#I'm going to rewatch it after school

[islandofarson]

happy birthday to the movie that fucking ruined my life I hate this movie so much someone kill me

[scalira]

Jackson Marchetti best sex education character fr

[bedlamsbard]

Now I'm just mad and that makes me sad. :/ I really do try incredibly hard not to hate things in this fandom, which doesn't always work out because, you know, feelings, and I don't want to think about hating things! I want to think about things I like!

[denizenhardwick]

when i think "romantic friendship" i think of all the anime i watched when i was like 13/14 and just realizing i was maybe a lesbian that had all-girl casts and everything was just so extremely gay. pmmm, yuyuyu, school-live!, yuru yuri, etc.

[unnecessarilygrandiose]

eddie punching that guy and then getting arrested will never not be funny

[stan-joe]

kms when I first watched given I was a promising 16yo musician and now I'm the same age as kaji and haven't done shit since high school

[badbugbotblood]

WH- ME? And my tiny account? Getting tagged in something neat out of the blue? Well I'll be!

(pspspsps @king-candybug-backup)

As for my results:

A perfect 50/50 split between these two, which on the surface level does make sense.

Hey everyone!

I just made a Core Four-themed personality quiz!

@bashfulgnome

@thebluejetpack

@sadboytristan

@sgtcalhouns

@junkkey

@badbugbotblood

@speared-mint

@wreckitralphrestart

@wreck-it-hell

@ask-icancraft-it

@therockyroadster

@randomalistic

Reblog this post with your results!

[reverie-starlight]

this is my contribution to @tetzoro 's summer olympics collab! this is so late >.< but I can't wait to go look through all the other fics people have written for the collab!!

fem!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff (of course). suna and aran can't stand atsumu's antics, but what else is new? atsumu misses you and he makes it everyone else's problem.

atsumu has been staring at his phone for twenty minutes.

suna makes note of this from where he's seated in the tiny living area of their shared olympic village apartment. it irritates suna, actually, because for someone who made a such big deal of their room assignments and got a bit weepy over how it reminded him of their high school days, atsumu couldn't seem to care less about his roommates right now.

aran (the third occupant of their dorm) appears in the doorway and glances between his two juniors. "is he still on that thing?" he asks, seemingly surprised by this.

suna shrugs and snaps a picture of the blonde when he smiles at his phone, quickly sending it to osamu with a message of how much of a dork his twin is.

leave him be

he replies, making suna's eyebrow raise. osamu coming to his defence? that's new.

he's got separation issues when it comes to her, I swear. he's like a puppy.

there it is. he snorts and puts his phone away, throwing a pillow at atsumu. the setter just uses it as an arm rest and continues to ignore them.

"hey, loverboy," aran calls and finally gets his attention. "we're heading down to get some lunch, ya coming?"

atsumu's eyes widen a bit. "it's that late already? yeah, I'll be down in a minute, save me a spot."

the other two look at each other knowingly and shut the door behind them.

now normally atsumu wouldn't be so glued to his screen on the first day of the olympics, but then again- last time around they were in tokyo and his girlfriend was no more than a couple hours away at any given time.

this year, he's in paris and about a 13 hour flight away with a 7 hour time difference from his fiancée. it would still be manageable for him, of course- he's not as clingy as you or his brother make him out to be, he swears- if not for the fact that your boss denied your time off and you wouldn't be in attendance at any of his games.

as soon as he's alone, he's facetiming you and the ache of not being near you is lessened by the bright smile you pop up on his screen with.

"hi 'tsum, how's it going over there?" you're cuddled up on the couch with a blanket.

he shrugs. "there's no AC. the beds are cardboard again. but I'm rooming with rin and aran, so that's nice."

"not sakusa and meian? I thought the plan was to keep the ones who played on the same league team pre-olympics in the same room?"

he shakes his head. "we got to make room requests this time. he's rooming with ushijima this time around."

you giggle and his mind goes a little fuzzy. "I'm sure after what happened in tokyo, he'd be more than happy to be rooming with anyone other than you."

atsumu rolls his eyes. "he made it seem worse than it was. we didn't even get into that much trouble, I mean, what's a little scolding from our managers?"

you raise an eyebrow. "you almost caused the entire village to evacuate."

"anyway," he transitions to another topic before he can be reminded of that night. "what are your plans for the rest the night?"

you hum thoughtfully. "I dunno, maybe I'll watch a movie... maybe I'll rewatch that clip of you almost tripping during the opening ceremonies..." your lips stretch into a playful grin as you tease him for his blunder.

"HEY, barely anyone noticed!"

you snort. "if by barely anyone, you mean everyone watching then sure, baby. oh, what time is it for you?"

he lets your comment slide for now and addresses your question instead. "just after noon, why?"

"have you eaten yet?"

"was just about to," he shrugs.

you narrow your eyes. “miya atsumu, you’d better not be skipping lunch just to talk to me.”

he’s unable keep the guilty expression off his face when you hit him with that tone. “I wasn’t-”

“don’t even think about lying to me. as soon as I hang up you’re going to go meet your teammates for lunch and make some new friends.”

he pouts, but his heart warms at the idea that you still want to take care of him all the way across the world. although he is a little offended you think he needs to make friends. “ya sound like my ma.”

“for good reason! go eat, baby, you need to stay strong and healthy for your games. plus I’d feel so guilty if you missed out on all the fun stuff with your teammates because of me.”

he sighs, finally letting himself give into his hunger and agreeing with you. you say your goodbyes and he makes his way down to the cafeteria.

the days pass and while he’s not glued to his phone at all hours of the day anymore (thanks to practices starting up again on the olympic courts), his teammates often catch him snapping as many pictures as he can, no doubt to share them with you.

they don’t know how many texts you’ve received about how amazing the chocolate muffins are, but if it’s anywhere near the number of times they’ve had to hear him mention it in a day, they feel sorry for you.

and as the day of their first game grows closer, suna and aran can tell atsumu is more on edge than usual. he’s acting like he did in high school again, and they know it’s because he’s antsy about not having his fiancée in the stands for the first time in a while.

they’ve seen him double, triple and quadruple check the time zones to make sure he didn’t misread it. “she’ll probably be asleep…” he said when aran asked him about it one night.

they were getting a bit worried. obviously they know him well enough to understand that he’ll pull himself together in time for the game- he’d never let his feelings compromise his plays- but they’d much rather play alongside him in a good mood than a bad one.

but the problem seems to fix itself when he lights up along with his phone screen just before the game begins. suna looks over the setter’s shoulder to see a picture of you, cuddled up on the couch with your dog. your cheek has a small japanese flag painted on, and you’re wearing his MSBY jersey. it must be extremely late for you, but you’re smiling wide and holding up half a heart with your hand.

underneath the picture you sent a message wishing him luck and telling him how proud you are of him, telling him to play his absolute best.

and suna misses what your next message says, but he gets a pretty good idea based on how red atsumu’s ears get. he looks over at aran with a nod and the former inarizaki players silently thank you for your actions.

atsumu definitely wouldn’t be stepping onto the court in a bad mood now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like this could’ve been better, and it definitely didn’t turn out how I originally wanted, but I’m still happy with how it turned out :3 hope u enjoyed !!

ty again to aims for hosting this collab and allowing me to join!!!

[rhaenyratargcryen]

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 

This man will not take a fucking hint. 

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

[fallbhind]

DO BETTER, FOR FATHER.

synopsis : after finishing a review paper, you need father mayhew to observe it, and you didn't quite expect to catch him at such bad times, especially when he just got out the shower.

➤ warnings .ᐣ smut. p in v. unprotected sex (wrap 'fore you tap. no little nun babies yet). fingering. kissing. virgin / lost of virginity. virgin!reader. sucking readers come off charlie's fingers prep before sex. DUBCON. blasphemy. tw blood. charlie likes reader bleeds. based off this bot that was req by anon. probably butchered the freak out of this scene but i didn't have the energy to rewatch the seen. please don't come after me. &&. idk anything abt how nuns dress. wc﹔1.5k

NOBODY KNEW how sinful father mayhew was actually. underneath the 'good young-forwarding preist' cover, was almost like a middle-school boy who hadn't yet grasped the understandment of be faithful to the religion. but oh, the only difference is father mayhew punished himself for giving into his urges, like masturbation towards the pretty little nun (you), he met not to far back when he first joined the church as a preist.

in fact, his sinful persona was so well hidden he carried a great following throughout the community, from the blog posts about the recent killings going around discovering they were more surrounded by religion than your every day killer, to having great listeners listening to him bike and preach. especially you.

you watched from the corner as he pedaled on the bike, that red tank top stretching across his chest, it was just oh so sinful. in your eyes. while he mumbled things towards the camera that was he was filming on, when he went to bring his arms up and clap, he closed his eye, relishing in the fact he could hear you scurry away to hide out his view. for the remainder of the time on the bike, you left him with a smirk that was planted by you.

later, you stood in the doorway of his bedroom, waiting patiently as you watched him step out the bathroom, wrapping the white towel around his waisted, the v line to his cock clearly visible, he showed little care (clearly), after all he stepped out the shower with his bedroom door wide open. of course most people can do such without people lurking but that was beside the point. when father mayhew turned round, he greeted you almost joyfully. "sister." he said. "what brings such pleasure?"

you were so ashamed to have been caught staring, you used the newspaper held loosely in your hand to face plant yourself. has he stalked closer, you passed him the new review for that blog that has been going viral due to the connections to the serial killers and religion. he greeted you inside the room, shutting the door as he walked back over to his small mirror that he almost towered over. disappointment covered his face, "i'm not saying your a bad writer, sister—" he paused, "but where is the bloodlust?" his hand smacked against the paper numerous times, dramatically showing what he meant.

"do better." he said, walking over to you, "i know you can." charlie released the paper from his hand. the paper had a slow descend to the floor, and you kept quiet as father mayhew dropped his towel to the floor without another word. it was like a fever dream. your eyes sinfully trailed down to the v right before his cock, it was a sight, and you were drinking it right up from the cup.

"like what you see?" father mayhew said teasingly while you held your lips taught together refusing to say anything to the tease. he leaned towards your face with a smug look, "say yes." he demanded of you.

"yes, father.. i like what i see." you said, almost ashamedly, bowing your head towards the ground, wishing no disrespect on jesus and god himself. father mayhew did something no catholic pastor would ever do to their nuns. remove their veil. as father mayhew pulled the veil away from your head, your pretty hair falling freely, watching your hair spread away from each other, father mayhew did something, he let out a groan of shear pleasure.

he cupped your jaw relishing in the fact you say before him, veil off and you didn't even fight him about it. "you look so good." father mayhew pushed his lips onto yours, enlightening something in your body were you just couldn't push away. and it was sad, really. you spent practically devoting yourself to staying pure for your future husband, but with charlie in the way, you didn't believe that would stay a true, unless you married him, of course. which that was definitely not happening. has he pulled away from your lips, a satisfying 'pop' filled the room, along with your slightly heavier breathing.

within the blink of the eye, you found your self being pushed up against the wall, right underneath the cross. without a chance to protest, he was bunching up your gown, pulling down your pantyhose before ridding you off your panties and pantyhose, discarding them on the floor. you were pinned in such an uncomfortable position, you let out a grunt, hinting at your discomfort. he rubbed a thumb over your clit impatiently, wanting to just destroy you, but poor thing, he knew you were a sweet thing, saving her self for marriage.

he massaged the bulb in a soothing circle, drawling a soft whimper from your lips, the stimulation was new to you, and it felt good, but you felt oh so sinful while it was happening. you should've said no. but it felt so good. you wanted to say no, but you clearly wanted this. he pushed his lips against yours, "father mayhew—"

his voice cut you off. "call me charlie." he whispered in against your lips, going back to pushing his lips against yours, his tounge swiping across your bottom lip, clearly hinting at what he wanted. you opened your mouth allowing him to enter. he pushed his tongue in your mouth, your tongues 'wrapping' around each other. with how well your tounge moved against his, people think you weren't a virgin.

charlie's thumb pressed against your bud once more, before slowly pushing a finger into your tight hole. you let out a soft whimper, rolling your head against the wall, hitting the cross ever so slightly. "fuck—" you moaned out, feeling his finger move in and out of you, picking up pace as he found it easier to move in and out. he slowly eased another finger into you, your whole body tensing as he did so. you could've burst on the spot.

"go ahead." charlie whispered hoarsely, like all the saliva in his mouth had dried up. "i know you want to." his tounge swiped across his bottom lip, wetting his lips. he slowed his pace as he noticed your body locking up, and as your body did so, you came, on his fingers, the thick white cream coating his fingers with a shiny cover. he brought his fingers to his mouth, using his teeth to eat the come. "it's so sweet, sister." he praised, "you did good."

he tapped open your mouth, sticking a finger in your mouth, "suck." your mouth worked skillfully around his finger, sucking the salty come off it. after cleaning your mess off his finger, his cock was painfully hard. he picked you up off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist as you wrapped your legs around his hips, whilst keeping you pressed against the wall. he aligned himself to thrust into your tight hole, pushing the tip in.

when he pushed his cock in all the way, slowly easing it in and out of you, knowing it just had to hurt you so bad. you squeezed around him. charlie started to thrust into you, losing sight of what he said he was going to do, doing quite literally the opposite of what he said to himself. "feel so good around me." charlie praised. he slowed down his pace slowly when he felt his balls tighten, but there wasn't any way he was going to come unless you came first.

so, with little care, he sped his pace back up, bottoming you out. when he pulled himself back out, a small ring of blood cover the base of his cock, "cute." he muttered, "but 'm not finished yet." before pushing back in again. he was so happy. he was the one that got to deflower you, and you didn't say yes, but you didn't necessarily reject. your hands went to feel of his back, the fresh lacerations from the whip he used on himself a few days ago. as he moved in and out, occasionally re-bunching up your dress that would slip, he'd run soft circles on your cunt to speed up the process of making you come.

he loved the way he felt around you, the tight virgin. "father." you breathed out, grabbing onto his shoulders tighter for leverage. "'m so close." you said admittedly, your back arching away from the wall, feeling your body become looser as you came around his cock.

"that's my girl," he whispered, "i thought you'd never come." following a suit a few minutes after, he came as well, filling you with his warm, beautiful semen. of course that was when he started to daydream about you birthing his children, about being married happily ever after with you, and two beautiful kids. to be able to touch you without sin, but that was all a daydream. for now, at least.

he pulled out, allowing you away from the wall. he walked over the sink, wiping of the blood from the base of his cock, grabbing the white towel, wrapping it around his waist, watching you pull up your panties, then putting your pantyhose back on. he watched you slide on your high heels, standing up. "i should go fix the uh— review for you." you trotted out his room, quickly heading downstairs as you left charlie with a smile.

TAGS @mattsdolll. @sematarygirls. @beausling. @pr3ttyf4wn.

[touyaismycomfortboy]

♡ Suki's sweetheart.

a/n: i'm rewatching my hero academia, and I got to the dorms episode and rewatched the scene where everyone was sad bc of aizawa's lecture, so he made kaminari use his quirk to make him dumb to make his friends laugh and giving kirishima a gift and dksjgnkdjg I just love sweet bkg so I need to write these headcanons <333

this is only my second fic so let me know if you like it!!! still figuring out my style and such so if u have any requests for stories or recommendations on how to make my posts more aesthetic or just wanna say hi pleaseee do <3

word count: 0.7k

synopsis: headcanons about what bkg would do if he found you sad <3

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

genre: pure fluffy comfort

if he walked past your dorm and heard you crying quietly, he wouldn't approach you immediately. he'd walk into his own dorm quickly, go onto tiktok/instagram and go into his folder of saved videos he had for you, and spam your dms with funny/stupid videos he thought you would like.

he doesn't really scroll on his phone like that, but if anyone ever sends him a funny video or he stumbles across one he immediately saves it in his "y/n" folder.

after a couple minutes of spamming you, he'd nonchalantly walk into your room like he didn't see you crying a few minutes ago and crawl into your bed.

he was a man of few words when people around him were sad, never really knowing what words to say. so he just lays next to you with his arms open and lets you nuzzle into his chest while he wraps his big warm arms around you.

if you didn't know, nitroglycerin smells sweet. since he secretes it he smells like sugar/caramel, and it's hard to stay sad when you're cuddling your boyfriend who smells like dessert.

once you stopped crying and it had died down to soft sniffles, he'd grab your waterbottle off your desk and make you drink water, no ifs, ands, or buts. he had to make sure you were taken care of.

he'd wipe the remaining tears off your cheeks and ask if you needed anything, making sure he didn't talk too loud. you were in a very vulnerable state right now, he didn't want to upset you again.

if you were hungry, he'd make you watch the videos he sent you on his phone while he vanished for a few minutes as he went down to the common room kitchen and make you a simple snack, but it still tasted delicious because, well, katsuki is a great chef.

he'd watch you carefully as you ate the snack, seeing if there was any lingering sadness in your face or body language.

he'd ask you if you wanted to talk about it even if he didn't know what he'd say to you, he'd just listen to you if you did talk about it and nod along to your venting.

if it was someone who hurt you, he'd have to resist the urge to leave your room immediately to go blow those extras to smithereens, just sitting there and hugging you instead. having to remind himself that hurting someone else wouldn't make you feel better.

even if it was getting late and you guys had school the next day, he'd refuse to leave your room until he knew for sure you were 100% better. once you finally got him to leave, he would remind you a thousand times to text him if you needed him.

on the off chance that you did message him during the night, he had a special text tone just for your messages that he would wake up to. he'd quickly throw on some sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt as he would quickly (and quietly) walk to your dorm room, open the door and crawl into your bed once more.

on those nights, he wouldn't leave under any circumstances. he'd spend the night with you to make sure he was right there if you needed comfort. if you wanted him to leave, he would leave the bed and not the room. he would rather sleep on the cold hard floor than leave you alone while you're upset.

[amarioe]

Incohesive rant about stickfigures incoming, id you're not interested then,, well you know what to do lol. Sorrey i'm a mess after episode 30 of AVM

ALAN BECKER I'M GOING TO KILL YPU ALAN BECKER. ALAN. ALAN. BECKER. IM GOING TO ENS YOUR BLOODLINE. HOW DARE YOU. FUCK. IM GONNA KILL YOU. HOW DARE YOU. FIRST YOU CRUSH MY SOUL WITH TCO. THEN WITH VICTIM. THEN WITH MITSI. I START WATCHING ANIMATION VS MINECRAFT AND YOU HIT ME WITH PURPLES BACKSTORY. OH BUT YOU WERENT DONE WERE YOU?? YOU JUST HAD TO REARRANGE EVERY BIT AND PIECE OF MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY AS THE CHERRY ON TOP WITH

THE ORANGE KING.

I swear to god. To minecraft. To all that is good and sane..

IF YOU. EVER. ADD ANOTHER CHARACTER AND PROCEED TO TRAUMATISE THEM SO MUCH I GET TRAUMATISED. I-- A. AUGH. WUGGYA

God..And i thought this was just going to be a silly, fun seeies ro rewatch- something that i would enjoy that still wouldn't take up too much space in my brain so i could focus on school.

Yeah uh, so my calculations were off by several billion lightyears, so now all i can think about is colorful stickmen. First legos and now stickmen.

...

You know i doubt anyone is even reading this, theres just nowhere else i can scream about STUPID ALAN BECKER AND HIS STUPID MASTERFUL WRITING AND HIS STUPID (/aff) LITTLE STICKMEN GUYS AND HIS STUPIDLY GOOD ABILITY TO KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I WANT TO SEE IN A SHOW AND DELIVER IT WITH NO NOTES ON MY SIDE.

FOUND FAMILY. SILLY MISADVENTURES WITH PERIODIC ARCS OF ABSOLUTE GUTWRENCHING LORE.

Okay i think i can have a small semblance of what it's like to be functional again, if you're still reading i am extremely impressed lol- have a cookie for the effort i guess 🍪

[blackbleedingrose]

Long Lost Morningstar - Part Three

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing(s): Charlie x reader (platonic), Vaggie x reader (platonic), Emily x reader (platonic), Sera x reader (platonic), Charlie x Vaggie

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Betrayal

Warning(s): Cursing, lies, betrayal

Notes: This is the third installment of LLM. This part will be shorter than part 2 and will finally go over the trial and (Y/N)'s reaction the extermination. I'm going to be honest, I'm dropping my other hazbin mini series. This is only until I can find the time and motivation to write it. I'm really busy with school and work, and lately my obsession with Hazbin has started to die down. I still love the series and fandom, but that's just something that happens to me from time to time when I watch a new series or get into a fandom. It comes and it goes, and I've been reading a lot of hazbin stuff but now it's starting to feel like an obligation I've set for myself and it makes reading less fun and more like a chore. I have no doubt my obsession will come back when the 2nd season comes out. This happens will all the fandoms I am apart of - like right now, I'm obsessing over Avatar the last airbender again after rewatching the series (not the live action). Don't worry, I'll continue this series as I don't want this to end up unfinished. I have the outline pretty much written, but it will take time to finish - so, please, bare with me.

Singing Colors: Adam, Lute, Charlie, Emily, Sera, (Y/N).

Words: 1631

"If Hell is forever, than Heaven must be a lie!".

As the time of the trial drew closer, there seemed to be a few hiccups on Heaven's side of things.

The angel who was supposed to be the trial's stenographer got a nasty cold and all the replacements had their own responsibilities to attend to. The only angel available just so happened to be (Y/N) herself.

When one of the court angels asked (Y/N) if she could do it, she didn't hesitate to accept.

Now she had the perfect excuse to watch Charlie's trial without having to sneak in!

Imagine Sera's surprise and horror when she saw (Y/N) sitting at the stenographer's desk.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here? Where's Angela?" Sera asked. She was a bit panicked, but did her best to hide it. (Y/N) smiled politely at the higher seraphim, clearly oblivious to Sera's rigid demeanor. "She got a pretty bad cold last minute and all of the other replacements were busy today; and since I was the only one who was available - here I am!".

Sera gave her an uneasy smile, "I see. Thank you for your help today, it's much appreciated". This was the last thing she wanted. The resemblance between (Y/N) and the Princess of Hell was very difficult to ignore and could raise questions if it wasn't for the stardust story Heaven fed everyone.

Sera had wanted to keep (Y/N) away from the trial in hopes of avoiding any contact between her and Charlie. She didn't want (Y/N) to accidently discover the truth about her lineage.

Sera loved (Y/N) like a daughter.

When (Y/N) was younger Michael would sometimes have Sera babysit while he attended to his more serious duties.

She practically helped raise her and she refused to let some misguided demon princess and her partner ruin that.

Unfortunately, the court needed a stenographer.

With no one else available, she was left with no other option.

Sera thanked (Y/N) for her hard work and for stepping in.

She gave the girl a gentle forehead kiss before leaving her to prepare for the trial.

It was only for today and once this pointless trial was over everything would go back to the way it was.

And (Y/N) would be none the wiser and away from that misguided influence.

However, things weren't as perfect as Sera had hoped for.

The moment Charlie and Vaggie entered the courtroom and saw (Y/N) sitting at the stenographer's desk, the two cousins eagerly waved at each other.

Sera's eyes widened in horror. No. This wasn't supposed to happen - it was the worse case scenario.

When did those two meet?!

She sighed in frustration already knowing that (Y/N) must have sought the girl out herself.

Dammit Emily.

(Y/N)'s curiosity was her biggest flaw and was going to end up getting her into serious trouble if not handled properly.

Sera quickly composed herself. No point in losing herself and catching any unnecessary attention.

She still had a trial to run and then she'll have a talk with (Y/N) later.

Now, (Y/N) was nice to just about everyone. She could get along with just about anyone she's ever met. But there was one person, or rather two, she just couldn't stand.

Adam and his little crony Lute.

These two irritated her to no ends with how high and mighty they acted. How either of them managed to stay in Heaven was beyond her.

Her father just told her to bare it, despite him also disliking the two of them - especially that narcissistic douchebag Adam.

(Y/N) did her best to hide her grimace whenever Adam spoke during the trial.

As the trial went on (Y/N) felt a little nervous when Charlie was shut down from making anymore definition references. She could see how nervous her poor cousin was getting.

When Charlie looked over at her, (Y/N) made sure to give her a small smile and mouthed, "You've got this".

This managed to help calm Charlie's nerves enough for her to regain her composure. Charlie got a little more confident when presenting Angel Dust, the hotel's first patron.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes when Adam spoke up again trying to discredit her cousin.

"Well if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into Heaven?".

Charlie's question stumped more than just Adam. (Y/N) had to take a moment to think - how does someone get into Heaven?

Being Heaven-born (Y/N)'s never had to be on the other end with humans who had to earn their place in paradise. And if someone as crude and vile as Adam can get into Heaven then what did it take for others, especially the damned who didn't deserve Hell - like children, for example.

Adam quickly wrote on a piece of paper before giving it to Vaggie to read aloud.

"'Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man?' - are you fucking serious?".

"Uh, yeah. Sure got me here, didn't it? Right, Sera?".

(Y/N) raised a brow. That's all it took to get someone into Heaven?

Charlie tried to argue Angel was doing all of those things, to which the court decided to observe Angel through the courtroom's orb. At first, things weren't looking good for Charlie when Angel gave into peer pressure.

(Y/N) bit her lip, silently hoping this would somehow take a turn for the better. She really wanted Charlie to show her hotel worked and for Adam to eat his words.

Luckily, things did start looking up when Angel took care of his friend, Nifty, and defended her from that awful moth demon.

"Then why isn't he here, huh?".

(Y/N) paused her typing - why isn't he here?

This started a whole argument at the unfairness of it all. How even those in Hell could be redeemed if only given the chance. (Y/N) and Emily saw the change in Angel and how he did everything on Adam's list.

"A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month".

. . . Wait what?

(Y/N) furrowed her brows in confusion. One month? What was he talking about?

"Gotta say I can't wait to-"

"Adam".

(Y/N) looked up at Sera, did she know what he was talking about? What the hell was going on?!

"Come down and exterminate you".

. . . WHAT?!

(Y/N) and Emily looked horrified at the shocking news.

"Wait!".

"Shit!".

(Y/N) and Emily fly over to Charlie, Vaggie, Adam, and Lute looking sadly at the orb showing the residents in Hell being mercilessly killed by the exorcists.

"What are you saying?"

"Let me get this straight".

"You go down there and kill those poor souls?".

"You didn't know?".

Charlie was shocked to hear that not all of Heaven knew about the exterminations. She was relieved to hear that her cousin didn't know and that she seemed to be against it.

"Whoops!".

"Guess the cat's outta the bag!".

"What's the big deal?".

(Y/N) and Emily turned and looked up at Sera.

"Sera tell us that you didn't know".

"I thought since I'm older, it's my load to shoulder".

"No".

"You have to listen, it was such a hard decision".

Sera flew down from her seat.

"I wanted to save you".

She took (Y/N) and Emily's hand in her own.

"The anguish it takes to, do what was required".

The hellfire reflecting in Sera's eyes unnerved (Y/N) and Emily - almost like she enjoyed the suffering and senseless murder of the sinners in Hell.

The two glared at Sera.

"To think that we admired you".

They tore their hands from hers and flew back away from her.

"Well, we don't need your condescension! We're not children to protect! Was talk of virtue just pretention? Were we too naive to expect you, to head the morals you're purveying?".

The two flew back down in front of the orb.

"That's what the fuck I've been saying!".

Charlie walked over to the two angel's grabbing their hands.

(Y/N), Charlie, and Emily moved up and stood on top of the orb showing the exorcists killing sinners.

"If Hell is forever, than Heaven must be a lie!".

"Emily! (Y/N)!".

"If angels can do whatever and remain in the sky!".

The three jumped down and stood before Sera.

"The rules are shades of gray when you don't do as you say! When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again!".

Things only continued getting worse with Charlie finding out Vaggie was an angel and an ex-exorcist, Sera's final ruling of no evidence of sinners being able to be redeemed, and Adam's threat of coming to their hotel first.

"Charlie, it will be okay! I'll find a way to help you - I promise!" (Y/N) called out before Charlie and Vaggie were forced to back to Hell.

After Sera had finished talking to Emily, she went after (Y/N) who had already left the courtroom.

"(Y/N)! Wait, please!" Sera begged grabbing (Y/N) by her wrist. "Please, let me explain!".

(Y/N) turned her head and glared at Sera with such intensity it sent shivers down the High Seraphim's spine. She's never seen (Y/N) look at her like that before.

It broke her heart to see the girl she's helped raise and thought of as a surrogate daughter look at her with such anger and disgust.

"Explain what, Sera?! That you've been here playing God and allowing the murder of sinners! They're already in Hell, what more could you possibly want?! They don't deserve this!" (Y/N) yanked her wrist from Sera's hold and flew away.

She couldn't believe this had been going on and she never even knew! Tears filled her eyes as she thought about her poor cousin. She knew needed to do something to help Charlie.

But first, she needed to see whether or not her father and the other archangels knew about this all along.

Taglist:

@soobryu @kyo-kyo1 @miyako-night20 @charliecharlie65 @unknow-sama @myluckymoon @lbcreations-blog @moonchaos18 @sirenetheblogger @jagharamira @el-hajj @azharyy @glowymxxn @itsmonicabc

[shanastoryteller]

ok clearly there's a lot of you forever stuck in supernatural hell because i've gotten MULTIPLE messages from people asking if me rewatching spn means i'm going to write fic lol

the answer is maybe, and only after i've beaten the next chapters of siat and wingbones into submission. also keep in mind i'm first and foremost a sam lover and s1-3 are my favorite - i like castiel just fine but his appearance coincided with some shifts in deans character that i didn't love and really started the brothers down the path of whatever the hell they've got going on in later seasons

BUT if i do fic then do you want (in no particular order):

1 - s1 sam gets transported to endverse and has to deal with this version of his brother that's ten years older and all this shit that he doesn't even know exists and endverse dean has to deal with sam at 22

2 - sam interrupts his dad's deal with azazel after the car accident and azazel asks for sam instead. sam agrees. john tells dean that sam died in the car accident and dean slowly loses his mind thinking that his brother is haunting him

3 - sam has his first vision at 18 on the bus to stanford. finds it literally impossible to leave the supernatural world and behind and starts tracking down hunters / things and discovers the world of the wider world of hunters that john hid from them. becomes a trusted psychic and occasional hunter for the hunting community while still going to school, tells jess the truth from the beginning because he's still in it, and is fully terrified that he's something his family would want to hunt and swears every hunter to secrecy about what he's doing. they all call him samantha and dean/john have no idea that the new psychic is a guy and sam.

edit: all of these have happy endings because i'm me

[herefortheships]

One of the biggest reasons I feel like Beetlejuice 3 is needed is that Beetlejuice Beetlejuice felt (to me) like there was no payoff. I'd have to rewatch, but I feel that the only aspects in which Lydia's and Astrid's lives improved comparing the start of the movie to the end, is that Lydia is freed from Rory and Astrid got to see her dad again, all of which was only achieved thanks to Betelgeuse's intervention.

Lydia was not happy at the end of the film, in contrast to the end of the first movie where we see her happy living with the ghosts of the Maitlands (in addition to her actual dad and stepmom). If anything, even though Rory is gone, Lydia is perhaps lonlier and more unhappy than at the start of the film, after the death of Delia and her father Charles. Rory might have been toxic but whatever idea or feeling of support she had from him is now gone too. We don't know if Astrid will still be attending the boarding school or not, so if Lydia truly quit making her show, then she is also more alone than she was at the beginning.

Betelgeuse also did not get rewarded after spending the entire movie working hard to sort of prove himself to Lydia and show her his love was genuine (despite the few scenes where he truly scared and disturbed her [the Beetlebaby for example... ew], but even though I don't excuse him, I also understand that these dark aspects of BJ's personality just come with the package, with him being what he is, it's something he can't help). In the end he was dismissed despite keeping his part of the agreement, as I'm sure he expected he was going to be, based on the song choice and, what many fans have pointed out, how he didn't do anything to stop Lydia from saying his name and sending him away.

What I'm getting at is that, in the end, the movie left a feeling of there being no payoff, even though technically "the good guys won". When there's no payoff, the story feels incomplete and/or empty in the end. At least we had that scene at the end to confirm that Betelgeuse is not truly gone, which left the door open to the possibility of a third and final part to this series. So even though I do like an open ending, in this case it just feels like this movie just set the stage for a continuation.

Maybe not everyone would agree, but it truly feels that with what this movie set up, the ultimate payoff would be for Lydia and Betelgeuse to finally get married and complete each other's stories. I wish the next movie will focus on Lydia, so that her choosing him feels organic and entirely her own choice.

[shwoyo]

hii!! could you do hq characters doing this https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTN5twyDt/ tiktok trend ? specifically kuroo, suna, and iwa, but you can include anyone u want, and in any format ure comfortable with! thats all, thank you!!

she want me, bad ! ﹫various ; hq

🏷️: fem!reader, fluff, crack, cursing, kissing, making out, suggestive (?), not proof-read :P

wc: 459

a/n: i am so sorry this is long overdue & is still short (ᗒᗣᗕ) i need school to shut down NOW

𝜗𝜚 KUROO TETSUROU

he'd be the one to initiate to do this trend

a fucking menace.

grinning the whole video

after the video, you guys would probably make out for like 5 (10) minutes

he would rewatch it over and OVER again.

"do you wanna make another version?" "no." "but baby!" he says while pouting.

would initiate to do another version but the roles are reversed (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

sending it to quite literally everyone

is more cocky than embarrassed

would yap 24/7 about it to kenma and kenma would be so annoyed cause he just wants to play his games man

would annoy yaku SO MUCH i fear

"yea, my girlfriends hot, how 'bout yours? oh that's right, you have none"

he would actually say that me thinks (´-ω-`)

the team would probably get used to him bringing it up every second

would put it as his live wallpaper and would not care if it takes up all his battery

𝜗𝜚 SUNA RINTAROU

he would be so cocky me thinks UGHHH

would have the hottest smirk plastered on his face

video would be captioned: "she needs me so much"

but in reality, its reversed, HE needs YOU so much.

you guys would make out for 10 minutes. 'till it leads to something else probably.

would tease you ALL DAY after.

even if he was the one who begged you to do the trend with him ???

"that was so hot, baby" "d'ya wanna do it again? why not?" "you want me so bad" (delusional)

would send it to every group chat he has w/ the inarizaki team T__T

and i mean every group chat... inarizaki 4, the whole team (w/ out the coach of course), inarizaki 3, you name it!

everyone would be so annoyed with him after that LOLL

he would bring the video up every time and the twins would scream at him EVERY time

he would post it public and it would blow up because of his face card idk

𝜗𝜚 IWAIZUMI HAJIME

you'd be the one to send the video to him, messaging him, "let's do this pls"

and who is he to say no to you right

would enjoy it so much

and would have the hugest cocky grin come on now

the video would end with you guys kissing, like smashing each others lips kissing

would posts it on his story on every app he has

"if there's more trend like that, tell me and i'm doing it right away"

both of you would probably go to school with a hickey ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

brags about it every second to seijoh4

they would never hear the end of it LOOL

"DAMN man, we get it! now shut up," mattsun says annoyed

grins at their reaction every time he brings it up

oh and would ask to redo it cause... ( ᵔ ⩊ ᵔ )

© shwoyo, all rights reserved.