send a nude or something. Literally anything to rein him back in.

The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home. 

“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”

Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh. 

The door handle rattles. 

He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing. 

You’re here. 

“Hey, Toji—“

Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble. 

“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”

His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute. 

“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”

Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat. 

“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”

“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion. 

He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”

Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason for keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”

Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.

It’s almost like…

No. 

It can’t be. 

Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure. 

Toji missed you. 

An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better. 

Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.

Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you. 

“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts. 

Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home. 

Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.

He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.

“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.” 

And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says, 

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”

Yeah, this man totally missed you. 

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[tonycries]

FIRST masterlist! This masterlist has all my writing from 06/02/24 up until 01/10/24 — for my recent works click on my SECOND MASTERLIST <3

Men In Uniform Do It Best!

Dirty Lil' Secrets

A Picture Lasts Long (But Not As Long As That D*ck)

I'm Addicted, I Admit It!

Give Me Tough Love

Never Ever Seen This Before!

We Don't Have No Babies!

Like A Fever

Bad Things (To You)

Prettier When Messy!

Care For You!

Green-eyed Monster

So Lonely In My Mansion!

Kiss Me More!

Girl, I Do This Often

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Sl*t Me Out!

Match My Freak!

WAP!

R U Mine?

Hot To Go!

Girl, You Earned It!

I'm A BIG Stepper!

BODY-ODY!

SOOO ANXIOUS

Long Overdue!

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

The Family Matter?!

I-T G-I-R-L!

I Lasted Ten Rounds!

BRAT!

She's My Vitals!

Three's a Crowd (But Four...) — “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? [Part 1] [Part 2] — There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Dream A Little Dream — For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

One More? Please? — A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

Hope They Catch Us — When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Unmistakably Yours — In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Madam Gojo — Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

The Heir — No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

The Call — After an explosive fight with your boyfriend, you really should feel sorry about being swept up by the blue-eyed stranger at the club - but it’s so hard when he kisses you like that.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy — He knows that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels. And you know that you want nothing more than to stay by his side. After meeting an alluring cowboy at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, both of you are sure of one thing - this must be fate.

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 1] [Part 2] — You wouldn’t fuck Gojo Satoru even if you were paid…is what you thought exactly five minutes before you were shoved against the wall of this cramped closet, his face stuffed in your soaked panties.

Unhoneymooners!? — The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! — When your sugar daddy just isn’t paying attention to you, can you really be blamed for fúcking his son? Especially when his son is absolutely obsessed with you.

Bad Boys Bring Roses — You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

The Way You Kiss Me — The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) — Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Haunting You — A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

You'll Taste Me Too! — How do you last three days on a work trip with the man you hate the most in the office? You don’t - you end up pinned underneath him, instead.

We Neva Play! — Turns out, the “r” in rivals stands for “really good séx” when a mission becomes a little too hot to handle.

Something Stupid — Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Like An Animal — Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Whiskey, Neat, With a Side of You — When your date stands you up, you’re lucky that the hot bartender is more than happy to keep you company! 

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

F*ck You! (Literally) — Of course, you hated your ex-husband. Of course, you found yourself in bed with him on your wedding anniversary.

Government Hooker — With the fame and glory of being an international popstar comes the inevitable threat of an overzealous stalker. You just didn’t think that it would also come with a very sexy, buff bodyguard behind your every move.

Madam Zenin — There’s nothing that rouses Toji, the infamous head of the Zenin clan, nothing that will make him lose control - until they take what’s most important to him. You.

Brooklyn Baby — Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Golden Boy — Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

A Million Dollar Baby! — Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Welcome To The Itadori's! — Three times Choso really, really wanted to hold you without his family barging in, and the one time he actually does. 

FIVE! — Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) — When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Freak On The Cam! — Choso always loved watching you - his pretty lil’ camgírl - from behind the screen. Who knew he’d love being on-screen with you even more?

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Exes who...

Love Is Blind

“She My Best Friend, Yeah We Not a Couple.”

Wanna Do Bad Things To You

I Wanna Get Freaky On Camera

Lemme Ride, Baby!

Can I Fill You Up, Baby?

"Pull On It. Harder."

Little Heaven

©2024 tonycries. All work belongs to @tonycries. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. This includes themes, headers, and pinned.

[loserboysandlithium]

The Pact: Eddie Munson One Shot

Summary: As children, you and Eddie made a pact to never cross that line. But as the two of you have grown it has become almost impossible to keep. You decide to make a new pact instead. ;)

Explicit sexual content, Minors DNI, word count 3k, moved over from my old account 🖤

*******

"Eddie!" you knock loudly on the door of his trailer. His van is here so he's gotta be home.

"Eds?!" you try again, banging on the door even louder.

He's probably still sleeping. The boy doesn't wake up earlier than noon, especially on a Saturday.

You close the screen door and make your way around the trailer to his window. It's cracked slightly and the smell of weed immediately hits your nose, making you smile. He's up.

You push up on the old window, listening to the squeak as it struggles to move. "Eddie!" you shout through the crack. Again, no response.

You roll your eyes as you use all your strength to lift the window enough to crawl through. You climb in head first and tumble onto his floor. As you sit up, your eyes adjust to the dim room. You see him lying on his back on the floor, headphones on his ears, his fingers tapping away as he listens to the music.

No shirt, his tattoos on full display. Hair pulled back into a messy bun, loose curls sticking out everywhere. A pair of dark green flannel pajama pants hanging low on his waist.

Fuck, he looks good.

You watch as he brings his fingers to his lips, inhaling on the joint, releasing a cloud of smoke into the air. You tiptoe across the floor, hearing the tune of 'Dirty Women' by Black Sabbath coming from the headset as you lean over him.

His already round eyes widen even more as he sits up quickly, his head slamming into yours.

"Shit! Are you okay?" he shouts over the music still blasting in his ears. You reach out with one hand removing his headphones, leaving them dangling around his neck as you rub your forehead with your other.

"Easy Tiger." you giggle and he gives you a crooked grin. His eyes are glossed over and slightly red from his activities.

"Sorry, didn't hear you comin.” he explains, pointing towards the earphones.

"Yeah, I got that.” you smile, shoving his shoulder lightly as he scoots a little closer to you.

"Thought you were coming by tonight?" he raises an eyebrow as he stands up, holding his hand out to you. You grab his hand and he pulls you from the ground.

"My shift got canceled and I was bored." you shrug, reaching out for the joint in his hand.

"I have an idea.” Eddie says suddenly, his brown glinting. You inhale deeply on the joint and wait for him to continue. He stands there silently, eyes zoning in on your chest.

"Eddie!" you smack him upside the head bringing him out of his daze and he shakes his wild hair.

“Sorry.. I'm high." he shrugs with a little wiggle of his brows.

"Your idea?" you push.

"Right.. the clubhouse. Let's hotbox." A slick smile spreads on his pretty lips. Every time you're together, you have to fight the urge to kiss him. To touch him. To beg him to touch you.

You had both made a pact. An oath. You were best friends. You couldn't cross that line. But now.. every year it gets harder and harder to keep it.

I wonder if he feels the same.

"Hello?” Eddie snaps his fingers in front of your face teasingly.

"Mhmm.. yeah. Let's go." you grin at him and his smile widens. He walks over to his nightstand, swiping up his little lunchbox.

You make your way outside, following the familiar trail into the woods behind the trailer park. You used to come here all the time together. Staying up, eating bags of candy and telling scary stories until Wayne would come and drag you both out.

You reach the rickety ladder leading high into the trees and glance over at Eddie, a nervous look on your face.

"When's the last time you've been up here? It looks... well, it looks like we're gonna die if we attempt this."

"Oh, we're fine. Come on. You first." he encourages, his hand landing on your waist. The small touch sends tingles down your spine.

"Why do I have to go first?" you groan, grabbing hold of the wooden plank.

"That way I can catch you if you fall." he explains, keeping his hand resting gently on your side. You take a deep breath and begin your climb.

"Shit!" you squeal as your foot slips on the third step and you fall into Eddie, his free hand lands on your ass, holding you up.

"Oops." you laugh, turning to peek at Eddie. His hand remains in place making you blush.

“Eds?" you nod towards his hand and he just smiles.

"Total accident, sweetheart. Swear." he cheeses. Your heart starts to pound in your chest. He's flirting. Shit, no... He always flirts. It's just friendly banter. Normal for the two of you. But is that all it is? Fuck.

You continue up the ladder, Eddie following close behind until you reach the top. You push the Spider-Man sheet to the side and crawl into the small treehouse. Everything looks about the same. A few new additions since the last time you've been here.

An ashtray sits in the corner, a stack of playboy and hustler magazines sprawled out, some empty beer bottles.

"Eddie Munson.." you giggle, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

Eddie plops on the dusty floor reaching out and snagging one of the magazines. "What? A man has needs."

"Ew." you joke, grabbing his lunchbox, plopping a pre rolled joint between your lips.

"What? You don't uh, take care of yourself?"

The question catches you off guard. But even more than that, his tone. It was much deeper than before. You hope your cheeks aren't as red as they feel as you meet his gaze. You light the joint, inhaling deeply, holding the smoke in your lungs a moment before exhaling.

"No, I do." you whisper, taking another toke.

Eddie watches you curiously, scooting a little closer to you in the already cramped space.

"You gonna share?" he winks at you, making your heart flutter. He's so close. All I want is to taste him. To finally give in.

"Hey, you okay?" Eddie nudges you playfully with his foot, shaking you from your thoughts. You nod sitting up on your knees in between his sprawled legs. You bring the joint to his lips and his eyes lock on yours as he inhales slowly.

You inch closer, the slight buzz from the weed making you more confident.

"Are you about to kiss me?" Eddie blurts making you pause.

"What? No!” you snort shoving his chest hard, making him fall back to the dirty floor. He coughs, the smoke filling his lungs coming out in small spurts as you move back to your spot against the wall, feeling a wild mix of emotions.

He scrambles to get back up, immediately coming to sit in front of you again. “I- uh- I wasn't gonna stop you.. if you were going to... ya know?" he mumbles under his breath.

You meet his big brown eyes, the same eyes you've looked into for years and years. There was no mistaking it. They were darker. Full of hunger. A hunger for you.

Shit.. say something. Anything. Your mind goes blank. Every part of you wanting to just kiss him.

The other part of you worried about your friendship. The whole reason the two of you made the pact.

"The pact.” you breathe.

Eddie speaks next, leaning back slightly, twisting one of his rings on his finger.

"Who do you think about when you touch yourself?" he burns lowly, his eyes searching your face.

"What?”

"Who do you think about?" he asks again, his eyes remain locked on yours.

You. Always you.

You shrug instead, keeping your thoughts to yourself.

Eddie nods slowly, taking another long puff off the joint before handing it your way. The small area was already cloudy with smoke as you both continue to add to the haze.

"It's not like we made a blood oath or something."

Eddie says after a few minutes. Both of you now feeling the effects of the high.

"We literally made a blood oath." you argue, a smile on your lips as you think back to the two of you pricking your fingers with a thumb tack.

"We were thirteen." Eddie pushes back, moving over so he's sitting right next to you. You can feel his body warmth radiating against your side. When you turn his face is only inches from yours.

"Where is this coming from?" you whisper.

"I just.. fuck, I don't know. Just, look at you." Eddie breathes out, his words making your entire body warm.

"Who do you think about?" you ask suddenly.

"I don't know what you mean." he grins widely, forcing you to ask him directly.

"When you touch yourself.. do you just think about those girls in the magazine?"

"Sometimes.. sometimes I think of someone else." he hints as his hand gradually makes its way to your thigh.

"Me?" you swallow hard, barely pushing the word out.

"Do you think about me?" he challenges, his hand resting heavily on your upper thigh.

"Yes." you admit. You knew it wasn't the drugs.

You've always wanted Eddie. But the buzz was allowing you to finally speak your truth.

You can tell he's happy with your answer, his face lighting up. His brown eyes gleaming.

"Show me."

"I don't under-'

"Show me what you do when you think about me." he cuts you off swiftly.

Holy shit. Your mind fills with wild thoughts as you take what he said into consideration. You can feel yourself throbbing at the thought. Touching yourself in front of him. Eddie's eyes watching you as you bring yourself to your peak. Would he touch himself too?

Before you can change your mind you guide your hands into your shorts, listening as Eddie inhales sharply.

"Fuck." he exhales, watching carefully as your hand meets your warmth under the material of your shorts. You close your eyes, worried that if you see him you might overthink everything.

Right now it just felt good. So good.. and you know he's watching.

"I close my eyes." you start, slowly rubbing circles around your clit. Eddie hums in response, waiting for you to keep going.

"And I see your face. I-I think about how your lips would feel.. your tongue. the sounds you would make..." you moan as you slip two fingers inside, feeling your arousal.

"What else?" Eddie rasps, his lips suddenly against your ear, his voice makes you speed up your fingers.

"I think about how you would feel inside me.. if you would be rough.. if you would.. ohh.. if you would make me scream."

"I promise I could make you scream." Eddie burns. You feel his fingers on your chin, turning you to face him. Your eyes drift open and Eddie presses his forehead against yours as you work your fingers in and out of your soaked pussy.

"I think about your fingers a lot... your rings.. I pretend my hands are yours.." you whimper, feeling yourself on the edge but not quite there.

You don't want your fingers. You want his.

"Eddie."

"You gonna cum, sweetheart?"

"I want you.. I want you to make me cum.." you whine desperately, only seconds away from your orgasm.

"Yeah?" he pants breathlessly.

"Please." you beg. He wastes no time reaching into your shorts, you remove your fingers just in time for his to replace them. His slender fingers immediately reach exactly where you need them to, curling with precision, stroking across your g spot making you cum instantly.

"Yes! Oh fuck!" you cry, your muscles pulsing around his fingers, Eddie watches in awe as you fall apart beneath his hand.

"Holy fuck.” Eddie groans deeply, slowly working you through your orgasm.

You grab him, slamming your lips into his pulling a moan from him instantly. He leans in, his body pressing you down to the floor as you tangle your hands in his hair.

Fuck.

He tastes like weed and Camel Blues as his tongue greets yours hungrily. You both kiss sloppily, soaking up this moment. After all these years, both of you finally getting what you want.

Clothes are torn off. No more hesitation as you both paw at each other, kissing and biting, the eagerness apparent from both of you. Moans and the sound of messy kisses fill the room.

"Fuck me." you plead with him as your bodies grind together, skin on skin, so close together.

"We need a new pact." he pants breathlessly, lining himself up.

"Mhmm." you moan, feeling his tip start to stretch you out.

"The new pact is that You're mine." he moans as he thrusts himself in, entering you fully, a filthy cry raining from your lips.

"I'm yours." you whimper, your fingernails digging into his back as he begins to pump in and out of you.

"We have to seal it, sweetheart." he mumbles drunkenly, picking up his pace. His size is unlike anything you've had before, your legs already shaking slightly, a tinge of pain mixed with the beautiful pleasure.

"What do you- oh!" you gasp as his teeth sink into your bottom lip just hard enough to break the skin. You feel the trickle of warm liquid dribble down your chin.

"Shit." you breathe out before returning the favor, taking Eddie's plump lip between your teeth and tugging roughly making him growl as he slams his cock into you.

"Goddamn, baby.” he groans, kissing your lips, gliding his tongue inside. A metallic taste fills your mouth as your tongues swirl together wildly, your blood mixing together in your kiss.

"Call me baby again." you whimper, rolling your hips, grinding on his big cock. He feels so fucking good.

Eddie chuckles bringing his lips to your ear as he fucks you powerfully. His cock glides in and out of your slickness, the sounds loud in the quiet of the woods.

"You like being my baby?" he murmurs in your ear.

"Yes!”

"You feel so fucking good.. so fucking good." he praises, entering you deeply with every snap of his hips. Your head falls to the wooden floor as your back begins to arch.

"There we go, sweetheart." Eddie hums approvingly as your thighs begin to tremble.

He keeps himself buried deep, rolling into you, his thick cock filling you to the brim. He thrusts into you precisely, finding your sweet spot making your toes curl.

"Eddie! R-right there!" you whine, the pleasure of someone fucking you right for the first time was unlike anything you'd felt before. You didn't know sex could feel this good.

"Gonna take care of you, sweetheart.. I got you." Eddie reassures, keeping his pace, in and out, in and out.

His lips lock onto your neck sucking harshly. You grip the back of his head, holding him to you, the feeling of his lips sucking your skin felt delicious. His fingers meet your clit, quickly rubbing circles on the sensitive nub, making your eyes roll.

"Please don't stop... I think.. I think I'm gonna..”

"Cum for me, beautiful.” Eddie demands in your ear, sending you over the edge. You pull his hair roughly as your body jolts upward, your pussy clenching around him, spasm after spasm as you flood his cock.

"E-Eddie! Ohh my god.. f-fuck!" you practically scream, Eddie loving every second of you writhing beneath him. Watching as you make a mess of his cock. You can feel your cum coating your thighs as he continues to pound into you.

His hands tangle in your hair as his lips meet yours feverishly. Your entire body is overwhelmed as you cling to him, it's almost too much but you don't want it to end. He lifts your leg onto his shoulder, the new angle making you gasp.

"You're so fucking hot." Eddie moans, the sounds coming from him are everything you imagined they'd be. Even better.

"We're gonna cum together." Eddie orders as he leans down, taking your leg with him, his hard cock somehow reaching deeper.

"Together.” you whimper, feeling him stretch you out again and again. He speeds up, slamming into you wildly, your legs shake as you grasp for him, wanting him to be as close as possible. He leans down even more, you feel the strain of your leg muscles as he bends you in ways unknown to you before.

He sinks his teeth into your neck making your eyes roll to the back of your head as your nails claw at his back, sending red streaks across his tattoos.

"Gonna cum…. wanna cum inside you.." he mumbles, his hips moving at an insane pace.

"Cum inside me, baby." you moan, completely losing all sense of anything but him as he fucks you senseless. A few more hard thrusts and you feel his cock twitch, his warm cum spilling into you as he moans your name.

"Fucking Christ." he laughs breathlessly as he collapses on top of you. Both of you lay there silently, your chests rising and falling rapidly as you come down from your high. You run your fingers through his curls as he rests his head on your chest.

After a few minutes you hear the crunching of leaves below you causing you both to sit up suddenly.

"Edward!" Wayne's voice calls from below.

"Shit."

"Come down here and eat your damn dinner.. 20 years old and still playing in a damn treehouse." Wayne mumbles as you hear his footsteps heading back through the woods.

You both look at each other and burst out laughing.

"Dinner, m'lady?" Eddie smirks, rounding up your clothes.

"Dinner sounds perfect.” you smile at him, feeling happier than you’ve ever felt.

[lubdubology]

When Things Turn Green Again

SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.

PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader

WC: 11k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v

A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.

The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down. 

Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both. 

The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago. 

A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage. 

You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.

“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.

Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.

You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.

You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair—a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.

+++

You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store. 

The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”

“Logan?”

He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”

“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse. 

George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”

“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter. 

“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.” 

You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.

Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.

You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.

He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”

He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you. 

“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”

You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness. 

God, this was embarrassing. 

It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.

He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.

Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble. 

+++

You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him. 

You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit. 

And that attraction terrifies you. 

Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through. 

Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding. 

Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart. 

But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.

Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?

His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.

Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.

“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.

“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch. 

Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”

At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.

“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.

You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that. 

You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.

You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.

+++

It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him. 

And you don’t know why. 

He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.

There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him. 

A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too. 

You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain. 

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”

You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp. 

“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face. 

He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”

His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable. 

You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”

“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”

His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say. 

His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies. 

“Well, I am.”

Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave. 

He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag. 

You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. 

Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body. 

“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. 

You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.” 

Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. 

Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer. 

Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps. 

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face. 

He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”

And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble. 

+++

Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.

It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.

But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore. 

As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber. 

The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”

He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”

You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”

He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello. 

“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face. 

Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust. 

Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you. 

“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks. 

You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board. 

You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose. 

He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him. 

“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.” 

Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit. 

His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze. 

“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex. 

Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought. 

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.

You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable. 

It’s enough to drive you mad.

“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.” 

Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”

He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.

“You belong here,” you say softly. 

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”

He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further. 

You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind. 

As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”

A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin. 

“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”

“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”

Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”

+++

You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling  and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into. 

You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee. 

Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart. 

Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do. 

God, you hope he does. 

You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine. 

While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders.  You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more. 

Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead. 

It’s just Logan, you remind yourself. 

Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower. 

“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter. 

Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”

His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine. 

You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice. 

Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees. 

He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass. 

Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.

Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”

“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”

“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.

Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.

“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate. 

He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”

You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”

“I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft. 

Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”

Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades. 

As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity. 

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles. 

You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”

Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.

“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.

You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through. 

An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.

“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”

Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.

You grin. “You should give it a try.”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”

You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape. 

Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”

He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.

Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.

“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps. 

As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze. 

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin. 

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric. 

“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch. 

Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away. 

Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours. 

It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer. 

You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth. 

Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.

You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.

+++

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle. 

You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him. 

You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth. 

You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months. 

Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth. 

But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole. 

Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.

You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.

Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.

From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.

“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”

“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.

He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest. 

Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.

Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”

Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady. 

His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.

The pieces he wants you to see.

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up. 

Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say. 

After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”

You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one. 

“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”

He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles. 

“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”

+++

It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.

Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken. 

So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…

You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.

Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence. 

Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.

He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”

“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”

Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection. 

“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.

You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.

+++

The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses. 

“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness. 

You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face. 

Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper. 

Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw. 

“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.

Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.

“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.

You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours. 

Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”

“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin. 

Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head. 

Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts. 

Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.

A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.

His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.

You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips. 

Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with. 

Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.

Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you. 

He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties. 

“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs. 

“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver. 

Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod. 

“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly. 

Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”

“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin. 

Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.

You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.

“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”

A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.

“That’s not possible.”

“Other men have—“

Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”

The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.

“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth. 

He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.

“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.

His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.

Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth. 

“Do you trust me?”

Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip. 

“Turn over,” he commands lowly. 

A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips. 

“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt. 

You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before. 

His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”

Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.

“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”

Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear. 

You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit. 

Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast. 

A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him. 

Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”

And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release. 

“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”

With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs. 

You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can. 

Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. 

You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.

“Logan?”

His hum vibrates through his chest.

“I think we’re healing each other.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Phonecall

[A cut-out scene from a fic I may never write]

Tim watches Cass tilt her head to the side. It's not an alarmed gesture, more of an indicator that she's seeing something interesting but has not decided what exactly. Meanwhile, John takes the phone away from his ear and points it, screen forward, to the empty space between him and the Bats.

What happens next, Tim can only describe as squeezing an elephant through the eye of a needle, only, somehow, literally. Constantine's phone lights up in toxic green, the same color most Bats know intimately, and Tim hears Jason's sharp gasp. Then, the green spills over the edge of the screen, slowly forming a hand, then a shoulder and a head, then another hand, chest, stomach, and, before any of them can ask what is going on, a boy steps on the stone floor of the Cave.

At first, he looks green and kind of gooey, a semi-transparent body made of Lazarus Waters with something akin to a snowball resting in the middle of his chest. But then, the colors start bleeding into him from inside, making his skin a pale, whitish gray, and his hair snow white. The clothes he wears are also monochrome, with a black cropped hoodie over a turtleneck, black pants, and white gloves and boots.

The boy opens his eyes. Those are still entirely green, like two swirling vortexes of Lazarus inside his eyesockets.

"Ew, I hate traveling through tech," the boy grimaces and shakes his hands out, like getting rid of an unpleasant feeling. His voice sounds a little off, like there's an additional echo to it, but, as he turns to the Bats, a white ring forms over his waist and separates in two, traveling up and down his body. When the light of them fades, in front of them stands the very same boy, only now he looks a lot more human. Black messy hair, icy blue eyes, red oversized hoodie and black cargo pants, a slightly slouched posture, and a dazzling smile.

[fastandcarlos]

Personal Photographer : ̗̀➛ Daniel Ricciardo

summary: when daniel’s feed suddenly becomes much more aesthetic, the fans are intrigued to find out who’s behind the sudden change

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by yukitsunoda0511, maxverstappen1 and 792,726 others

danielricciardo: another great weekend in monza, thanks to my photographer for making sure to capture all my best angles 🏎️🏁

37,058 comments

username1: his account is getting suspiciously aesthetic these days 🤔

oscarpiastri: this is an upgrade even compared to daniel.jpg these days!

username2: tell us rb has hired a new photographer without telling us they’ve hired a new photographer…

georgerussell63: omw to come and steal this photographer asap!

landonorris: as far as I was aware you didn’t actually have any good angles 😳

danielricciardo: @/landonorris no one asked for your opinion here!

username3: such a great race weekend daniel, so proud of you ❤️

alex_albon: that third photo has me in the feels ngl, talk about man of steel 🥺

username4: whoever this photographer is they deserve a pay rise for blessing us with these!!

lewishamilton: great race aside from the fact you knocked me out the points 🙄

danielricciardo: @/lewishamilton I’d love to say sorry…only I’m not 😂

username5: now these photos are serving 🔥

yukitsunoda0511: a great race for the team, let’s keep going for the rest of the season 💪🏻

username6: this high standard better stick around when it comes to the gram daniel!!

maxverstappen1: a match made in heaven daniel in a red bull suit ❤️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 629,059 others

danielricciardo: got told to hire a photographer for the latest enchante shoot, little did they know I had my own photographer already right by my side 🌿💯

34,085 comments

username7: well these photos are enough to convince me to buy enchante 😂

alex_albon: bet you’re feeling pretty smug with these photos right now!

danielricciardo: @/alex_albon told you this girl knows all my good sides 😊

username8: idk who this photographer is but I’m begging you to keep her forever daniel

maxverstappen1: saving that third photo to be my new lock screen asap

username9: have you ever seen three photos that scream boyfriend more than these???

georgerussell63: damn these photos should come with a warning or something danny ric 😍

oscarpiastri: did you use enchante as an excuse for your own personal photoshoot???

danielricciardo: @/oscarpiastri don’t reveal all my secrets like this!

username10: apologies to the neighbours for the yell I just let out opening my phone to this 😂😂

charles_leclerc: who knew green was your colour after all!

username11: stop I was not prepared for this in the slightest 😭

landonorris: heartbroken you didn’t invite me to come and be part of this photo shoot too 😭

danielricciardo: @/landonorris the photographer only wanted handsome models 🤷🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 694,208 others

danielricciardo: wondering if these photos make me boyfriend material yet…🤔☕️

41,959 comments

username12: can 100% assure you these are the hottest boyfriend material photos I’ve ever seen!!!

lewishamilton: I think that caption alone makes you boyfriend material 🤢

username13: I wonder if these are courtesy of his photographer friend again 🤔

oscarpiastri: there’s a strong it girl vibe coming from that first photo my friend

danielricciardo: @/oscarpiastri grandpa is too old to know what even means 😂

username14: something tells me this photographer might be more than just a photographer…

landonorris: I don’t even recognise you anymore, so cheesy and soft 😂

username15: I knew there must’ve been a reason behind these sudden aesthetic snaps 🙄

sebastianvettel: wondering when you’re going to bother meeting up with me and take me out for coffee too.

username16: I can’t cope with how adorable this man has been recently 💓

maxverstappen1: you’ve always been boyfriend material to me 😘

danielricciardo: @/maxverstappen1 stop flirting with me in public ☺️

username17: boyfriend material and seemingly now a boyfriend too…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 728,057 others

danielricciardo: the perfect weekend off with my favourite human adventuring around yet another new part of the world ☀️🌊

48,472 comments

username18: not the fact daniel even carried her bag around for her 🥺

landonorris: *second favourite human after lando norris

danielricciardo: @/landonorris I cannot stress how untrue that statement is

username19: the cutest surfer in the world 🫠

georgerussell63: you know its love when he carries her bag for her 😂

danielricciardo: @/georgerussell63 who knew that girls needed so many things 🤦🏻

username20: pls don’t tell me this isn’t his photographer and she actually there as a third wheel 😂😂

oscarpiastri: as long as I’m still your favourite aussie idc 🤔

username21: do we need to remind you daniel how much we hate these soft launches???

yukitsunoda0511: does this mean that I don’t have to be the only one to listen to you talk about her anymore??

pierregasly: I bet you didn’t take much persuading to take that photo with your shirt off either 🔥

username22: I’ve already decided that these two are my favourites and I don’t even know who she is yet!!

maxverstappen1: impressed you’ve finally managed to get yourself a girlfriend after all these years 👏🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63 and 719,058 others

danielricciardo: a dream weekend with my personal photographer giving me enough photos to send the fangirls wild 🔥🍃

42,059 comments

lewishamilton: these posts feel like you’re finally tryna mature or something, this girl must have you pretty in love…

username23: is this the reveal??? is it her??? pls tell me it it’s she’s beautiful???

maxverstappen1: don’t worry about the fangirls, you drive me crazy honey 🫠

danielricciardo: @/maxverstappen1 you always know the right thing to say! ☺️

username24: was she ever a photographer or just a proud girlfriend 🤔

alex_albon: you can’t just pay people to run around after you with a camera in their hands all the time, we’ve talked about this 🤦🏻

danielricciardo: @/alex_albon don’t you start, I was relying on you to be on my side!

username25: damn sleeping with your own photographer daniel 🤨

landonorris: she’s too hot to be your gf, nice try ricciardo 🙄

username26: can confirm that the fangirls are indeed going wild about these updates!!

carlossainz55: these photos remind me why I’m secretly so in love with you 😂

username27: everyone say thank you to her for loving daniel and blessing us with all these photos!

charles_leclerc: look at you with two hands on the wheel 🤨

danielricciardo: @/charles_leclerc definitely not just to make people think I’m safe for a photo!!

username28: a beautiful girlfriend with photography skills, you’re really winning at life ricciardo 👏🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, yukitsunoda0511 and 788,472 others

danielricciardo: thought I’d finally share with you my little snapper…keeping me looking fresh on the gram and never found without a camera in her hand 💞📸

59,472 comments

username29: “little snapper” omg they’re just the cutest 🥺

landonorris: wait I thought you were joking about the fact you had a girlfriend 😂😂😂

georgerussell63: you guys look so good together, happy for you my friend!

username30: they’re smiles together they seem so well suited!!

iamrebeccad: vogue are looking for a photographer to shoot me next week, send me her details asap!

ynusername: @/iamrebeccad stfu are you serious!?!?

username31: I’m already obsessed with these two my heart just can’t cope 💕

maxverstappen1: omw to steal your girl and hire her to make my social media look better too 🏃🏻

username32: pls never let her go daniel, for your heart and our satisfied insta scrolling too 😂

oscarpiastri: if yn ever gets bored I will happily pay mclaren to steal her from you and snap us instead!!

mclaren: @/oscarpiastri we’ll take her for free with photos that good 🧡

username33: yn isn’t gonna be out of a job with all the boys wanting to hire her out too 😂

ynusername: I’m not gonna lose that nickname, am I??

danielricciardo: @/ynusername it’s adorable if you ask me 💕

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, maxverstappen1 and 748,069 others

danielricciardo: take her to play basketball once and look at us now (can we also appreciate the fact that I took that selfie too, see yn, I’m learning 🥺) 🏀

47,058 comments

username34: if yn took that photo we wouldn’t have that lighting in the background 😉

alex_albon: I’ve played basketball with you and refuse to accept someone is worse than you 😂

username35: not the way he’s holding her up on his shoulders so she can score 🥹

lewishamilton: I was at that game too, wish I’d have known and we could’ve hooked up!

ynusername: played basketball once and still better than you at it 🤷🏻‍♀️

danielricciardo: @/ynusername tell that to the slam dunk that dunked straight onto your head!

username36: patiently waiting for the next daniel.jpg update after meeting yn…

username37: have you ever met two people happier with each other in your life???

landonorris: don’t only the cool kids go to the basketball!?

danielricciardo: @/landonorris guess what that makes us then 😎

username38: these two are such couple goals they make me feel single in my own relationship!

liam.lawson: looks like I’ll have to teach you a thing or two as a definite cool kid ⛹🏻

username39: whoever introduced these two together I owe my life to you now ☺️

maxverstappen1: secretly only took that first picture to flex your muscles anyway 😏

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by sebastianvettel, oscarpiastri and 802,488 others

danielricciardo: took my photographer to the zoo for the day, turns out she makes a pretty hot date too 🔥🦥

51,959 comments

ynusername: did I teach you nothing about photography over the past few months?? 🤦🏻‍♀️

danielricciardo: @/ynusername I think these photos are great what are you on about!? 😂

ynusername: @/danielricciardo just gonna look past the sideways head are we?!

username40: maybe let yn stick to being the one behind the camera daniel 😂

landonorris: you belong in the zoo if you ask me 🤫

danielricciardo: @/landonorris don’t worry I said hi to your siblings for you 🐷

username41: the way his head pokes out in the first photo is just typical daniel 🙄

yukitsunoda0511: you guys are too cute!!

kellypiquet: pls bring her back to monaco in one piece 🙏🏻

username42: idk who’s cuter, the animals or daniel 🤔

maxverstappen1: offended that you’ve never taken me on a date to the zoo ngl

oscarpiastri: one of my fave places ever, hope yn enjoyed the zoo!!

username43: pls make sure she stays by your side forever daniel, we adore her ❤️

username44: he took her home that means things must be serious 😅

georgerussell63: still not as hot as you tho ☺️

danielricciardo: @/georgerussell63 stop it you flirt 😍

username45: everyone needs their own personal photographer if they’re as amazing as yn 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗