#and i think the going against the author idea is literally the perfect end for this show and im eternally amazed and grateful

[4giorno]

uhhhhhhh any tv moments that match up to cas running for his life carrying jacks body transitioning into THAT new intro card? no? i didnt think so

[suhsweet]

perv!mingyu ⟡ kmg

wc: 731 | pair: perv!mingyu x afab!reader | genre: roommates au, 18+ (minors go away) | tags: mingyu is PERVERTED, panty stealing, dirty thoughts, mingyu spies on the reader

summary: when your roommate mingyu is a filthy, dirty pervert obsessed with you

authors note: maybe i'm a freak, but i literally thought that mingyu uploaded a pic of himself sniffing either socks or underwear. this is a really short drabble. wrote this in an hour. i might write more about perv!mingyu :) i told y'all that this blog is really self-indulgent...

Mingyu can’t remember exactly when his obsession with you began. One day, you were his roommate. The next, you were the star of all his fantasies. He’s had plenty of roommates before you, but you were different.

Maybe it's the fact that he knows what you sound like when you’re touching yourself. He knows you only do it when you’re the only one at home, where you can freely vocalize your pleasure without being embarrassed by anyone listening in. Except, that is exactly what Mingyu does.

If he tells you that he’ll be back from the gym by eight pm, he’s actually home at 7 and listening to you use your fingers to pleasure yourself. He tells you that he’s going to be at work until six, and comes home at five-fifty to hear the tail end of your orgasm.

Most of Mingyu’s nights are spent leaning against the wall your rooms share, pathetically fisting his swollen cock in his palms. His head would be pressed against the wall, his ears straining to find your moans. If he’s bold enough, he’s right outside your door with his dick out, where it’s significantly easier to hear you.

Right after you cum, he loudly opens and closes the front door to the apartment, hollering, “I’m home!”

He listens to you stumble around your room before you peek your head out. With your hair a mess, and eyes wide, Mingyu finds your flustered state so cute. He prevents a smug smirk from appearing when you innocently ask him how his day was.

He’s well aware that it would take only three strides of his long legs to reach your room. He’s also certain you didn’t have enough time to wipe your fingers clean of your essence. The idea that while you’re smiling innocently at him, behind the door your fingers are coated in your cum drives him insane. It takes everything in him not to burst into your room, take your hand in his, lick your fingers clean, and then make another mess of your pussy.

Mingyu’s perverted habits have been ongoing for several months. Mingyu was too far gone to feel any sense of guilt at this point. Not when you didn’t have to know. Not when he stole a pair of your panties from your laundry hamper while you were out with your friends.

He tries to use it sparingly to preserve your scent. He pulls it out on the occasions where he is so horny that his imagination cannot satiate his needs. It’s erotic, Mingyu thinks, that he’s using your panties while jerking himself off without your knowing.

He’s flat on his back, in the centre of his bed with the sheets pushed to his ankles. His room is plunged into darkness aside from the bedside lamp that illuminates his filthy act of perversion with a warm glow. He has his eyes closed whilst imagining the sight of you seated on his lips. He imagines his nose is buried in your delicious pussy, not the fabric of your underwear. His free hand grips his cock fiercely.

His mind presents him the image of you gripping his dark locks, your hips rotating as you grind into his mouth. His tongue is expertly drawing circles around your clit, the pressure of it so perfect that he brings to you an orgasm that is so shattering that you threaten to fall off of him. His arms would lock around your thighs like a vice. His eyes would look up at you, telling you everything that his occupied mouth can’t. His puppy eyes would be imploring, begging for more. His gaze would track your every movement, every rise and fall of your chest, every ‘o’ your mouth forms, every time your eyes clench shut when he sucks on your pussy.

And when you’re finished with his mouth, you’d come off of him, and clean up the mess you made by licking your release off of his lips. You two would make out as a result, messy and slick with saliva and cum.

While his imagination goes wild thanks to your used panties, Mingyu struggles to keep in the pitiful whine that threatens to leave his throat. He doesn’t want to wake you up. You’re obliviously sleeping on the other side of the wall, unaware that your pervert roommate is thinking such depraved thoughts about you.

[23victoria]

Pink + White ❀

lewis hamilton x fem!reader

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: none just fluff!

authors note: oneshot!! this is literally just fluff!!! inspired by pink + white by frank ocean!! don’t know how i feel about this one either 😭 any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

f1 masterlist

"It's always something with you, isn't it? It's always an emergency," you say cheekily, a playful smile spreading across your face as you stand at the doorway of Lewis’s driver room. The paddock is a hive of activity, the anticipation for the race buzzing in the air, but here, in this moment, it feels like just the two of you.

Lewis grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he sits on the edge of the small sofa. "What can I say? I needed to see you. Forgot my headphones, can you believe that?" He pats his thighs, inviting you over.

You roll your eyes, knowing full well that the 'emergency' was just an excuse to steal a moment with you. “I knew it! You didn’t forget your headphones. You just wanted to see me.”

He laughs, a warm, rich sound that makes your heart flutter. "Guilty as charged. Come here," he says, his hands reaching out for you.

You step closer, and he gently pulls you between his legs, his hands settling comfortably on your waist. The familiar warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. You lean into him, your foreheads touching, sharing a quiet moment amid the pre-race chaos.

"I missed you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I’ve been so busy today with meetings and interviews, I barely had a second to myself."

You smile, your hands resting on his shoulders. "I missed you too. It’s been a hectic day."

He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I couldn’t wait until after the race to see you. I needed a little bit of you to get through the day."

You feel a warmth spread through you, your heart swelling with affection. "Well, here I am," you say softly. "Consider this your pre-race good luck charm."

Lewis’s grin widens, and he leans in to kiss you. It’s a gentle, lingering kiss that makes your heart race. When he pulls back, he starts peppering kisses all over your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead—making you giggle.

“Lewis!” you laugh, trying to squirm away from his playful assault. “You’re going to smudge my makeup!”

He chuckles, his hands firm on your waist. "I don’t care. I want my kisses!"

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so clingy and cute, it’s adorable.”

For a few minutes, you just stay like that, wrapped up in each other, sharing soft kisses and whispered words. It’s a precious respite from the frenzy of the race day, a moment to recharge and reconnect.

As the minutes tick by, you continue to chat, the conversation flowing easily between you. You talk about everything and nothing—his meetings, your plans for the rest of the day, little inside jokes that only the two of you share. It’s these moments, the simple, everyday interactions, that make your relationship so special.

Lewis’s fingers trace idle patterns on your back as he talks, his touch sending pleasant shivers down your spine. "You know," he says, a thoughtful look crossing his face, "I’ve been thinking about taking some time off after the season ends. Just you and me, somewhere quiet. What do you think?"

Your eyes light up at the idea. "I think that sounds perfect. Where were you thinking?"

"Maybe a beach somewhere. Just us, the ocean, and no distractions."

You smile, imagining the two of you lounging on a sunny beach, the sound of the waves in the background. "That sounds amazing. I’d love that."

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Then it’s a plan."

You kiss him softly, your heart swelling with love. "I can’t wait."

The sound of a knock on the door breaks the spell, and you both look up, slightly startled. Lewis sighs, his hands slipping from your waist. “Time to go.” he says reluctantly.

You nod, stepping back to give him space. "I know. Go do what you do best. I’ll be cheering for you."

He stands, pulling you into a final, tight hug. "Thank you for coming baby, even if it was just for a few minutes. I needed this."

You squeeze him back, your head resting against his chest. "Anytime, baby. I’m always here for you."

He kisses the top of your head, then reluctantly lets you go. "I’ll see you after the race."

You smile, giving him one last kiss on the lips before heading for the door. "Good luck. I love you."

"I love you too," he replies, watching you leave, a soft smile on his face.

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

A few days later, you’re at home, the quiet peace a stark contrast to the wild energy of the race track. You’re in the kitchen, baking some of Lewis’s favorite cookies, when you hear the door open.

“Baby, I’m home!” Lewis calls out, his voice filling you with warmth.

“In the kitchen!” you reply, smiling as you wipe your hands on a towel.

Lewis walks in, his face lighting up when he sees you. “Something smells amazing,” he says, coming over to wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Just a little treat for my hardworking husband,” you say, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

He smiles, a contented sigh escaping him. “You always know how to make everything better.”

You lean back into him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “I try.”

The two of you spend the rest of the evening together, enjoying the simple pleasures of home. After dinner, you settle on the couch, Lewis’s head resting in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“I’ve been thinking about that beach trip we talked about,” he says, looking up at you with a soft smile.

“Oh? Have you made any plans?” you ask, intrigued.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve booked us a place in the Maldives. Just you, me, and the ocean.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and delight. “Lew, that sounds amazing honey! When do we leave?”

“Next week,” he replies, grinning at your reaction.

You lean down to kiss him, your heart overflowing with love. “I can’t wait.”

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

The moment you step off the plane, you’re enveloped by the warm, salty breeze and the sound of waves gently crashing against the shore. It’s paradise, and you can’t wait to explore it with Lewis.

Your villa is a stunning overwater bungalow, complete with a private deck and direct access to the crystal-clear ocean. As you step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of a beautifully decorated space, the perfect blend of luxury and comfort.

“This place is beautiful,” you say, turning to Lewis with a wide smile.

He pulls you into his arms, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “I wanted this to be special. Just for us.”

“It’s perfect. I love you.,” you reply smiling, feeling a surge of gratitude and love.

“I love you” he says as his lips meet yours.

Bonus:

y/n_ig

liked by lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, beyoncè, oscarpiastri and 5,968,987 others

life with you ❤️

comments have been limited 

lewishamilton

liked by y/n_ig, charlesleclerc, almave, gerogerussell, oscarpiastri and 5,998,937 others

is perfect ❤️

comments have been limited

© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.

[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?”

[noyzinerd]

More Than Just A Body (Swap)

Thinking about a post-body swap Sterek fic.

One that fully takes place after a body swap has already been reversed (like, a sequel to a non-existent fic--where they swapped bodies, had to live as the other, got switched back, yet didn't get together by the end--that's constantly alluded to, but we never actually get to read), so we only see the aftermath.

Derek is super irritated and snippy for days after they get back into their own bodies. Stiles thinks it's because Derek feels pissed and humiliated he had to relive to highschool with insufferable teenagers, be helplessly human and weak, and generally listen to authority again (his dad). It definitely bums Stiles out to think that Derek found living his life so deplorable that he's still angry about it. So now both of them are upset and sort of avoiding each other.

It isn't until two weeks later, when their stand-off is starting to effect pack business, that Stiles gets fed up and confronts Derek.

"What's your deal, man? You've been super shitty ever since we swapped back. It's been two weeks. How can you still be mad about living as me? What, was doing the dishes and being forced to write 5,000 words about the Louisiana Purchase seriously that terrible? Look, I'm sorry you had to deal with my stupid, tissue-paper body for so long, but you can't just-!"

And before you know it, Derek has him shoved up against a wall. He's still pissed, yeah, but, for some reason, he also looks...hurt and broken inside.

"Your body isn't stupid, Stiles! It was the best thing to happen to me in years!"

Stiles is stunned speechless. Derek's fingers are trembling around the grip he has in Stiles' shirt. There's so much pain in those green-blue eyes that it actually aches to look in them. It looks almost like grief.

Like Derek is in mourning.

Derek's not crying, but his eyes are definitely shinier as he continues, "You have no idea what you have, Stiles. What I had. For the first time since the worst fucking day of my life, I got to do normal things, like chores and sports. Not a single person expected anything of me o-or looked to me for answers. I didn't have to worry about fucking up and getting people killed, because the smartest guy I knew was taking care of my body like it was something precious. And all I had to do in return was live your beautiful, quiet life. A life where someone gently woke me up for school and nobody found me too intimidating to get close to.

"I got to know what it was like to be loved by a father again, Stiles! To say the words 'I love you, too, Dad' when I didn't think I'd ever get another chance. I-I got to be hugged and have people smile at me like they were glad to see me and I'd get to look in the mirror in the morning to the sweetest smile at the start of my day and hear your voice every time I talked. It was perfect." Somehow, Stiles has found his face streaked with tears even though the tears valiantly sticking to Derek's lashes still haven't fallen as his voice breaks over his words.

"A-and now? All I get to wake up to is me." The word is spit out with acid and venom. "I get to wake up alone in a cold, silent, empty, concrete room and look at a face in the mirror that makes me sick. I get to go back to my pathetic fucking life where I have to choose between literally fighting against an endless wave of people out to kill me or using my family's blood money to buy myself a microwavable dinner for the night. The only difference is that now...now I'm haunted by the feel of your fingers through my hair, your arms wrapped around me," at this, Stiles can feel his heart cracking apart at the thought of Derek using his body to simply hug himself, "y-your voice telling me that I'm going to be okay, and just-just the sight of your skin and your eyes and-and-I just, I can't, Stiles, I-I can't-!"

Stiles is clutching Derek so tight to him in an instant, tucking him into his neck and slowly lowering them to the ground as Derek collapses and sobs into him.

---

Once the tears are all dry, Stiles finally picks up the courage to be vulnerable too. He owes it to Derek.

At least it'll be easier now that he can't see the werewolf's reactions.

So, as he's stroking the other's hair, Stiles tells him about how he wishes Derek could see the man he fell in love with the way Stiles can.

He tells him about how he fell in love with a man whose heart is so big and full of kindness that he physically cannot stop himself from helping people, no matter how much he likes to pretend that he doesn't care.

The man he loves is powerful, resilient, and stronger than any one person has any right to be, yet so fragile as to be afraid of loving someone too much because he might be shattered.

The man Stiles loves is smart, sassy, thoughtful, stubborn, awkward, grumpy, sweet, and so so deserving of hugs and smiles and kisses and praise, because Derek is and has always been more than just a body.

Stiles tells him about how, during their swap, he made sure to take warm baths with nice smells, nap in cozy blankets, and massage his hands and feet with lotions because Stiles wanted to take care of Derek's body as much as he could while he got the chance. He did it because he wanted to help Derek and this was the only way he thought he could.

If there had been even the slightest indication that anything more would've been well received, Stiles would have already done it. All he wants is permission.

"Please...let me take care of you?"

---

So, slowly, day by day, Stiles enfolds Derek into a gentle life.

Stiles is Derek's strongest advocate, his extra set of hands to help carry his burdens, his pillow, his introduction to new things and new people.

They're always wrapped around each other, all the time, almost like Stiles is scared of Derek getting cold.

Despite the confession, things remain G-rated for a while. Cuddles, hand-holding, caresses, just touching. Shy kisses eventually make an appearance after some time, but they remain sweet, loving little things.

Stiles makes it perfectly clear that he's fine waiting to make a move until he's sure being intimate can't possibly be mistaken as anything else. He needs Derek to understand that this isn't obligation or pity. Stiles loves Derek. And Stiles is going to take his time because he wants Derek to feel loved beyond his body, no matter how long it takes.

By the time Derek feels whole again, now living with the Stilinskis and smiling softly as a default expression, they find themselves in front of the bathroom mirror having their first time together.

It's definitely not kinky. Mostly reverent, full of "It's okay, I'm right here", fingers laced tight together, flashing eyes, and a bit of emotional tears. It's gentle and assuring, with promises of never being alone again, and whispers of "so beautiful" and "so sweet" and "so perfect". Climax is rewarded with praises, hands stroking up arms and down backs, and "I love you"s are slurred through dropped fangs and traded back and forth between kisses

But as expected, finally having sex doesn't magically make Derek love himself. It's still a long road. Because even if Derek doesn't completely hate his life anymore, there are those hard days where he still has problems with 'being Derek'.

And maybe one day Derek will learn to love the body he lives in.

Until then, Stiles will just have to love it for him.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 1,542

Warnings | +18, smut dubcon(?), somnophilia, pussy worship, pussy eating, tongue fucking, fingering, male masturbation, Jungkook is desperately horny, cumming on her, body worship, breast/nipples worship, explicit language and descriptions, kidnapping, Jungkook is absolutely obsessed, this is not for minors.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Third chapter of Happy Ending arrived, enjoy your reading, my dears 🥰❤

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

That same night, a shadow wandered around the young woman's apartment. It had not been difficult to get there, as he had already thought, those windows were too old and easy to force, he could not allow Y/N to live in such a place. If a novice like him had managed to open the window facing the kitchen so quickly, then an experienced thief would have been able to do even better. He looked around, scrutinizing every nook and cranny, being very careful not to make any noise, noticed a pizza box on the table, with Coke cans scattered around, was very careful not to step on a single one - mentally cursing at the girl's mess - and headed for what he guessed was her room.

He opened the door slightly, which squeaked faintly because of rust, but that was not enough to wake the girl who lived in the apartment. Y/N must have been a very heavy sleeper, the boy thought. Jungkook was there for one simple reason, to take Y/N away and make her live a better life with him. Normally an art professor would not have made that much money, but professor was not his only job, he thought with a grin. The school's principal, Kim Seokjin, had his hands in everything, and someone like Jungkook was right for him. He then looked around, studying the environment to get an idea about his beloved's tastes, finding a variety of references to anime and manga, as well as books and flowers. Nothing that hinted at a passion for fashion, but of that Jungkook did not worry, he would see to it that she was dressed cute and perfect, just for the pleasure of his eyes.

Reaching just to one side of the single bed, he stared at Y/N sleeping blissfully with only part of the blanket to give her warmth, the tender lower lip protruded invitingly and Jungkook felt the urge to squeeze it between his teeth, tasting its softness. He shivered slightly when he took a flap of the blanket, pulling it aside. He slowly uncovered Y/N's body, revealing something that made the man's brain go haywire. Y/N slept in only a tank top and panties even in winter. It was a comfortable habit for the girl, but for Jungkook it was like a wedding invitation, literally. His eyes did not break away from the bare skin in the slightest while enough light filtered through the window to make that vision heavenly for him.

He slowly knelt down, a hand flew within inches of her calves, he did not know whether to touch her that way or not, she was not conscious, it would not be right, would it? The boy found himself gritting his teeth, it would only be a caress, a gentle caress. He gently laid his fingers on one calf, held his breath at the smooth sensation of her skin against his fingertips and continued with the slow ascent, felt his lips dry up when, having reached her knee, Y/N decided of her own volition to spread her leg wide, leaving a wide view of her intimacy covered by the blue panties, at which point Jungkook's blood concentrated in one spot. He took that sign as a Y/N response to continue. He climbed onto the bed gently, positioning himself right on top of the young woman, his hand opening on her inner thigh, the softest and most tender part of her leg, felt that buttery texture under his fingers and did the same with the other, thus bringing both legs apart for him, he sent down watering at that scene so erotic that it nearly drove him mad.

He felt powerful as never before in his life, he could do anything he wanted to her and she would continue to sleep blissfully. The young girl's tightly closed eyelids cast lash shadows across her cheeks, she was so serene in sleep that Jungkook found her enchanting, so much so that he leaned over her, stealing a sweet kiss on her cheek, in love with that pure little fairy of his. His. He watched for a possible reaction, but she continued to sleep. Not content, he descended lower, to the tender breasts enclosed in that wide camisole, lifted the pale fabric finding himself face to face with what, he knew, would become his favorite damnation, studied with hungry eyes the perfect color of those still soft and relaxed little buttons, barely touching with a finger the velvety, graceful circle of an areola. He trapped the tender nipple with his lips, sucking it tenderly inside his warm, moist mouth, felt it plump under the strokes of his tongue and found himself nibbling on it without too much pressure, sending small, sweet twinges to the young girl's sleeping body. Y/N, for her part, turned her head slightly, opening her mouth slightly in a moan that her brain could not fully register.

Jungkook cupped the other breast, stimulating it with the tip of a finger, squeezing it lightly before devoting his mouth to it as well, and the more he engulfed that tender flesh, the more his cock throbbed uninterruptedly in search of its dose of forbidden caresses. A pop resounded from the room as he let go of his grip on the young girl's now abused nipple, went down with moist kisses all along the girl's chest, with his sweet prey's breathing rising in response, thus reaching the lower abdomen licking a small trail around her navel, moaning silently at the taste of that skin that he would also have gladly bitten into, but he could not risk waking the girl up in the midst of his fun, so he merely descended lower and lower, reaching to the fabric of her panties. With the tip of his nose he pressed against her covered pussy, ecstatically inhaling the natural scent of her essence, he felt himself salivating and his own boxers got a little wet, he pressed his erection against the mattress moving slightly to give himself some relief, not satisfied he peeled back the fabric of the panties and almost thought he would come there on the spot. The rosy flesh of the folds opened under the pressure of his index finger, revealing the swollen clitoris and the sweet slit from which sweet transparent liquid was already leaking.

Jungkook gave a long lick that from the young woman's narrow entrance reached up to her clitoris, encircling it with the tip in a tender and insistent caress; on another occasion the boy would have cried out in the most bewitching pleasure, but he forced himself to enjoy that taste in silence. Y/N unknowingly thrust his hips into the man's ravenous mouth in a soft, slow rhythm that delighted Jungkook. That to him was the ultimate proof that the girl accepted his intimate attentions without regret. He used two fingers to stimulate the young woman's lit and pulsating clitoris, continuing with the tip of his tongue to penetrate the tight and wet slit, sucking the small quivering lips together with the unconscious girl's legs, continuing to poke and pull at that pearl now stiff and ready to explode between his index finger and thumb, teasing the soft flesh ever more insistently. "Mm... Ah...!" the girl's back arched slightly, exposing more and more of her intimacy to the boy, her body tried to keep up with that forbidden pleasure, in her mind Y/N was dreaming, dreaming of Jungkook and in her dream the boy was doing to her just what the real Jungkook was joyfully enacting in reality.

He willingly swallowed the young girl's fluids with yet another tongue caress, then replaced his fingers with the latter, cradling the pulsating clitoris in velvety lashings, penetrating the now-soaked entrance with his fingertips, the girl rigidly propped her feet up on the mattress, opening her mouth wide and frowning in a shrill howl, which was prolonged when her clitoris succumbed to extreme pleasure following a light bite from the boy, his teeth weakly crushing that taut pearl, now at the 'extreme and that gesture was enough to release its violent contained pleasure. Jungkook detached himself from Y/N's quivering body, lowering his pants and boxer shorts, took his already dripping cum cock in his hand and leaned over Y/N beginning to pump himself several times, ran his thumb over the scarlet tip increasing the speed of his thrusts, before pouring out a large amount of cum with a choked cry, smearing the girl's breasts and panties with the sticky white liquid. He looked at his work of art with devotion and affection, stroking his cock in an attempt not to let up again on those gentle discharges of pleasure, until it became completely soft again. He adjusted his clothes, retrieving tissues from the girl's bedside table to wipe off his semen, silently praying that the sweet, spicy taste of Y/N would never disappear from his tongue.

God, he would have taken her again and again on that bed, but he shook his head to himself , Y/N deserved better and wanted her awake when it happened. He wanted her to see with her own eyes how much love he would be able to give her.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

This quote is so heartbreaking

Newly estranged relationship😭😭😭 is bad enough but then to follow that with there’s no one in Eddie’s life really is soul destroying.

Buck supporting Eddie through this is a given - the very literal visual metaphor of Buck being at Eddie’s back - of having his back as well as being the supporting hand on his shoulder we saw at the end of the season as Chris left. This is the next phase of that and how it looks remains to be seen. The way this is worded suggests that Chris is going to refuse contact with Eddie - at least initially and that is going to really hurt Eddie.

To me it feels like we might see Buck being in contact with Chris and therefore being able to feed back to Eddie to be the one connection to Chris he has. But also then become some sort of mediator for them as things settle and time and distance allows perspective to be gained and anger to settle. This channel of communication between buck and Chris and Eddie is something we’ve seen develop through the seasons - Buck being a safe space for Chris - someone not his father he can talk to and open up to or go to for help, and also someone Eddie can do the same things with.

It feels like it’s very much going to be a continuation of that established dynamic and a way of tightening the bonds between the three of them further in the long run. It truly is very coparent loaded and really a compelling narrative to explore.

The no one in Eddie’s life really quote also is loaded. It gives rise to the concept that his reltionship with his parents is going to deteriorate as well - that they may refuse to give him information on Chris or not take his calls, not involve him in decisions about Chris that really should have his input.

I found Ryan saying Eddie’s going to lean on buck very interesting as well - especially as he also said

Bucks going to lean on Eddie as well. (Also second mentions of the relationship flourishing and being stronger than ever!)

The fact this is in direct opposition to what Tim said - that Eddie is going to end up feeling a bit out in the cold because Buck will be spending more time with Tommy is interesting. Because which one is it?

Obviously Tim likes to spin his words so they never mean what he actually says. So I take all his interviews with a pinch of salt but I do think we will see that distance he spoke about because it’s good for Eddie to have that space for himself.

Well it can actually be that both are true and that is really interesting from a story telling perspective - and not exactly as a point of conflict, but as a way of juxtaposing Eddie and Tommy - it’s the pulling of the triangle that Buck Eddie and Tommy form.

This idea that Buck is going to be dealing with Gerrard and pushing back against a very different authority figure to bobby has a lot of potential for Buck and his journey of self discovery and self love and acceptance that his arc seems to be set up for this season. I don’t want to talk about Buck and BT in a meta about Eddie though!

I’m really interested to see how Eddie let’s buck lean on him and what that support looks like. Because it will be exactly what Buck needs - Eddie understands Buck and how to nudge him in the right direction - it’s a key part of their dynamic and, I’m of the opinion that we’re going to see s8 as a sort of s3 redux so I think this next iteration of buck and Eddie’s relationship - with Eddie also leaning on Buck is going to be the fight club/ lawsuit arc but in juxtaposition. Whereas in s3 they didn’t lean on each other and support one another, this time they will - it will show how much they’ve changed and grown and trust one another since s3 and how much depth there is to them as a unit. (Which will also be a perfect juxtaposition of how little buck and Tommy know and trust one another!)

[sufferu]

Y'know re zero reminds a lot of umineko and higurashi. Stories where the protags are dying and resetting over and over again to fight against fate. For a chance that is "infinitely close to zero"(yes literal quote---thats how unlikely victory was) or that one dude from toaru that died 100 billion times, resetting through horrific worlds.

What do they have in common? The protags save/forgive/pity their torturers. WHDAA cast has every right to beat some sense into Subaru damn. I get the whole "understanding the heart of others" theme. I love it, but like--there should be a line somewhere that got lost in the corpses of previous loops. Especially, since most of the time they are redeemed because they have a tragic backstory. Like "ofc I forgive you for torturing me for 100 years because your parents are dead"

Penny for your thoughts?

God I need to watch Higurashi. Too bad I cant FIND THE DAMN SERIES ANYWHERE— also I’ve heard of Umineko but I have no idea what it is lol. Maybe I’ll check it out. Same with A Certain Magical Index.

And — honestly, to an extent I agree with you lol, cause even if I haven’t watched any of those series I am very familiar with the “all is forgiven” trope that tends to happen in anime a lot. I think it often tends to feel a little unbalanced, ESPECIALLY if the perpetrator is some sort of waifu character. Like — okay, there’s this anime that came out a few years ago called Ranking of Kings that I actually really liked for the most part, except the way they handled the main villain (a woman named Miranjo) was just BAFFLING. She did all this horrible stuff in the first half, but then the second half was basically just — everyone bending over backwards to excuse/forgive her simply because…that’s what the author wanted to happen. And the thing is? I was one of like five viewers (judging by those comments :/) who would actually have totally been on board with her redemption if they hadn’t done that. I thought she was a fascinating character, possibly my favorite in the series, and I even saw the potential for her becoming a better person if they were to go that route. But then they hammered it in SO MUCH because the author wanted the audience to like her SO BADLY that — it just RUINED her.

That’s what I think the problem often is: the hand of the author becomes too obvious, and as their actions get excused by the narrative practically bending over backwards to get the audience to like the characters, the characters get flattened down and all their edges sanded off. To be entirely honest it’s the main issue I have with how Rem is often portrayed in this fanbase, because — a really large subset of fans seems to have looked at that HOT MESS of a person and decided that taking her “perfect waifu” facade at face value was the more appealing option, lol.

—It totally makes sense for Subaru, though. As a character this is, it makes SOO much sense that he’s like this. And…I’m actually holding out hope that it’s gonna be addressed as an issue in-universe at some point, due to 1) some very choice descriptors on his part of all those horrible things being “good memories” that are VERY worrying and 2) post-amnesia!Rem very explicitly ending up in antagonistic role to her old self regarding how they each want Subaru to develop going forward.

As for my own react fic…yeah. Rem is. Rem is gonna be in some SERIOUS hot water. If I may: I think that a lot of react fics tend to gloss over her behavior a little too much for my liking, due to her being a popular character (or even a favorite of the author lol) and as such the fic goes out of its way to make sure that the conversation leads to everyone forgiving her one way or another. …I, personally, do not plan on pulling my punches one single bit.

;)

[parentsday]

Hiii! Since you asked about headcanons/analysis stuff:

There's a common interpretation on the fandom about Max's treatment of David in the early episodes coming, at least partially, from trust issues regarding adults/authority figures. And I've seen push back against it, too. People who say it's just because David is annoyingly positive. Nothing else.

And sure, I can see that. But Nikki also acts in a cheerful manner and mostly enjoys camp, and Max doesn't treat her with the level of rudeness he treated David in season one. This could be due to her being his little partner in crime, but idk. I always interpreted it as him thinking that David is some fake nice adult who will just let him down if he allows it.

And, while I was thinking about this, I realized how this interpretation of Max's behaviour towards David adds another heartbreaking layer to Parents day.

Max's perception of David started changing after Order of the sparrow, specifically after the "Somebody fucking has to" moment. For just a moment, the annoying, overly positive persona drops, and Max is able to see a nuanced human being. And it's clear that he starts understanding David a little more, because in Cult camp (literally the next episode), he allows himself to be brainwashed and trusts that David will save the camp (btw, we as a fandom don’t talk about this aspect of this episode enough).

So yeah, his perception of David changes for the better.

But then, parents day happens.

And David spends most of the episode being an absolute jerk, even if he doesn't realize it.

He pushes SO HARD to try and make the day perfect, basically ignores Max when he states that his parents aren't coming, gets way too serious about playing the role of Max's dad for the day, forces Max into the activities and then, at the end of a day that was already shitty for Max, he yells at him.

I think the context of Max's opinion on David finnaly becoming more positive makes this episode so much sadder.

Because it ceases to be just about Max's neglectful parents.

Now it's also about the closest thing he has to a trustworthy adult making him uncomfortable, ignoring his feelings and then yelling at him and telling him that he "has a bad attitude" and "brings everyone else down instead of trying just a little bit to have fun".

(Which are things he must have heard from adults before, if he behaves the way he does at camp in school and other places)

Remember in Friends like these when he said "Life's just one dissapointment after another. I can't belive I let myself forget it"? I think he might have had the same train of thought here: "I can't believe I let myself forget David is an asshole that only cares about impressing Campbell and making this stupid camp look good". Or: "I can't believe I let myself forget that every single adult thinks I'm a bad kid and a lost cause."

And I know it gets fixed quickly, with David apologizing shortly after, but still. I think the idea of Max being dissapointed at David in Parents day, even if it was just for some moments, is so good.

I also think this is the episode that comfirms to Max that David is genuinely a good person trying his best. He spent the entire day having to think about the fact that his parents suck, and then there's David, who is kind, apologizes for upsetting him and takes him to eat pizza and have a little heartfelt talk.

When was the last time his parents apologized to him, or cared about what he wanted/needed, or talked to him so gently?

The contrast between his parents and David is so big, and I think that's what makes Max finnaly go "Yeah, this guy isn't actually that bad."

(Sorry for rambling, omg.)

hi first of all thank u for an ask and such insightful one at it too !! this was an incredibly pleasant read and a lot of the stuff you say i personally find very good analysis of the show and agree with, however i do have some stuff to say abt it soo here we go ^-^ (this will be a long one so sorry about this in advance)

as i said in some previous reply, max is an incredibly peculiar guy when it comes to the way this show treats his trauma and the way he himself behaves as a result of it, and that’s by design! a lot of the thing he says and does in the first two seasons when it comes to david are there for reasons of narrative set up, and are later masterfully recontextualized by parents day later, leaving very little room for interpretation when it comes to how and why he operates. im gonna go out on a limb and say that i don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that most of his actions towards david in the early show stem from the childish born-from-trauma need for attention and also from his need for societal reinforcement of his own ego’s right to exist. when it comes to the first one i see most people agree (bc it’s a basic child psychology fact), but turn their noses in reference to the second one.

contrary to popular belief, max being in need of constant affirmation that he, as a person with little self value, deserves to exist next to other people is something that we see examples of constantly and is not a terrible part of his character that needs to be ignored. max is a neglect victim who from our knowledge is given very little attention by his parents, as a result of it he is a pessimistic asshole kid whose ego suffers from the very thing that made it this way. its in his strained relationship with nikki and neil, its in him arguing with david to put himself in the position of an adult, its him putting himself above others when it’s not needed and its in him putting his own egos safety first when time comes to accept that things are moving forward (two final episodes from both s3 and s4 are good examples of this). its not an inherently positive trait, but it is one okay for him to have by the virtue of being a young abused child with no support system, and denying it will leave him devoid of this characterization. in freudian (ugh) terms, we cannot separate his character’s superego from his id in a way that won’t harm the way he was intentionally written. Id, ego and superego are all influenced by our relationship with our parents, the amount of nurturing of a child's emotional and psychological needs parents does will result in the child’s psychological state forming a certain way, max as a character who is heavily reliant of his lackluster relationship with his parents is not devoid of this and it affects his relationship with david too. and the reason i’m saying all of this is exactly due to this.

david, when put in most simple terms, is a character who’s an adult figure present and mature enough in max’s current social position that it allows him to treat max as a child, something max is not used to. not used to to such an extent that it puts a strain on his ego in the process. david feeds his need for any form of attention, positive or not, just as much as he clips away at max’s need to be seen as socially important and in a position of an adult. it’s arguable if both of these are good or not but the main thing they are in relation to is obvious: max feels that being an adult who meets both of his psychological needs in ways that are unfamiliar to him makes david an untrustworthy person, thats exactly where you interpretation comes in clutch.

max and his behavior towards david cannot be separated from david being an adult, that is made clear with the way he treats nikki as an equal just because she is a person his age, despite her sharing a lot of david’s traits. going through the episodes you mentioned, order of the sparrow episode lets max see david perspective for the very first time. max is allowed to peek into the reason why david acts the way he does, however it alone doesn’t make him see david in a good light, if anything it makes him appear genuine in his actions. it also lets max have something for david that he didn’t have before: trust. it ends up being used in cult camp as a confirmation of it being something david can live up to (you are absolutely right, we really don’t talk abt this episode and it’s narrative weight enough). all of this has been adding onto the way max himself perceives david, parents day, however, lets both of them internalize the sentiment of mutual understanding towards each other together. parents day does this by lampshading max and david parallelism, making this whole episode consist of max seeing his parents in david just as much as david sees himself in max through the whole show and putting them in each others shoes by the end of it. the episode ends with david choosing max as a priority, he is still acting selfishly (once again david is an asshole) but choosing to do so towards max because the situation allows him to understand max the way s1 finale let max understand him. and with the final turning point in their dynamic, max understands that both his ego and need for attention can exist without them being reinforced by an adult treating him like he is an adult too. max was chosen as a priority for the very first time and that alone made him feel of more value than the treatment he initially yearned for would have. above all else parents day makes max see david as someone he can look up to as a person in emotional way, not only in a life or death situations, the shot of david from his perspective in the end making sure that we don’t miss it.

most of this is not me disagreeing with you, on the opposite i think a lot of the arguments you make are nice and are mindful interaction with the media. gold star for enjoying meta analysis to both of us i guess ⭐️. my main problem is, however, the fact that using all of this to basically say ‘maxs parents suck so he has a distain for david because of it’ is a heavy oversimplification that you somehow go against in your initial statement too and that i, personally, just don’t enjoy. this alone does not make your interpretation wrong though, if anything just reinforces your general idea into a more concrete argument rather than a collection of bits and pieces of evidence pointing to it. hope all of this made sense

tldr; man idk no summing up this one as to not take away from the overall statement im making with this. read the post 🫶

[white-poppie]

Amethyst Reverie

Request: mm, maybee a darling who’s like Kocho Shinobu to leorio, gon, killua, and kurapika??

A/N: This has been in my inbox for over 3 months, I am so sorry nonnie, I hope you have a great one!

GON

He loves your cheery and teasing demeanor at first

He is pretty clueless so he doesn't realise for a long time that it is all a farse

That is until you get into a battle. Then he is scared by how fierce you are.

He gets it tbh, how much hatered you have against the people who killed your loved ones.

If you want to get revenge he will help you.

He has seen his friend and himself go down that destructive path so he wont stop you but rather try to catharize your rage.

KILLUA

He thinks that you are just another Gon at first, until he looks into your eyes and realises how empty they are.

He is scared, he doesn't know what to do, but he wont stop you doing things your way.

His heart breaks everytime you cry or rage, but he is terrible with comforting people and has no idea what to do.

His words of comfort are silent acts of service.

When you are comfortable enough to tell him the story, he almost cries at how much you have been enduring.

He will help you get stronger and stay by your side :)

LEORIO

"I can fix my s/o" No you can't Lay-oreo

Anyways. He is just so pathetic my god, take some time out for him from your revenge.

Thinks you are going on the same self-destructive path as Kurapika and absolutely hates it.

Unlike the others, he will try his hardest to stop you, so arguments are a common occurrence.

Yet he will path you up every time you get hurt, scold you and tell you to be more careful next time.

He hates that he can't do much to help, so he silently accepts defeat and prays that you don't end up getting hurt.

(Poor baby, I feel bad for him :<)

KURAPIKA

*insert spider-man meme* oh damn I forgot about spiders-

Your honour this man is literally the definition of perfection.

Sees right through your facade (after some time of course) but doesn't say anything, thinks he is going crazy.

He just silently listens when you open up and hugs you after you are done.

"It's okay, we will hunt them down together, we both will have our revenge."

He is kinda a hypocrite. Him getting hurt is okay, you, however-

He just gets it, he will help you get your revenge and vice versa.

(A/N: Therapy, both of you, now. Oh shit, don't leave me alone 'pika!)

psst, hey, over here! Uhm hi :) Do you like reading? If so can you please check out my first novel? I am a 15-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! Its okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future.

“Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!!

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⤷‧₊˚ Hunter x Hunter (ハンタ x ハンタ)

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[sc0tters]

Unsolved Moments | Seamus Casey

summary: after something pretty big happens in your friendship with Seamus, things are forced to be said when you hear the wrong end of a conversation.

request: yes/no

warnings: none.

word count: 1.01k

authors note: I’ve never written for Seamus before! Sorry this request took so long, I could never figure out how I wanted it to end.

You were worried that it would change your friendship forever.

Sleeping with Seamus wasn’t your brightest move but it was a move that you had made after one too many drinks at a party. What made you feel really weird about it all though was that you didn’t regret it. Your mind had contemplated the idea of liking Seamus for months now and part of you was ready to let that side of your brain win.

So that’s what brought you to his dorm, you had been in there plenty of times before but you had never been nervous about going in. It weighed on you how you were ready to tell him how you felt but the voices from the other boys stopped you “you’re telling me you have no feelings for her whatsoever?” Luca asked as he let out a laugh.

You pulled your hand away from the door opting to listen instead “none,” Seamus nodded causing your heart to break “I wish I didn’t go,” your mouth went wide as you let out a gasp. A rush of embarrassment ran through your veins.

As tears began to well in your eyes you decided to walk away from the boys room not wanting to hear anymore of what he had to say “you okay?” Adam asked as you bumped into him. The Fantilli boy furrowed his eyebrows as he saw your cheeks begin to turn wet “I’m perfect,” you lied as you quickly pushed past him so that you could get back to your room before you had a full blown breakdown.

Adam continued his walk to the boys dorm as he tried to figure out what could have upset you “was y/n like that in here?” He asked as he opened to door to be met with the confused faces of his teammates “like what?” Seamus was quick to become alarmed at the thought of you hearing what he had said. One of the girls in his science credit had asked him to get coffee with her that morning and it turned out to be the most boring hour of his life. Literally all he did the entire time whilst the girl spoke about herself was think about you.

The younger Fantilli boy shrugged “she looked like she was about to cry,” he explained causing the Devils draftee to groan.

Seamus got up as he knew what he had to do “I’ll be right back guys,” he quickly grabbed his shoes as he had to make his way down the three floors to get to your dorm.

Just as you finished telling your roommate all about what happened a knock came at your door “who is it?” Your roommate called out as she left you on your bed with the box of tissues “it’s Seamus,” your eyes went wide as you shook your head at her when she opened the door.

Your roommate sent the boy a glare “y/n doesn’t want to see you right now,” she explained as she tried to shut the door but the hockey player was too fast as he pushed his hand against it.

Seamus locked eyes with you as you cursed the positioning of your bed “please just let me explain and if you don’t want to talk after that I’ll go.” Both of them looked at you as they waited for a response. You let the thoughts weigh themselves up in your mind as you tried to find a decent answer “fine,” you motioned to him to come in “I’ll leave you two alone,” your roommate sent you a smile before she left.

You were reminded of the fact that you had been crying when Seamus ran his thumb over your cheek “that all wasn’t about you, I promise.” He blurted out as he sat next to you.

In all honesty you didn’t know what to think when he said that “it’s fine if you don’t like me like that but don’t lie to me,” you mumbled as you let out a scoff. Like yes if he didn’t like you it was going to hurt but you’d rather hear him say the truth than lie to you “I’m being serious,” the hockey player confessed as he placed his hand on your knee “this one girl asked me if I wanted to get coffee and on that trip she tried to make a move on me-” you were growing irritated that he was telling you about this “if there is a point could you like get to it?” You asked as you motioned to him to hurry up.

Seamus couldn’t help but smile in amusement at how you were reacting “I turned her down because I couldn’t do that to you,” he announced causing your facial expressions to soften.

His words repeated in your mind as they felt foreign to the tongue “to me?” Was all you could muster out as the questions began to swarm your brain.

He nodded as he hooked two fingers under your jaw “I like you y/n.” The words fell from Seamus’s lips as he really didn’t think that this would be the time that he’d be telling you.

It wasn’t often that you were left speechless but in that very moment you had no clue what to say to him “you do?” It would have made anymore laugh at how shocked you sounded.

The hockey player nodded as he licked his lips “yeah,” you couldn’t help but smile as you internally screamed “I don’t go around sleeping with girls I don’t like.” He added causing you to laugh.

It was a sound he knew he’d never get sick of “are we good now?” Seamus asked as he cocked his head.

You nodded as you smiled “we’re great,” you leaned forward to kiss him as it was your way of showing him that you felt the same “you wanna get that?” You asked letting your forehead rest on his “it’s just the boys wondering when I’ll be back.” Seamus shook his head causing you to laugh once again as he softly pushed your back so that it would hit your mattress.

[imdead770]

Here’s a random idea I pulled from my ass for you!

So like the reader has that lovely seasonal depression that we’re all enjoying 🥰 And just head cannons of what the gang would do, and how they help them cheer up?

If that makes any sense whatsoever

Ur so real for not wanting to do ur own ideas 💀

The Outsiders x Reader ( Seasonal Depression Headcannons )

Authors Note - I love this idea so much, thank you for giving me something I'll actually write P.S - I understand seasonal depression is longer than a day, but most of these are how the gang would cheer you up in just one day, if that makes sense. Just a quick note.

Darry -

If we're being honest he probably has seasonal depression too but he's too busy to be sad (which I think is why he works so much). So whenever you're experiencing seasonal depression, he tries to help, but he isn't exactly Sodapop. He'd probably just hold you, talk to you, keep you company whenever he could. Probably makes you hot chocolate if we're being honest, yknow, try to make you feel less empty. Love him for that ♡

Sodapop -

He's so confused by your seasonal depression? Like, it's Christmas season, you should be happy as he is. But here you are. He'd get it though, he went through it but worse whenever his parents died. He couldn't stand to see you sad, so he'd definitely comfort you. He'd keep you company, take you on dates (probably winter dates, like ice skating), shower you with affection, anything he could. He'd lay on the bed with you, pull you against him, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Him playing with your hair as he put on a movie, showering you with kisses until you could barely breathe. In one way or another, he'd make you smile.

Ponyboy -

Being honest, he has it too, he just ignores it. So whenever he sees you anxious, sad, whatever it is, he'd comfort you (in his own way). I think he'd lay down with you and read a book to you, or watch a movie with you, whichever. He wouldn't really confront it head-on, but he'd make you feel better. The moment the two of you got back home he'd lay down with you on the couch and just hold you. He'd try to do it everyday, just to be safe.

Johnny -

This sweet, innocent, perfect boy would do anything for you. So whenever seasonal depression comes around, he 100% comforts you. He's not a fan of these seasons, either. All the holidays mean more time with the family who hates him. He'd take you out to the lot with him, both of you lying beside each other and watching the stars. The two of you would just talk, eventually falling asleep together.

Dallas -

You expect the Dallas Winston to be your therapist? He doesn't have the slightest idea how to comfort you, let alone during seasonal depression. He'd try to take your mind off of it, taking you to parties or sneaking into the drive-in with you. Quick NSFW, he'd probably have have sex with you to cheer you up, too (Honestly most of the gang would). He'd probably help, just in his own way.

Two-Bit -

You're sad? This motherfucker is harassing you with jokes. He will not shut up until you've laughed at least 10 times. He'd stay with you, talk with you, making you laugh at any chance he gets. The two of you would go wherever you felt like going, just because he would do anything to cheer you up. Imagine the two of you going grocery shopping for junk food, you sitting in the cart and him pushing you down the aisles at top speed. You'd definitely be happier by the end of the day.

Steve -

He, like Sodapop, would be so confused. Like he'd literally ask you why, and when you were just like 'huh-uh', he decided to just cheer you up. He'd take you around take, sort of like a little date. Or he'd sit on the bed with you, the two of you eating chocolate cake until you felt like you were gonna throw up. He'd just be like he always is, his fun, cocky self.

♡ I love all of them so much, it's not even funny ♡

[campbyler]

THEA!!!

they r so boyfriends! 😭😭😭😭😭😭 it should be illegal to read acswy while being single CAUSE I WANT TO BITE SOMEBODY SO BAD. so im gonna bite u guys. as a revenge for my poor heart. sorry.

first of all will with tote bag!!! mike with long sleeves and shorts!!! yes!! their fits r literally so perfect. i just have to say it.

the fact that will didn’t even bring his car key with him. he doesn’t hate mustang as much as he pretends 😭 and he definitely changed his mind after mikes explanation. can’t wait till will break his stupid rule and they’ll make out senselessly in it.

i got mikes reasoning for buying that car (and ted is an asshole in every universe. sorry that it happened to u thea) but he could choose less pretentious one 🙄 sorry i have a with aversion towards expensive cars. their drivers always think that they better than traffic regulations. anyway.

manual transmission is a crime against humanity and im glad that i never have to use it again. it wasn’t that bad on the road and changing gears doesn’t take much time but traffic lights became my arch enemies cause i always managed to stall on them 😭 i hope ur lessons were better btw. i feel that will will shake like chihuahua😭 plus it like one extra leg on the clutch and i have no idea how to not forget about it if u only drive automatic.

their not-date date cause they definitely aren’t dating they’re barely friends who love kiss each other on the mouth and hold hands and spend time together and tell each other their deepest secrets.

the things i felt when mike dropped wills hand in the car. i Know it was was a reason. and he totally recovered himself by holding wills pinky the entire way to the mall. i know their pinkies Hurt cause where’s no other way.

when they’ll find out that smooches at the center of the cafe is not really platonic. isn’t really platonic with kissing if we’re judging be their standards. The Kiss in the changing room though…. they literally obsessed with each other i can believe guys used to pretend they enemies 😭

someone brought up dwoht on relation to the thrift store and i can’t stop thinking about it

“u (authors) said there was nothing in the world that could stop it

i (i) had a bad feeling”

i loveeee noticing how their humor changed. will doesn’t want to hurt mike anymore he wants to laugh with him instead 💔 and he thinks mikes password is cute and loserish (it is) but he charmed by it omgggg!!!

im so glad that i spent this year with u guys (im finishing my comment in 2024!!!! happy new year!!!) and im excited to follow the story next year too. days if the updates became my favorite and brought me so much joy!!

thea, suni and andi thank u so much for ur talent and passion!! ily!! happy new year 🎉🎄🥳🎊🤶❄️

ALYAAAA i am SO sorry that i am the worst and it takes me forever to answer things but just know i have been holding this ask so close to my chest for the past million weeks bc it is so special to meeee 💗💗💗💗💗

i will accept the biting bc i am also biting someone. it is hard to WRITE it while being single wtf. every time i write a kiss scene i'm like gd who wants to kiss me..............i am here and kissless...........

that and also i think he was so eepy he didn't even Think abt bringing his keys but also lbr he knew mike was going to insist on driving lol. mike fr could have chosen a less pretentious car But i think mustangs are universally cool cars for sure and i think it's very important to mike to have a cool car so even tho it's not necessarily something he would have picked out himself i do also think that he loves it. a little bit. (<- a lot bit)

i've ended up not actually learning how to drive a manual bc me and my sister have both been busy so all of my knowledge for the next chapter is going to be thru research and osmosis so pls call me out if anything is incorrect 😭

sometimes you have to kiss your friends on the mouth!!!!! and go on a not-date date w them!!!!!!!!!! that is so totally normal!!!!!!!!!!!!! their pinkies definitely hurt so bad!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! they are obsessed w each other fr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

dwoht is not on the ch9.2 playlist but it is for suuuuure very will-coded for this stretch of the story if you even care.

we are so glad WEEE spent this year w YOUUU alya ty for supporting us and always leaving the sweetest most thoughtful comments 💗 i hope tht ch9.2 is everything you've ever dreamed of!!!!

[merlinsleftit]

just curious - why post in a ship tag complaining about the ship? you knew people were going to be upset regardless that you did that but also isn’t it…unnecessary? like, at the end of the day, fanfiction and ships are fiction for a reason. sometimes it’s fun to imagine the impossible and to imagine au’s - and to hate an entire fandom for it seems excessive and quite frankly, rude. i’m not saying dramione is the end all be all bc yeah, some characterizations are so ooc that it’s just like why bother. other times it’s like wow this is really good, but these things can also be related to any other fandoms.

idk, i mean we are all entitled to our own opinion, of course. i guess it just rubbed me wrong way that you’d post something shitting on a ship you so clearly hate and posting it in said fandom.

its not just about "let ppl have their own ships and opinions" it's about hating on the canon and making up their own ships and characters just bcs they didn't like the original one. i totally get whatever jkr said upset a lot of ppl and that's absolutely normal and right thing to do and im not here to defend her or something. i usually separate the art from the artist bcs harry potter always had a special place in my place and i have always loved the canon. i think the hate on canon characters and ships started more after jkr transphobic jokes. ppl are romanticizing toxic characters and toxic ships to go against jkr and i have seen these in so many fanfics. they mainly do it to show that they do not care about the canon or they are against it but they still wanna like it somehow.

saying how some characters should've done this or that in the canon is absolutely bullshit. obv the characters had no idea this will be consequences. nobody is perfect but isn't that what makes a series relatable in some way? every characters had flaws and every character resembled somebody from our daily lives. hating on the canon characters to just make your fav character look like a saint is hypocrisy.

the main reason why the percy jackson fandom is less toxic than hp is bcs they like their author and we don't and they accept their canon the way it is bcs they like their author. i get y'all don't like jkr and neither do i but i dont go out of my way to change the canon bcs i just don't like her.

these new ships and characters are scaring new fans away from canon bcs some of y'all convinced them that fanon is somehow 'better" and when these so called "fans" come on here to share opinions that they've based off of the misinformation they've been fed, they will be unprepared to handle any kind of backlash they may face except their usual "let ppl have their own ships" or "its just fanfiction"

also i use the tags bcs i want ppl to know the misinformation they've been fed by the new genz fandom and how they think shipping random characters don't affect anyone but in reality, it does. i mean literally see how many ppl have been influenced by meneclad and how they think dramione is endgame and how jkr wasted their potential. they never even had any real chemistry in the canon so there was nothing to wasted on.

[i-only-want-endless-happiness]

Dear pjo fandom

I just read the sun and the stars and i was so happy to come here and see all the little cute fan arts and what i find is a bunch of adults complaining about a child books series istg this fandom is one of the most toxic ones out there.

Now i could tell you that if you want to consume a product whatever it is movies,books,tv shows ecc that's explicitly for kids/preteens you have to approch it with the right mentality which is letting your inner child enjoy the product if you're 20+ something, cause of course the adult you won't feel the same wonder, and sure kids products don't have to be bad or bland and there are other things out there aimed at kids that are better than tsats BUT it's not a bad book, mark oshiro did such a good job at portraying healing and trauma, they also did an amazing job at presenting to middle schoolers the idea of romantic relationships being not all roses and flowers and unicorns, human relationships are hard no matter the kind, it's something difficult to accept and to deal with especially when every single fairy tale you read as a kid teaches you that there is a happily ever after, that after adversities everything gets solved and goes fine, when you grow up you learn that nothing is further from the truth than that, i could also tell you that of course the concept is extremely simplified but again it's a book for kids/preteens, i could tell you to not go for something you know it's not targeted to you if you want approch it in a cynical way, i could give you as example that reading tsats and wanting maturity out of it is like going to watch a disney animation movie and then complaining they sing too much. Cause now you have to tell me when rick riordan has been mature or not cringe in the whole entirity of the pjo saga? He literally wrote a dam joke after killing off a 12 years old, added a judo flip to a romantic reunion of two characters that haven't seen each others for almost a year, wrote a romantic declaration from a 20 years old something to a 16 years old girl, wrote about gods falling for the stupidiest shit said by teenagers demigods, made percy at 12 years old won a fight against the fucking god of war and i could go on so if that has been ok with you till now what is even the point? The truth is y'all are not complaining cause the book feels immature/cringe/ooc ecc y'all are complaining cause you hate will and you hate him cause you ship nico with percy,jason,leo or who knows who and that's ok you don't have to like will or solangelo you can ship whatever you want (i'm an "anomaly" in this fandom i never shipped percabeth, i started prefering percy and rachel and i ended up loving the idea of annabeth and piper, still i can be objective enough to read a whole saga where percy and annabeth are the main couple and not shit on it just cause i don't ship them together) of course you can complain about this book but at least make an effort and think of valid reasons. The real problem is why did you decide to buy and read a book that focuses as one of the main plots on a relationship you hate so much, if you can't stand them as a couple why did you read it in the first place? This book is not perfect it lacks things and there are topics that needed to be handled better sure, but it's not bad,ooc or cringe, cheesy maybe but not the kind of cringe you are trying to make it pass. The real deal here is you don't really care about any of those things you just hate the ship the book revolves around and again that's fine but just be honest it's way more respectful than taking away the work af a queer author that tried to settle more the idea of a queer couple being normal and equal to a straight one to a group of young people who are living in a society that still is against queer people.

Damnit shut up, do it for the gay kids

A former kid (still queer tho)

(if i made mistakes forgive me english is not my first language)

[theputterer]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

tagged by my friend @fortysevenswrites

this order is somewhat loose, it changes depending on my Mood.

gray areas

Gray, in all its varieties, serves as a perfect understanding of who Cassian Andor is. Gray gives Cassian Andor’s life meaning. It colors it, entirely. The life of Cassian Andor, from the ice-covered mountains of Fest, to the white sand beaches of Scarif, and all the gray areas in between.

to the surprise of absolutely fucking no one, gray areas continues to be my beloved, the first fic I posted and the OG Nonsense. while I don't think the prose is particularly noteworthy (some of it is quite good but you can also tell I was Possessed and just banging out the chapters like a machine), I'm still very proud of the plot and themes I managed to drag out of it. I am obsessed with the idea of the narrative explicitly telling you what is going to happen even while the character(s) don't know, and that happens a lot in this. (there is no way to change the ending). I think the original characters in this are also interesting, particularly Asori, Nerezza, and Taraja; and Zeferino, who many readers were stunningly fond of, lol. when I wrote it in 2016/2017 it was still in line with the "canon" backstory, something I did put some effort in. Andor has absolutely shut the door on that one but I think the story still holds up as an alternate take on what Cassian Andor's backstory could have been.

2. to meet beyond shadows

Five years after the Battle of Crait, the Resistance wages a fierce war against the First Order. Jedi Master Ben Organa-Solo guides the New Jedi Order in the war, and their fight against Supreme Leader Kylo Ren and his Knights. But there are evils waiting to be awakened. Words that must be said. Myths that must be realized. Brothers that must be confronted. The end is near. [Or: Ben Solo is not the one who becomes Kylo Ren, in this full TROS AU/rewrite.]

I return to this series a lot, my Sequel Trilogy AU in which Leia and Han had identical twin sons, expanding on the twin themes present thru Star Wars (literal twins but also metaphorical twins, good and evil, light and dark etc). one of them goes the Kylo Ren route while the other does not. my take on Kylo in the Sequel Trilogy is that he never had a chance with the uniqueness he couldn't help, and that he inherited all the worst traits of the Skywalkers, so it was fun to explore what might have happened if he had a brother who was his mirror, a brother who was the best of the Skywalkers yet loved him unconditionally still. I wrote a lot about brothers on opposite sides who still loved each other so desperately in the Nonsense, and this series built on that foundation. (Local Woman Who Is Not A Brother Constantly Writes About Brothers). Ben has a really great arc in this series that's one of the finest character arcs I've ever done, if not THE finest. and I so treasured the way multiple readers came to sympathize and understand Bail/Kylo and his ultimate ending, a character who was never interested in redemption but sort of stumbled into it anyway. this last story in the series is the biggest departure from the Sequel Trilogy as a whole (the other two mostly followed TFA and TLJ) and I think it's very good. I love the plot, the Old EU lore I borrowed from, the tragedy and the euphoria, seeing the end coming and being powerless to stop it, and the ultimate messages it shared. **chef's kiss** [my gravestone will probably read something like "here lies theputterer who died as she lived; trying to get people to read her Sequel Trilogy AU"] [honestly this fic might be the best I've ever written, at least Technically speaking]

3. death trembles to take us

Jyn has walked the Earth for over four thousand years, leading a team of warriors. They’ve fought in hundreds of battles, and died hundreds of times, returning to take up their weapons and fight again. They choose to fight for what they believe in, as the world turns and changes around them. But in Juba, they encounter an existential threat, one they have never seen before. And meanwhile, on the other side of the world, an assassin dies on a city street, only to rise again. [A THE OLD GUARD au]

the little story that could! a very self-indulgent AU that got such a lovely and gratifying response from the fandom(s). (special shoutout to the SEVERAL readers who gave this fic a shot even tho they'd never seen The Old Guard and/or didn't care for it lol). I am quite proud of it. it was fun to explore history and come up with backstories for the Rogue One gang that still meshed with what we know of them in canon. I like the themes and messages the story delivered. I would also be deeply remiss in not Once Again thanking @rifle-yes for the support and enthusiasm. at least half of the readers of this fic were drawn to it thanks to their efforts. I also don't think I would have attempted my Fringe AU without the readers of this story.

4. Lady Lazarus

A woman dies in Venice. That’s how the story goes. It’s very important they follow where the story goes. Where it’s supposed to go.

listen. I was also very surprised. I watched the Mission: Impossible movies for the first time this summer and totally fell in love with Ilsa Faust, this very cool and interesting spy with somewhat fluid loyalties. also the movies fucking rule. go see Dead Reckoning: Part One while it's still in theaters. as a known connoisseur of the Tragic Love Story, I ate that shit up and wrote a speculative story/ character study exploring Ilsa in the movie. prayer circle it becomes correct. I like the flow of this fic and the prose of it is quite nice and also all the resurrection bits. Rebecca Ferguson forever!!!

5. a ghost story

He looked at Fima. “The shadow; the man. What did he look like?” Fima swallowed, and Cassian did not like the way his son was looking at him, with something akin to wariness, something close to fear. “Like you.” [Or: a ghost story about fathers, sons, and the trauma of abandonment.]

I think all of my little short stories in the Nonsense Expanded Universe are nice and so this last spot could be interchangeable. but I am very fond of a ghost story, in that it is sweet and tragic and allows Cassian a bit of understanding with who Gabriel was, something he desperately needed and was very much paling in comparison to all he came to know about Serafima. also ghosts/hauntings are very fun.

tagging: @rifle-yes, @callioope @vaderkat @alecjmarsh and anyone else who wants to give it a shot!