#and it is a LOT more compelling than whatever was going on with him and cas in the whole show let alone this episode... anyways

[m1ckeyb3rry]

GUESS WHO FINALLY CAUGHT UP W THE BLLK MANGA 🤩

[cannibalisam]

5.18 is insanity inducing. dean writing a letter to sam that says "sam, you told me once that you pray everyday. not sure if that's still true. probably isn't. but if it is, give it one last try for me. and sammy - one winchester lost to this fight is enough." dean being a little bitch the whole time because no one will let him kill himself (metaphorically). "you know sam and dean winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on eachother, right? [...] trust me, kid, when the heat gets hot, they're not gonna give a flying crap about you. hell, they'd rather save each other's sweet bacon than save the planet." and sammy wins the Little Brother Pageant (as if it was even a contest) because zachariah is right. as soon as dean sees sam spitting up blood he makes up his mind 🙄🤦‍♀️ "honestly? the damnedest thing. i mean, the world’s ending. the walls are coming down on us, and i look over to you and all i can think about is, “this stupid son of a bitch brought me here.” i just didn’t want to let you down."

[emdotcom]

I changed my mind. Hater behavior is undeserved, when it comes to works, & idgaf about holding creators accountable when their games are mid, anymore.

[lord-squiggletits]

I think another thing that annoys me about how prevalent it is for people to read MTMTE/LL and nothing else, is the fact that JRO's depiction of Cybertronian-organic relationships is slanted so heavily in favor of Cybertronians portraying organic aliens as tyrannical racists killing colonies for no reason (Galactic Council, the Black Block Consortia) that love torturing Cybertronians because they hate them so much and don't see them as sentient (that dude who was selling Cybertronian torture dolls to alien races).

And like, something that happens as a result of people only reading MTMTE/LL is that they get this idea in their head that it's Cybertronians who are oppressed by the rest of the galaxy. And an unfortunate.... take that I see as a result of this ends up with stuff like Decepticon/Megatron apologists trying to frame technoist colonialism as basically Cybertronians trying to strike back against being unfairly persecuted and being seen as lesser by alien species? They don't always explicitly say it as such, but I've seen a lot of people try to downplay the whole technoism and colonialism thing by framing it in context to organic racism and how both sides are equally bad or something like that.

Which is not fucking true because if you actually were to read exRID and OP, you would know that there are multiple Cybertronian colonies throughout the galaxy that were created by razing previously occupied organics planets, that Nova Prime (one of the original 13 Primes and the first Prime to rule a united Cybertron) wanted to conquer the entire galaxy which led to the creation of cold construction in the first place, and that the reason organic species hate Cybertronians so much is because Cybertronians were the first ones to go out and start conquering other planets millions of years ago.

It's even more infuriating because you don't even need to read other comics besides JRO's to know this! Tailgate and Cyclonus were from Nova Prime's time and the whole "yeah during those times we liked going out on a fun journey to kill organics for fun hahaha" is brought up at least a couple times in the series.

[reel-fear]

Talking abt how what BA did to Wasp is unforgivable but then saying u like Sentinel 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

[infizero]

oh im gonna throw up all over myself HOW DO I ALWAYS FORGET EVERY TIME THAT FRIDAY = LIMITED LIFE

[selvnite]

Really hoping “the Mandalorian can be anyone” isn’t a way for them to write off Din Djarin as a character because writers/directors/D*sney can’t decide/agree on a coherent story (for him or Mandalore tbh) or compelling character development especially when the show is built on his character (and Grogu) and in subtitles he is still refered to as ‘THE MANDALORIAN’ and known by other characters through that moniker or ‘Mando’ like what???

[steviesbicrisis]

Thinking about YouTuber Steve who’s gaining a lot of popularity with his weekly vlogs. The routine is very similar: he goes to work, hangs out with friends, acts silly for the camera, cooks for his roommate, watches movies with his roommate, goes out with his roommate.

His roommate is there a lot.

His new growing fanbase doesn’t take long to divide into factions regarding Steve’s dating life and sexuality; There are ships, OTPs, people who want him single so they can date him, and a surprisingly small portion which questions his heterosexuality, which gets always shut up by the following compelling arguments:

“stop assuming he’s gay.”

“Steve doesn’t look gay. He’s just a guy, a former jock, who loves to cook and hangs out with friends. A friend more than the others, but it’s his roommate so it makes sense, right?”

“And yes, they do cuddle while watching movies, but who doesn’t love a cuddle? You don’t have to be gay for that.”

“Sure, they hold hands when they go out but the city is crowded and they might lose each other.”

“Since when two male friends can’t be close without assuming that they’re gay?”

“Have you ever seen them kiss in ten minutes of weekly vlog? No, so drop your gay agenda already.”

And Steve Harrington, who started the whole vlog thing in the first place because he wanted to update his friends who live miles away and still doesn’t know how he got this much heteronormative bullcrap in his comments, has had enough.

One day, Steve Just-A-Guy Harrington, wakes up and chooses violence.

He replies to a tiktok comment that says “stop assuming he’s gay” with another video.

It begins with Steve glaring at the camera “oh yes please, stop assuming I’m gay.”

Then there’s a quick motion and Steve is pulling a curly haired guy into frame: Eddie, his roommate/platonic friend/totally not his boyfriend of 5+ years.

Eddie yawns, looking sleepily at the camera “are you vlogging?”

“I’m proving a point” Steve replies, then kisses him. They almost get lost into it, but Steve is a man on a mission, so he pulls back and turns to the camera.

“This is Eddie, my boyfriend. Not a friend who’s a boy, you delusional homophobes, we are together, a couple, in a relationship. We haven’t been just friends for over 5 years. We live together, he isn’t just a roommate.

And even if he was just my roommate, do you think I would live with this” he squeezes Eddie’s cheeks between his fingers and zooms in to show his face up close. Eddie blinks a couple of times, but let’s Steve do whatever he wants.

“Do you seriously think that I would live with this 24/7 and stay straight? Like, are you insane?” He gives Eddie a quick smack on the lips, leaving him blushing and more confused than ever.

Usually, it’s Eddie the one getting almost feral over Steve, not the other way around.

He doesn’t complain.

“So yeah, stop assuming I’m gay. Because I’m bi, you homophobic little shits.”

The video ends with Eddie pulling Steve for more than a quick peck on the lips, and Steve throwing the phone on their couch, face down.

Somehow, under Steve’s video, there’s still someone that comments “I mean, this doesn’t mean anything. It’s just bros helping bros, right?”

Steve is too busy making out with his “bro” to read it.

[ariestrxsh]

ﾟ･✧⋆:˚⋆𓀏𓌜⛓⋆༺𓆩♡𓆪༻⋆⛓𓌜𓀏⋆˚:⋆ ✧･ﾟ

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, utter filth, threesome, elements of BDSM, establishment of safeword, knifeplay, cutting off clothing, degradation, humiliation, oral, face fucking, rough unprotected sex, creampie, facial, dumbification, light elements of corruption

📝 author's note: 📝 please do not engage in knifeplay if you do not fully trust the other person or if they're inexperienced. it is dangerous. here is part one of this fic. please read it. it will add a lot of context and make part two even better. 💖

✍️ Summary: ✍️ A game of truth or dare between you, Matt, and Chris has steered itself in a darker direction. You and Chris end up corrupting Matt's innocence and naivety to the world of BDSM.

ﾟ･✧⋆:˚⋆𓀏𓌜⛓⋆༺𓆩♡𓆪༻⋆⛓𓌜𓀏⋆˚:⋆ ✧･ﾟ

knife part two

"Let's go to my room," Chris suggested, gathering all our clothes and the liquor. Matt's hands wandered to my waist as he guided me into Chris' room. Matt pushed me onto his brother's bed, and I watched as they both towered over me.

"We need a safe word," Chris muttered. "Why not just 'no' or 'stop'?" Matt naively wondered. "Matt, you're no fun," Chris rolled his eyes. "How about 'pomegranate'?" Chris suggested, a smug look forming across his face. It was clear to me that with how quickly he came up with it, he'd used that safe word before and that he knew he'd be responsive to it. I nodded, and so did Matt.

"You already got to fuck her. It's my turn. Give me your knife," Matt growled. Ugh, his dominance was showing. Chris handed his brother the switch blade from out of his pocket. "Do you trust me?" Matt huskily whispered, looking into my eyes and fiddling with the knife. "With my life," I whispered back, biting my lip as I felt an anticipation brewing deep within me.

I couldn't have predicted what Matt was going to do next. He left me in utter shock as he cut my t-shirt from my torso. Then, he sliced my bra from my ribcage, and then I was lying totally naked below him. Matt looked in awe at my body and then in awe at the sharp object in his hand, watching the light catch in its reflection as he fidgeted with it. It was almost as if he was surprised he had it in him to use a knife so close to somebody's skin like that. I know Chris and I both were.

For a split second, I was disappointed about my tattered clothes, but the cost of a new bra was way cheaper than the priceless thrill I experienced as Matt wielded a weapon around, threatening me in the most exciting way.

Matt rested the knife between my knees and looked up at me with a darkness in his eyes, "open your fucking legs," he commanded. I became like water beneath him, willing to be whatever he needed me to be and eager to bend to his every desire. My legs fell open without having to think about it. He took the knife and started lightly tracing a line from the inside of my knee to the inside of my thigh. Goosebumps arose all over my whole body, and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention for Matt and the power he held in that moment.

The emptiness between my legs ached to be filled by him as he taunted me. I loved the sensation of the cool blade gliding across my warm skin, sending shivers down my spine. He continued to drag it like a feather across my stomach, between my breasts, and finally, he held it up to my neck. I looked into his electric blue eyes while I felt the cold metal resting against my throat. I swallowed hard. He held the knife there while he maneuvered his cock inside me.

His thrusts were controlled, steady, and methodical. He took his time, but his strokes were incredibly compelling and passionate, hitting all the right spots every time. "Your pretty pussy feels so good," Matt groaned, applying a little more pressure with the knife. I could already feel myself starting to get close, but I wanted this sensation to last forever, so I decided I'd hold on as long as I could.

Chris came around to the side of the bed, made a ponytail with his hand, and tightly gripped my hair. He looked down longingly at the knife against my throat and the fear and arousal in my expression. He smiled maliciously at me as he slid his meat into my mouth. He watched intently as I opened my throat to accept all of him, and his length disappeared behind my lips. "You swallow my cock so well, you naughty little whore," Chris hoarsely said, beginning to fuck my mouth with incredible vigor.

I loved every minute of them both pounding my different orifices in different ways while I felt the cold, sharp edge vibrating against my neck. I was slightly nervous about Matt being inexperienced with knifeplay, especially with the way my body was jerking around beneath them, but I trusted him.

Sweet nothings and gorgeous sounds passed between their lips while we all moved harmoniously with one another. Chris couldn't keep his hands to himself, and Matt was staring down at my pussy while he moved in and out of me, slowly but powerfully. I felt a rumbling deep within as they brought me to my fourth orgasm of the night. Thank god Chris was muffling my satisfied sounds with his dick so that Nick didn't hear me cumming from the next room. My legs started to tremble, and my eyes rolled back as I finished all over Matt's cock that was buried deep in my warmth. Matt and Chris both grinned from ear to ear, completely satisfied with themselves and how simple it was for them to me to cum with their combined touch.

Matt switched the blade closed and set it off to the side, and then he used both hands to grab both my legs to hold them in place and delivered some incredibly powerful thrusts until I could tell that he was barely hanging on. His eyes were rolled back, his pink lips were parted, and his expression was overcome by sheer pleasure.

I shifted my gaze to Chris, who still had a tight grip on my hair and was thrusting himself into the back of my throat like his life depended on it. He looked like he was in a trance, lost in the way his cock looked plunging in and out of my mouth. The room was filled with the sound of my gagging, skin slapping against skin, and Chris' and Matt's desperate moans.

At the same time, I felt both their cocks start twitching and pulsing in my different holes, and they both filled me with their loads as they loudly grunted and eventually slowed their thrusts to a stop.

Matt collapsed onto the bed next to me, smiling, breathless, and sweaty from how much effort he'd put into fucking me. "That knife thing? Crazy hot. I felt so powerful," he whispered, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Chris bit his lip and looked down at me astonished, my watery eyes, my bruised lips, my chin covered in my own saliva and his semen. "Wow, look at how gorgeous you look covered in me like that," Chris whispered, wiping some of the fluid from my face with my clothes Matt had cut off earlier in the night. I fucking loved how freaky Chris was. I loved that he could ruthlessly face-fuck me and get off on how helpless and pathetic I looked under his control, and then he would wipe my face lovingly after. And I loved that despite a lot of this being outside of Matt's comfort zone, he was willing to try it, and it turned out he was good at it and enjoyed it.

"I don't know about you guys, but I could keep fucking going," Chris muttered softly, running his finger along my bottom lip and looking at me like he was starving for more. "I could go all night for you two," I replied in a sultry tone, staring down at Chris' soft, plump lips and licking my own. "Get on your hands and knees," Chris demanded, his voice dripping with lust. "Matt, I want you to fuck her little whore mouth, and don't be shy about it."

I eagerly got into position. Chris came up behind me and started teasing my hole with his hard member, running it up and down my slit, gathering wetness. Matt appeared in front of me, and he looked down at me with his gorgeous blue eyes, conveying to me how badly he wanted me to open my mouth, and so I did. They both entered me at the same time, and I was immediately under both their spells. I couldn't think straight.

Chris' thrusts were primal and needy, immediately starting off mercilessly. Matt was slow and gentle, but the power from Chris' strokes threw me forward onto Matt's dick, causing me to choke a bit. "I told you not to hold back. Do as I said and fuck her mouth silly," Chris shot Matt an annoyed look. "I don't wanna hurt her," Matt uttered, looking down at me with loving eyes, biting his lip, and brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. "You saw her porn history. Nothing can hurt her, and if it can, then she likes it," Chris laughed.

I nodded in agreement with what Chris said. I couldn't say anything with Matt's glorious meat filling my mouth, but I tried to communicate with my eyes, I can handle it, I promise. Matt reluctantly obeyed his brother, and I relaxed my throat to allow him in more deeply.

Matt's thrusts started becoming more brutal. He was still sensual and passionate, but he seemed as if he had tapped into a more carnal part of him that was willing to do anything to hunt down his orgasm. His eyes darkened as he savagely fucked my mouth, and a lustful smirk grew on his face.

"That's it. That's what I'm talking about," Chris grunted, quickening his own thrusts. I loved the way Chris bossed us both around. I loved how rough he was. And I loved that he could read me like a book, knowing exactly how I wanted to be used, and being able to convey that to Matt.

"How does she look Matt?" Chris asked breathlessly. "So hot. She's drooling all over my meat. She's got tears in her eyes, and she can't keep her vision straight. Oh god," Matt whimpered, pounding into me even harder. "Awh, she's all dumb for our cocks," Chris cooed, "that's all she's good for, being our little cock sleeve." I fucking loved listening to Chris degrade me. He was so goddamned good at it. I could tell Matt was also relishing in the way Chris was talking about me. Maybe Matt was a little less vanilla than he thought.

"Do you like being called a little whore?" Matt softly asked me while he ruthlessly fucked my face. I looked up at him and nodded as best as I could. "Yeah? Do you like being my little whore?" Matt tenderly asked, testing the waters, considering he'd never degraded a woman in such a way before, especially not to her face. I feverishly nodded again and moaned in response. "Ugh, take my cock, you fucking whore," Matt rolled his eyes back into his head and smiled maliciously. I could tell he fucking loved calling me that. I couldn't help but to think about how Chris and I had corrupted Matt's tame taste and introduced him to a whole new aspect of his sexuality, a much less inhibited side, and I loved being there to discover it with him.

I focused my attention back to Chris, the way he was somehow still going. His stamina was fucking incredible. And he didn't skip a beat. He rhythmically pounded his throbbing member into me, hitting my favorite spot with every stroke. His breathing was labored and profanities passionately flowed from the tip of his tongue and filled my senses.

I was on the brink, once again. All self-control, lost. Any amount of strength I had to hold myself together any longer shattered within me. I moaned against the base of Matt's cock as my legs started wobbling, and I covered Chris' cock in a shiny sheen of my juices. At this point, I'd lost track of how many times I had climaxed.

"Can I cum on your pretty little whore face, hmm?" Matt cooed as he got closer. Fuck, I thought he'd never ask. I eagerly nodded. "Here it comes," Matt warned me. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue as a sticky, warm rope of Matt's sperm generously splattered across my cheek. Matt continued to stroke his member until he had completely finished, dousing my face in his fluids. "Holy shit," Matt said, pushing back his sweaty hair while he peered down in sweet delight at the mess he'd made.

Having witnessed his brother cumming all over my face, Chris came unraveled. He throbbed inside me, letting out a few more ravenous groans while he emptied himself into me. "Fuck, Matt. That last cumshot was cinematic," Chris complimented Matt with his rod still inside of me. "Means a lot coming from you," Matt smirked at Chris.

"So, what did you say about us before? If I recall, it was 'disturbed' and 'sick'?" Chris mocked Matt. "I guess I see the appeal now. Or maybe I'm just as sick and disturbed as you guys are," Matt panted.

"Oh no, did I get it in your eyes, pretty girl?" Matt asked, turning his attention back to me, a look of concern on his face while he wiped his substance from my brow with my torn shirt. "It wasn't your fault. I didn't close my eyes because I couldn't stop admiring how good you looked while you finished," I admitted. "I'm sorry I was so rough with you. That wasn't very gentlemanly of me," Matt said, cupping my face after he'd cleaned me off. "Don't be. I loved it. You were the perfect gentleman to me," I replied, biting my lip. "Chris, will you go run the shower for her?" Matt inquired, but Chris was already getting up to go do so, "on it."

Matt started examining me to make sure he didn't hurt me with the knife. "Oh fuck. I marked you," he anxiously told me, running his finger along the raised red line. I reached up to feel it. "Don't worry, darling. It happens. You didn't even break skin. It's just a little irritated," I consoled him.

"I'm gonna go get you a glass of water, pretty girl. Just sit tight for me," Matt whispered, kissing me on the forehead.

taglist: @sturniolo-girl @alizestvrnss @seluky10 @sleepysturniolo @sturnsxbitvh

[awkward-walking-potato]

heard you were looking for some ideas for Logan! What about Logan with a significant other that’s basically an oujia board? Like they can talk to dead people, maybe possess people or haunt their dreams? How did they meet Logan, and how did they end up with him, and most importantly what does wade think of their relationship?

I am sorry this one is Longgg

Between Two Worlds

The Encounter

The bar was dimly lit, the low hum of conversations mixing with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Logan sat at the far end, nursing a whiskey, his gaze distant. He had just finished a mission, and all he wanted was some peace—a rare commodity in his life. The last thing he expected was to meet someone who would change everything.

But then you walked in.

You weren’t like anyone else in the bar. You moved with a calmness that seemed out of place in a place like this, your presence both ethereal and unsettling. Logan noticed the way people gave you a wide berth, as if instinctively sensing something otherworldly about you. You weren’t particularly intimidating, but there was an air of mystery surrounding you—a vibe that made people uncomfortable. But not Logan. He was more intrigued than anything.

You sat down at the bar, a few stools away from him, and ordered a drink. The bartender handed you a glass of something dark, but your eyes weren’t on the drink; they were on Logan.

“You’ve got a lot of ghosts around you,” you said, your voice soft, almost like a whisper.

Logan stiffened slightly. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “But I know you.”

He eyed you warily, sizing you up. “And how’s that?”

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “I can see them—hear them. The dead. And you, Logan, have a lot of them following you.”

Logan’s grip on his glass tightened, but he didn’t move. He’d seen and heard a lot of strange things in his life, and he wasn’t easily shaken. “You got a name?”

“Y/N,” you said, extending your hand.

He hesitated, then took it. The moment your hands touched, a strange sensation washed over him. It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant either—like a cold breeze brushing against his soul. He let go quickly, his eyes narrowing. “What are you?”

You smiled again, but this time it was a little sad. “I’m just someone who can talk to the dead. Sometimes they talk through me, sometimes they use me to do things, but mostly, they just want to be heard.”

Logan took another drink, considering your words. “Sounds like a rough gig.”

“It can be,” you admitted. “But it’s my life. I help them find peace—or vengeance, depending on what they need.”

He respected that. There was something undeniably compelling about you, something that pulled him in despite the warning bells going off in his head. Maybe it was the loneliness he sensed in you, a loneliness that mirrored his own. Whatever it was, Logan couldn’t help but feel a connection to you.

You spent the rest of the evening talking. There was an easy understanding between you, a mutual respect for the darkness in each other’s lives. When the night was over, Logan offered to walk you home, and you accepted. He didn’t know it at the time, but that was the beginning of something neither of you could have predicted.

Weeks turned into months, and what started as a strange, tentative friendship quickly grew into something more. Logan found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. You were an enigma, someone who lived between worlds, yet grounded enough to keep him from losing himself in his own darkness.

You moved into Logan’s cabin, a secluded place where you both could escape the chaos of the world. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—Logan’s past and your connection to the dead made sure of that—but it was home.

One night, as you lay in bed together, you stirred awake. Logan could feel it—the change in the air, the subtle shift in your body temperature. He opened his eyes to see you sitting up, staring at something in the corner of the room.

“Who is it this time?” Logan asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“There’s a woman here,” you said, your voice distant. “She’s…angry. Betrayed. She was killed by someone she trusted.”

Logan sighed, sitting up beside you. He was used to this by now. “What does she want?”

You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the sadness and fury of the spirit inside you. “Vengeance. She wants him to suffer like she did.”

Logan could see the strain this was putting on you. “You don’t have to do this tonight. You can tell her to wait.”

You shook your head. “She won’t wait. This is her only chance.”

Without another word, you got out of bed and began to dress, your movements slow and deliberate. Logan knew better than to try and stop you. He’d seen what happened when you resisted the spirits—it wasn’t pretty.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, pulling on his jeans and boots.

You nodded, grateful for his support. Logan’s presence had a way of grounding you, of keeping you tethered to the living world when the dead threatened to pull you under.

As you both headed out into the night, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different this time. The spirit inside you was more powerful than the others, more determined. He could feel it in the air, a malevolence that made his skin crawl.

The spirit led you to an old, run-down house on the outskirts of town. Logan followed closely behind, his senses on high alert. You walked up to the front door and knocked, your hand trembling slightly.

The door opened, revealing a man in his late forties, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Who the hell are you?”

“She knows what you did,” you said, your voice filled with the rage of the spirit within you. “And she’s here to make you pay.”

Logan watched as the man’s face paled, his eyes widening in fear. “No… It can’t be…”

Before Logan could react, you lunged forward, your hand wrapping around the man’s throat. The spirit’s fury flowed through you, making you stronger than you should have been, your grip like iron.

Logan moved quickly, pulling you back before you could do any real damage. “That’s enough, Y/N!”

The man collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, while you struggled against Logan’s hold, the spirit’s anger overwhelming you.

“He deserves to die!” you screamed, your voice no longer your own.

Logan held you tightly, his voice firm but gentle. “This isn’t you, Y/N. You’re stronger than this. Don’t let her control you.”

For a moment, it seemed like the spirit would win, that it would consume you completely. But then, with a shuddering breath, you managed to regain control, the spirit’s presence slowly fading as you collapsed against Logan, exhausted.

The man on the floor was sobbing, babbling apologies that fell on deaf ears. Logan looked down at him with disgust. “Get out of town. If I see you again, you won’t be so lucky.”

The man scrambled to his feet and ran, disappearing into the night.

Logan turned his attention back to you, his hand gently cupping your face. “You okay?”

You nodded weakly, leaning into his touch. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

He sighed in relief, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you home.”

Life with you was never boring, and Logan wouldn’t have had it any other way. But when Wade found out about your abilities, things got a little more…interesting.

“Hold up,” Wade said, leaning back in his chair, Mary Puppins perched on his lap. “You’re telling me your significant other is basically a walking, talking Ouija board?”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Something like that.”

Wade’s eyes lit up with mischief. “That is so badass! Do you do parties? Can you, like, summon Elvis or something? Wait, don’t answer that—I have a list of people I want to talk to, starting with—”

“Wade,” Logan growled, cutting him off. “It’s not a party trick.”

Wade pouted. “You’re no fun. But seriously, that’s gotta be weird, right? I mean, what happens if they get mad? Do you end up like one of those possessed dolls from horror movies?”

You chuckled, leaning against Logan. “It’s not quite that dramatic, but it can get intense. I try to keep them under control.”

“Still, sounds like a hell of a time,” Wade said, clearly fascinated. “You ever, uh, use your abilities on Logan here? Like, freak him out in the middle of the night?”

You smiled mischievously, glancing at Logan. “Maybe once or twice.”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t say anything. Wade burst out laughing. “Oh man, I wish I could’ve seen that! Logan, scared out of his mind—priceless!”

Logan rolled his eyes, pulling you closer. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Sure, sure,” Wade said, waving his hand dismissively. “But for real, you two are like the weirdest couple I’ve ever seen. And coming from me, that’s saying something. But you know what? I think it works. You balance each other out. Plus, if anyone ever pisses you off, you can just send them a nice little nightmare. That’s a win in my book.”

You and Logan exchanged a glance, both of you smiling. Wade might be a pain, but he wasn’t wrong.

[txttletale]

what are some things you like about fnv?

so much! i like the character writing, i think every companion is well-written and compelling--i like the extremely tight and overarching but (mostly) unforced focus on theme. 'let go, begin again' gets said verbatim maybe a bit too much in dead money but it's also the theme of all the other DLC and every individual companion quest and the most popular of the four main story paths and i think that kind of broad coherence really shines. i love the quest and world design, i love how many different skills will pop up in conversation because it lets you genuinely roleplay, getting the option to e.g. tell dog the cage must be locked from the inside or bypass difficult combat encounters because you have a high lockpicking skill makes you feel like your character is an expert lockpicker in a way that just being able to get optional loot sometimes just doesn't--i love how you will be directed to important or interesting locations from multiple quests, how all these places interconnect.

and i also deeply love how fnv's world is a world of history and people, not of facts and lore. you can kill caesar and kimball and their factions don't just explode without them--and you will hear multiple, contradictory takes from people in the world about how those deaths will impact those factions. if you kill caesar, house says it won't matter at all, boone says he has successors, ulysses and some NCR guys say it'll collapse the legion, and you never really get to know for sure. and so much about the world is like this, stuff you can get endless perspectives on and no single authoritative 'neutral' information. and in that line i love how the world is more than those people! how the world is much more than you., as impactful as the courier can be, the world reacting and moving and changing is prioritized over absolute player freedom to Experience Content--i love that, for instance, if you're vilified by the NCR before House gives you the quest to protect kimball, he just says "they're not going to let you get close to them, we'll just have to let him die" and then you can't do that quest and kimball dies! little shit like that makes new vegas' world feel real instead of warping around wikis and lore bibles and the protagonist.

so yeah i like a lot about fnv! i am a bit more vocal about my criticisms just bc quite frankly i think all of the things i like are things most people like and i see people saying basically all of this every time the game is brought up while i don't see people talk about the stuff i think is weird/bad as much. and i'm naturally inclinced to like, say whatever i think my more original trhoughts are so i'm not just adding to a chorus. but i do love fnv a lot

[blindmagdalena]

Do you think Homelander would inject V into a non-sup SO?

A part of me says absolutely, but another disputes this as I don't think Homelander would be willing to risk purposely potentially killing them.

At least if he loves them/the reader 🥴.

this is really situational to me. Homelander wouldn't feel compelled to risk it for no reason because there's a lot of weird fuckery V can do. he's seen firsthand the successes and—more importantly—the horrific failures of compound V injected in adults.

some powers are just... objectively useless. some cause deformities. some supes are just as frail as regular humans. some people just spasm, break all their bones and explode. V doesn't really guarantee anything spectacular, and whatever it does accomplish, they're still not going to measure up to someone like him.

that said, if they were maimed, sick, or put in some kind of terrible peril, and he came to the conclusion that V would "fix" them (and by extension, him) then... yeah, absolutely he would.

of course he wouldn't want to hurt/kill them, but he's also delusional. he really could convince himself that it'll be okay because he loves them, and because they love him.

"I know you won't leave me," he'd tell them before he did it, smiling tightly, heart racing. "You'll be okay. You stay with me, okay? Just stay with me. You promised you'd stay with me."

just rambling more to himself than anything as he pushes on the end of the syringe. hell, for the first time in a real long time, he might even pray.

[kiwanopie]

aki threatening to make us housewives………. the way i physically gasped 😭. he’s the worst—one year as your senpai and he’s already decided you’re his.

it’s so vile too bc you want it, want him more than anything. want aki to cream your cute pussy ‘til you’re bloated. wanna hold up chunky lil babies that giggle and pull at their daddy’s topknot :((

the way i immediately opened my docs this ask sent my brain into overdrive

Glutton.

cw: car sex. breeding. dumbification. overstimulation. choking (aki wraps his hand around your neck) creampie. 1.1k

You already know he’ll name it after his little brother.

Or his mom. Whatever her name was? You’ve been chalking up ideas since he put it in your head and now it feels like you can’t remember a thing. Just your hope that if it’s a boy it’ll look like him and if it’s a girl - for her sake - she won’t have her mother’s tendency to misbehave.

You’re nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

You know, you’ve always assumed that Aki was a smart guy. I mean he’s team leader for a reason? He’s level headed in most cases, stalwart when it counts, a little demented but conscious of the things he does, and stubborn. He’d walk on a plate of fire just to prove a point - but it’s not a bad thing to stay true to your own ideals. This is a guy who keeps his promises. Every single one of them.

He’s too ticked off to put two and two together. “It’s like you like pissing me off.”

Aki’s heated breaths burn sear marks into the crook of your throat, just over the open wing of your collar and love notes left by his lips from earlier. Your brain’s too mushy to do anything but pant into the air, blowing thicker tufts of condensation that have already turned his car windows misty.

He’s fucking you like he means to turn your guts around, pistoning into your poor overstimmed cunt like it’s all he’s meant to do. Not even faltering when the acrylics of your nails tear shallow gashes into his button up - If you had the half of mind, you could even say he enjoys it.

Feeling you cling to him so desperately as he grunts in the crook of your shoulder, tighten when he curses at you. Maybe he’s too blissed out. Maybe he’s not as smart as you took him for. But you seem to be taking the repercussions of your misbehavior in stride.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Aki hisses in your ear. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve going over my head after what I told you.”

You croon when he lifts one of your legs and fastens it over his arm to get you at a better angle - a deeper angle. God, his seats are probably ruined.

You already knew you were in trouble when he offered to drive you home. You knew the look in his eyes, and you knew Makima was obviously gonna tell the guy overseeing you that you requested clearance to be contracted with a new devil, especially one so substantial. You even pulled the extra stop of shoeing in a compelling argument. ‘The life of a hunter is short anyway. Why not make it mean something?’

Like getting knocked up by your boss in the back of his Lincoln. “P-…Please forgive me, senpai! I’m- fuck, m’so sorry-“

“You might as well get used to calling me by my first name.” He grunts. “It’d be pretty fucking confusing when we start sharing my last.”

Aki lets out a broken curse when you tighten up again. “God, I can’t believe you. Were you even gonna tell me? Was I just supposed to find out when you…”

He doesn’t even finish the thought. Instead he blows out a puff of air against your pulse that makes you shutter. Lifts his head to look at you more directly and stares at you for a moment. There’s a lot of emotions behind his eyes that you’re not exactly cognizant to decipher. A way the tendons in his jaw tense - that seems less angry and more ‘something else entirely.’ But before you can zero your misty eyes on what exactly that could be, he’s already pressing his lips against yours.

A slow kiss. Not messy and unrestrained like earlier but savory. Sensuous lip smacking all the more sultry when he tilts his head to follow the current of the kiss. His loose hair falls freely over your face, lax from all the tugging you’ve been doing since he started turning your insides to bisque. But a kiss like this is the kind you give when it means something. Goosebump and butterfly inducing - You moan in his mouth and he swallows it heartily.

And then he deepens it.

That earnest passionance becomes lustful and raunchy before you can even realize he’s sucking on your tongue. Deepening his thrusts until you’re feeling him in your stomach and groaning down your throat when your fingers start to dig into his scalp. If you didn’t know any better you’d say Aki was hoping for this kind of outcome just as much as you were. Especially when he starts to angle his thrusts for the spot that has you gushing around him like he likes.

The kiss leaves a gossamer trail of his spit when he pulls back for another look at you. Your pretty doe eyes have gone teary.

“Don’t even worry about your resignation, I fired you as soon as I found out.” Aki grunts. “We’ll figure out the living arrangements later.”

Your eyes roll back when he settles for a firm grip on your throat. “I’ll have to get a bigger car. Oh fuck - And a car seat.”

You babble something that sounds like a cross between “So good!” and “I’m cumming!” but it’s more a jumbled mess of moans and overstimulated whimpers. He’s stopped counting the amount of times your pretty pussy has gone into the process of milking him for all he’s got. But even as he follows you over the edge does he continue to fuck you brainless.

Aki peers down at the mess you’re making on his leather seats. “S-Shit. Quit wasting it. I’m not stopping till I know it’ll take.”

“S’good, senpai! A-Aki-senpai! So good! It’s s’good!”

He pulls your other leg up till you're folded in a mating press, groaning at the difference in angle. “You know - mhph - You’re even cuter when you’re all fucked out like this.”

His dick twitches at the way you start to drool. “Gonna be my pretty wife? Gimme some pretty babies?”

“Sso pretty…!” You slur. “G’nna make you a daddy!”

He gives you a blitzed smile that definitely says he’s as far gone as you are. “Yeah?”

Your mouth gapes as he bends over you, much too deep with your legs hooked over his shoulders and pressing his hips flat against your ass to grind in as thoroughly as possible.

“So stupid…” Aki skims his lips over yours. “You’re stupid if you think I’m done with you after that.”

He hums as he brings you into another kiss, briefly pulling away to murmur drunkenly. “Gimme a pretty family, baby.”

1 reblog = several Hayakawa babies

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? - Chapter Two

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, lots of yearning, derrick disappoints us, javier flirts...kinda, law school stuff that i'm researching as i go so bare with me actual lawyers and law students, mentions of a crime/DV (used as an example), reader wears skirts (for the sake of future smut)

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist

After a long night of imagining Dr. Peña’s stern eyes peering into yours from between your thighs, it was time to face him yet again. With his Criminal Law class Monday through Wednesday, and his Intro to Forensics lab Wednesday through Friday, it seemed you’d have to learn to get used to his dizzying effect on you or else you’d never get a full night of sleep. It didn’t help that both Nina and Alondra had guests over last night, their explicit noises forcing you into sleeping with headphones on. 

Ears aching and eyes tired, you carried on with your day as usual. New lectures in Advanced Forensics and Criminal Profiling in the morning, and Dr. Peña’s class in the afternoon. Derrick followed you around in between classes, eager to prove himself to you by buying your latte and carrying your bag—even when you insisted you were fully capable of doing both on your own. 

You weren’t sure what had gotten into him over the summer while he was away with his family in the Hamptons—a luxury you could only imagine as you spent your summer working as an underpaid secretary for a law firm. Perhaps it had to do with his older brother’s engagement and recent promotion to an attending physician that compelled him to be so pushy when it came to you. Unfortunately for him, you had no interest in getting married this young, not when you still had so much to prove. 

“Hopefully there’s a seat in the back today,” he said, opening the door to the lecture hall for you. While he may have a good reason for not wanting to be the center of Dr. Peña’s attention again, there was a decent sized part of you that adored his attention—even if it meant a scolding. Maybe especially if it meant that. 

“Yeah,” you lied, swallowing down your nerves as you stepped into a much more crowded room than yesterday. You scanned the room, now full of hopeful women and men who must have heard about Dr. Peña’s looks and transferred out of their old classes to get a glimpse of the man. Only five seats remained, four of them scattered around the auditorium and one in the front row. 

“Shit,” Derrick swore, scanning the room. “Guess we have to split up.”

You fought away the smirk threatening to spread across your face and frowned. “Sucks. Well, I’m gonna be in the front.”

“So he can pick on you?” Derrick asked, raising a brow. “There’s a seat near the back, take that one.”

“I’m fine,” you assured, giving him a glare to admonish whatever control he thought he had over what you chose to do. He scoffed, watching you as you made your way down the steps of the hall to the front row where you found a seat beside a girl you were friendly with during undergrad, Mayte. “Is this seat open?”

“Yeah,” she chirped with a smile, moving her bag from the seat to let you sit down. “Crazy how full this class is. I don’t feel like it was this packed yesterday.”

“It wasn’t,” you chuckled, unpacking your notebook and pen. 

Striding in in a red button down and almost skin tight black slacks that you couldn’t help but notice bulged out at the zipper, the reason for all the new transfers became clear. The hush that fell over the room was telling, a silence that filled you with so much jealousy you thought you might be sick. 

“Afternoon,” he greeted, setting his back down in his chair. After pulling out a stack of papers, he gave the room a quick once over, his shock written in the lift of his brows. “Full house today.”

The room filled with flirty laughter, your eyes rolling in response. Heading over to Mayte who sat at the start of the row, Dr. Peña handed her the stack of papers, his eyes flickering towards yours as he spoke, “Take one, pass it down.”

You looked away, the window now seeming far more interesting than it had a second ago. 

“Today’s lecture will be on the fundamental elements of crime,” he said, reaching his podium. Hearing your name called, you shrank a bit in your seat. Still, that thrill of earning his attention raced through your veins, daring you to meet his eyes. “Can you tell the class what these elements are?” 

You nodded, flipping to the page in your notebook you’d filled out the night before while studying. “The fundamental elements of a crime are actus reus, mens rea, and causation.” 

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards as he gave you a nod, his eyes hesitantly shifting from yours to the row behind you. “Mr. Velasquez, define actus reus for me.”

“Actus reus refers to the act of committing a crime, either knowingly or unknowingly,” he said. 

“Very good,” Dr. Peña commended. “Simply put, actus reus—which is Latin for guilty act—refers to the ‘what’ in a crime. These criminal actions must be considered voluntary and done during a lucid state to constitute a crime. For example, a sober man comes home from a hard day at work and assaults his wife. This act was done both in a conscious state and by his own volition. Now, if the wife were to be in a state of survival and had no other choice than to respond to the assault with an extreme measure, this is an entirely different story and does not meet the qualifications for actus reus.” 

“Murder is murder, isn’t it?” Derrick asked from somewhere in the middle row, causing you to roll your eyes. Did he really not understand the difference between murder and self defense this far into the law program?

“Murder is murder, and survival is survival, Mr. Crawley,” Dr. Peña explained, crossing his arms over his shoulders. “Do you disagree with this logic?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he said, matching Dr. Peña’s arrogance without possessing any of the charm. “There are ways to defend yourself without killing someone?”

“Do you think these victims have the time to strategize when they have a gun pressed to their temple? If there’s a blade to their throat?” he challenged. “They do what they have to do to survive. It’s not our place as lawyers to judge them, it’s our job to uphold the law.”

“Laws that are written with double standards,” Derrick scoffed, earning a shush that sounded an awful lot like Nina. 

“Perhaps if you make it to the end of the program you can change things,” Dr. Peña smirked, glancing at you before turning back to your friend who was looking an awful lot like a stranger these days. “But I’m not so certain that’ll be the case for you, Mr. Crawley.”

After the scene that was class, you met up with Alondra at the library, both of you determined to avoid the noise that came along with Derrick having his male friends over at the apartment. Beyond the obnoxious volume they all spoke at, you hated the way they watched you, whispering amongst themselves about how jealous they were that Derrick got to live with three beautiful girls—nevermind the fact that none of you wanted anything to do with him in that sense. 

“What are you doing your paper on for Arman’s class?” Alondra asked as she typed on her laptop. 

“Not sure yet,” you said, taking a bite out of the banana you’d hoped would fuel you until dinner. “Maybe capital punishment.”

“That’s good,” she commended. “I was thinking of analyzing the process of trying someone with psychological disorders.”

“Still interested in criminal psych?” 

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve done the psychology route instead, but there was no way I was going to convince my parents to fund that.”

“Why not?” you frowned. 

“They don’t think mental illness is a real thing, which is funny considering they both exhibit traits of bipolar disorder and narcissism,” she laughed, hiding her trauma behind a thin veil of humor like she always did. Not that you minded it. The whole expressing your feelings thing never really came that easily to you. “Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you something.”

“Oh, no,” you winced. 

“So rumor has it that you and Derrick have a little date on Friday?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I just want to get it over and done with so he’ll drop the whole thing. I mean, four years into being friends and I never felt a thing for him. Does he really think that changed overnight?”

“Knowing him, probably,” she chuckled. “Anyways, I heard from a very credible source—“

“Sabina,” you guessed. 

“Maybe,” she blushed. “Anyways, she told me that on the first night back, Derrick hooked up with an undergrad and caught a case of the clap.”

“Shut up,” you gasped. “Chlamydia? At his grown age?”

“I know,” she laughed. “So, just be careful if you decide to—“

“Believe me, I had no intentions of fucking him before and I sure as hell have none now,” you assured, cringing at the thought. 

“Interesting conversation for a library, isn’t it?” Dr. Peña’s warm timbre sent a chill up your spine as he stood behind your chair, Alondra’s eyes wide and cheeks flushed. 

“We were just…gossiping,” she offered, shrugging the embarrassment off. “Women, am I right?” 

“Two very bright women who’d be far better off studying,” he challenged. 

You refused to turn around, his leather and vetiver scent combined with his proximity already too much for your system of self restraint to handle. Instead, you flipped the page of your textbook in strained silence. 

“I actually was hoping to speak to you about tomorrow’s lab,” he continued, now speaking directly to you. 

“8 p.m., got it,” you said, your tone clipped with frustration at your dirty mind. 

“It was actually in reference to your…clothing,” he returned, causing Alondra to raise a brow as she pretended to resume her typing. Turning in your seat, you peered up at him with furrowed brows. 

“What about my clothing?” you inquired. 

“You seem to wear a lot of dresses and skirts,” he noted, though he looked as if it was torture to even have this conversation. “I just wanted to remind you that appropriate PPE is required for all labs, which means—“

“Pants. Understood,” you said, turning back to your book. 

“Good,” he managed, almost sounding as if he’d lost his voice with how strained his tone was. “I’ll leave the two of you to your gossiping and studying, then.”

Alondra watched as he walked past your table, his hands tucked into his pocket as if he owned the place. 

“Hot,” she whispered, biting her lip. “I’m pretty gay, but that tension…” 

“There’s no tension, he’s just a dick,” you snapped, feeling your cheeks heat as you replayed the interaction over and over in your head. 

He really paid that much attention to you? So much so that he felt compelled to remind you of lab etiquette you learned back in high school? 

The delusional part of your mind swooned while the logical part recoiled. 

“Please show up in a mini skirt,” she begged, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Snorting at herself, she proceeded to mimic his deep voice, “I thought I told you no mini skirts.” 

“I’m begging you to shut the fuck up,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Yes, I’ve been such a naughty girl, Professor.”

“Would you look at that. Seems like it’s time for me to get the fuck out of here,” you said, closing your book and shoving it into your bag. 

“Don’t be like that, I’m just trying to paint an image,” she teased, laughing as you hustled to get your things packed. 

“Sorry, I’ve got a date with my bed,” you snarked, slinging your bag over your shoulder. 

“How convenient,” she smirked, tapping her pen against her chin. “I give you a brand new fantasy and now you’re off to bed.”

“Someone’s moans kept me up all night so I’m exhausted,” you retorted, laughing at the way she kept staring you with that knowing look of hers. “Fuck off.”

“Love you more,” she called as you turned and walked away. 

After another night of restless sleep and inappropriate fantasies of Dr. Peña’s hands sliding up your skirt, it was time for yet another day of this back and forth. You’d expected Derrick to keep his distance after his humiliating interaction during CrimLaw, perhaps brood about like he usually did when things didn’t go his way, but it was business as usual today. He followed you around like a lost dog, talking your ear off about his upcoming project for his mock trial in his Criminal Procedures class as you wandered off in your mind to a reality where he hadn’t changed into this hyper masculine man you didn’t recognize. 

“I’m excited,” he beamed, rubbing his hands together. “First time to prove myself in a courtroom.”

“An artificial court room,” you clarified, earning a scowl. “Hey, I have to get to Peña’s lab.”

“We’re, uh, still good for Friday, right?” he asked, catching your elbow as you moved to walk away. 

“If you want,” you shrugged, looking down at where he still gripped your arm. “I should get going.”

He nodded, letting your arm go. “I’ll see you at home.” 

After managing to ditch Derrick, you assumed your walk to Dr. Peña’s lecture hall would give you a moment of respite, but of course fate had different plans. 

You didn’t even recognize him until he was already approaching with a cocky grin and his arms held out wide. Micah, the man who’d ruined your entire undergrad experience with all of his back and forth bullshit. You fought the urge to scrunch your nose in disgust over his new mullet and pitiful mustache he likely spent all summer growing. 

“Hey,” he chimed your name, creating an absurd desire inside you to change it just so you’d never have to hear it on his lips again. You feigned confusion, as if you could ever forget those green eyes that still haunted every dream. “Shit, you don’t recognize me.” He laughed. “It’s Micah.”

“Oh. Hey.” Your greeting was as strained as your smile. 

“You’re looking good,” he praised, admiring you from top to bottom. You cringed at his appraisal, at his ignorance over the entire situation. “How’s, uh, how’s law school?”

“Fine,” you replied, clipped and cold. 

“Why’re you acting like that?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. Oh, the amount of money you’d pay for the chance to slap that arrogant smirk right off his face. “You still holding onto all that old shit?”

“Four years of emotional abuse will do that,” you replied. “Anyways, I have to be somewhere.”

“C’mon, all your friends forgave me for that shit. Why can’t you?” 

Maybe today would be the day you finally lost your shit on him and ended up in jail. Though, that would mean missing Dr. Peña’s lab and you certainly couldn’t miss out on the chance to ogle him. 

“They forgave you because they weren’t the ones you fucked over,” you explained, choosing to be mature even when it ached. “So I get to decide when I want to forgive you. Not the other way around. And just as a good rule of thumb, I don’t plan on forgiving you anytime soon.”

“So what, we just avoid each other?” he frowned, daring to act as though he was hurt. 

“That’s the goal,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Besides, won’t be long now until you flunk out since I’m not around to write your essays anymore.”

“Fucking bitch,” he hissed, signaling your cue to walk the fuck away before you did something that would end up with you in a jail cell. “And you wonder why I cheated!”

Shaking your head to clear out all the memories of nights spent sobbing on the floor or in Nina’s bed because yours reminded you of him too much, you marched off towards the lecture hall with five minutes to spare. Thankfully unlike your Criminal Law lecture, you didn’t have to worry about finding a seat given the fact that you’d be sitting at the front of class in a desk designated to the TA. 

You passed rows of undergrads whispering and laughing amongst themselves, all of them blissfully unaware of the storm heading their way. As you reached the front of the class, Dr. Peña walked in with the same frown of disapproval he wore on the first day of your lecture. 

“Evening,” he greeted, silencing the room with one simple word. He shot you a glance, doing a double take as he noticed you were still unpacking your bag and getting settled. 

“You’re late,” he scolded in a whisper as he walked over to your desk, the cinnamon on his breath invading your senses. 

“I’m five minutes early,” you challenged as you opened your notebook and jotted down the date, well aware of the sea of freshman and sophomore eyes trained on the two of you. 

“I need you here at seven-thirty,” he ordered. “I had to prep by myself.”

“I apologize,” you sighed, half due to your run in with Micah and half due to the ever present exhaustion of trying to keep your fantasies of your demanding professor at bay. “I’ll be on time tomorrow.”

“That would be appreciated,” he snarked, shaking his head as he wandered back to the center podium with a clearing of his throat. “Welcome to Intro to Forensics. I’m Dr. Peña, you’ll refer to me as such this semester—not dude, not bro, and certainly no nicknames. I’m not your friend, I’m here to teach you. Understood?”

God, he was a dick. A beautiful, wound up dick that you couldn’t stop thinking about. 

“This is your TA for the semester,” he introduced you by name, and something about the way it sounded on his lips caused your breath to hitch. “She’ll be here to help during labs as well as tutoring on her own time. If you have questions about the material or assignments, I suggest you speak with her first. You’ll find her tutoring hours on the syllabus.”

You frowned a bit as you thought about the whole tutoring part of being a professor’s assistant. Spending your weeknights at the library helping out undergrads sounded like pure torture at this point in your life, but at least the extra cash would go a long way towards covering your bills. 

“Today we’ll be covering DNA fingerprinting,” he said, pulling up a slideshow presentation. “Can anyone tell me how exactly this process works?”

A pretty freshman shot her hand up before he’d even finished speaking, curdling your stomach with jealousy you knew you had no right to feel. “Yes, Miss…?”

“You can just call me Jess,” she smiled, tucking a piece of her caramel brown hair behind her ears. 

“No. What’s your last name?” he sighed.  

“Jacobs,” she sputtered, her cheeks turning a shade of red. “DNA fingerprinting uses nucleotide sequences in DNA to determine who the fingerprints belong to.”

“Very good,” he nodded. “And what are nucleotides?”

“I…um, I don’t know,” she admitted, that sparkling smile now long gone as she stared down at her book. 

“Figured,” he chided, skipping to the next slide. “Your knowledge doesn’t mean a thing if you can’t explain it.”

Watching him talk down to a student shouldn’t have stirred you the way that it did. In fact, if he’d been any other man talking to a woman that way, you’d have detested him. But there was something about Dr. Peña that poisoned your mind in his favor, a very annoying thing you now had to add to your list of shit to sort out upstairs. 

After a relatively silent lab where the students had to match DNA samples to their rightful owner, it was nearing ten o’clock, the pitch black sky outside beckoning you to hurry the fuck up and get to bed. Of course, nature was forgetting your very demanding professor who seemed dead set on wearing you out in all the wrong ways. 

“You take half, I’ll take half,” he suggested, splitting the stack of worksheets in two and handing you your share as you sat in his private office that was adjoined to the lecture hall. “Should be finished quickly enough.”

“Is there any way I can just do these at home?” you asked, your eyelids growing heavier with each blink. 

He studied you for a beat, those brown eyes traversing every single feature, every inch from head to toe as if he was searching for something. “If you’d prefer.”

“I’m just really tired,” you admitted, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. “Don’t want to accidentally fall asleep in your office.”

“That would be inconvenient,” he chuckled, and god, what a sound. “Grade them wherever you’d like, just make sure you drop them off tomorrow morning.”

Nodding, you grabbed your bag and carefully tucked the papers inside. 

“Tomorrow morning,” you echoed.

“I look forward to it,” he smiled, a fleeting thing that disappeared the moment you turned to look at him. “Have a good night.” 

You took in a slow inhale and offered him a more lasting smile. “You too, Professor.”

“And don’t worry about the PPE tomorrow,” he added, stopping you as you moved to leave the room. Raising your brow at him, he looked entirely unphased, his eyes once again combing you over before he seemed to realize himself. “No lab, just a lecture.”

“Right,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ll be sure to wear my shortest skirt.” 

Did you really just say that? Out loud? 

Dr. Peña cracked a smile and shook his head, turning back to his desktop. “I wouldn’t want you to cause a scene.”

“I’m not sure the sight of me in a skirt is scene worthy.”

He tilted his head to the side in consideration, his eyes still locked on his screen. 

“I’d beg to differ,” he said, wearing that taunting fucking smirk as he typed. “Anyways, be safe getting home.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled—at him, at yourself, at everything. “Night, Dr. Peña.”

“Good night,” he smiled. 

And just like that, you discovered a way to taunt him the way he taunted you by just existing. 

[bookishdream]

Something he wants

kaz brekker x fem!reader word count: 2k CW: a bit of unpleasant touching, but nothing further than that

If one peered carefully into the dark, they would see a pair of young adults walking down the cobblestone street. One of them – a man – limping and clicking his cane. The other one – a woman – with long hair and a magnificent dress, its colors conveying the moonlight. And they were arguing. 

“I said no,” the man’s voice was hoarse, loud enough for his companion’s ears but quiet enough so that no one else could hear. “Your complaining won’t help change my mind.”

“You’re unbearable, Brekker,” she remarked, crossing her arms on her chest. The gown had puffy, tulle sleeves. The pattern of roses with thorns was woven into the fabric, cleverly covering her crow tattoo. “I told you I would go no matter what you’d say, so here I am. And you know we have a better chance of obtaining information using me as bait.” She let her arms loose, playing with the cuffs of her dress. It was cold in Ketterdam and her dress had a wide opening that showed her entire back. 

“I don’t care,” Kaz rolled his eyes. The crow on his cane blinked mischievously, sending shivers down the woman’s spine. 

“Kaz, no offense, but you’re as pretty as Pim’s rear,” she looked into his eyes. Obviously she lied. However, she would never admit that to anyone. “I am your best shot at getting whatever you need. And it will be a lot easier than breaking into his house.” 

“You’re a stubborn thing, aren’t you?” he sent a smirk her way. Only later that night will he realize that a bit of red on her cheeks wasn’t from the freezing temperatures, but from the way he looked at her. And did he look at her, all right. Kaz didn’t pay attention to anything unless it looked like a stack of kruge on his desk. But when she had entered the Crow Club, demanding an audience with him, he had been stunned to say at least. Her hair had flown when she’d darted past Jesper, straight into Kaz’s cane. 

“Pardon?” she’d asked, eyeing the crow on his walking stick. “Are you Kaz Brekker? If not, get out of my way”

“Saints,” Jesper had whispered behind her, his palms loosely on his revolvers. 

“Why are you seeking him?” Brekker had said casually, the cane still in between the fierce creature and the staircase. 

“Unless you’re Brekker, I won’t be speaking with you,” she had crossed her arms on her chest, eyeing Kaz. “But you are him, aren’t you? The cane, the gloves, Nina said you’d be unusual.”

“Un–” Jesper had started, but one look from the Dirtyhands had made him stop. “I’ll go guard the door”

“Good idea,” Kaz had finally let his cane drop, leaning his body on it. His eyes focused on the woman. “What do you want?”

“I need your help,” she breathed. He’d only raised his eyebrows. “I need you to kill my father.”

Since then, they had been working together. Y/n with her striking beauty would seduce merchants, when Kaz was robbing their pockets. In more or less legal ways – depending on their mood. Not a single soul was aware that Brekker had such a compelling ace up his sleeve. 

“Kaz, please,” she whispered, her dress swooshing on the wind. “I dressed up, you can’t let my efforts go to waste.”  

Brekker rolled his eyes, but he must have admitted that the dress, in fact, looked magnificent on the woman. The color lit up her eyes and the brocade corset was making her skin glow. Yet, he didn’t speak another word, pointing his cane in the direction of the perpendicular street. Y/n tilted her head. “Which house?”

“The one with the green door.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” she nodded her head in acknowledgment. “No mourners.” 

“No funerals,” Kaz replied. 

Y/n went down the street. The lamps were dimmed, not giving much light, yet she could see the path clearly. When she was younger, she would wander around this district, dreaming about being an important persona herself. She would pretend that she was a grisha. One day she would be an Inferni and the other she’d be a Heartrender. She would have to be careful so as not to get caught by stadwatch or worse – her father. He despised grisha, the littlest mention about their kind got his blood boiling. He would murder them. And he would make her watch. 

When she got close to the door, she took a breath in. Her body tensed and her heart beating so fast, she could swear people down the street were able to hear it. She knocked, once, twice. No one answered at first, but a moment later she noticed a loud noise of someone making their way to the door. 

“Who’s there?!” a man’s voice echoed from behind the entrance. 

“Please, I need your help,” she strived to make her voice sound as desperate as she could. She forced her palms to tremble and she bit her lower lip. She promised twenty minutes and she needed to be a bit faster than that. “I-i got lost,” she stammered. 

The door opened with a wide swing, the man’s face was wrinkled and he didn’t look as pleasant as she remembered from the photo. When his eyes laid on her body, she knew exactly when he thought about taking advantage of her. She knew what he saw. A broken girl, who looked like a doll, with her big, princess-looking dress, smeared make-up and a trembling lip. She couldn’t look longer than a few seconds at him, which he also took notice of. She was nothing but a broken piece to him. And she made him believe in whatever he wanted. 

He helped her get up and while still touching her arms, he led her to the office or a living room, she didn’t know. His breath reeked of whatever alcohol he was drinking prior to her interruption. She wanted to grimace but kept her face straight, Kaz trusted her to get this work done and she didn’t plan on doing otherwise. 

“So, darling, what are you doing in this neighborhood?” He forced her to sit in one of the armchairs standing opposite to the big, oak desk. “Such a fine, little thing getting lost in the night? You never know what can get from behind the corner.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She suppressed a shudder and only smiled, hoping she looked as coy as she wanted to convey. She wanted to punch him. 

“My father was playing cards in one of the clubs,” she started, her fingers were trembling so she intertwined them. “I just wanted to take a breath, but I went too far and I got lost. I don’t know what to do…” she forced her voice to break. The old man’s face was focused on her lips the entire time she was talking, her heart beat with a new dose of uneasiness. Where the hell was Kaz?

“It’s okay, doll” he placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her head. She could smell a cigar smoke somewhere in the room. She didn’t notice that the lamps were dimmed and the heavy, dark curtains were blocking out the light from the street lamps. She discreetly scanned the room, looking out for any possible exits, but the merchant wasn’t as stupid as she originally had thought. There was only one way in and only one way out. Right behind her. 

The merchant was looking into her eyes, searching for something. “You think you are so clever huh?” his hold on her chin started growing stronger, soon he moved his palm to her throat, squeezing it, cutting her airways. She sucked in a breath but couldn’t do much about her situation. “Do you think I haven’t seen you around this bastard Brekker?” He squeezed her neck harder, she could feel her eyes water. “Do you think I wasn’t aware you would be coming here tonight?” 

She tried speaking, but her efforts came out fruitless. She saw in his eyes that he had no intention to let her go. She was happy she would die in a gorgeous dress, at least. 

“Oh, no, no, no,” he tsked. “You won’t die tonight, doll, not until I get my answers.” The merchant let go of her neck, just so she could utter a sentence.

“I will never betray Kaz,” she spat on his face, clawing at his palm. 

‘You bitch,” he let her go. Y/n saw an opening and kicked him into his stomach. She turned on her heel and made her way to the door, but the man managed to grab her waist and kept her in one place. “I wonder if Brekker cares enough for you to come here,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers along her spine. She felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rising. She tried wiggling out of his hold, but to no avail. 

“Actually, I’ve been here for quite some time now,” came a voice from behind the desk. This husky voice, whose owner she wanted to murder with her bare hands at that moment. “You have something I want, Marcus.”

Y/n saw Jesper on the threshold, pointing both of his guns in their direction. When she looked up, Zemeni winked at her, letting her body relax. She forced herself free out of the merchant’s arms and made her way towards the exit. She was trembling. She saw Kaz motioning for Marcus to sit on the armchair she was previously on. The merchant was making his way to this direction slowly, never letting Brekker out of his sight. How clever. 

“I must admit, your bitch is a feisty one,” he put his ankle onto his other knee, resting his hands on the armrests. In a second his head flew to the right and blood was leaking from his cheekbone. 

“Call her a bitch one more time and I will break every single one of your fingers,” Kaz remarked calmly, his demeanor still the same. “I came for the money.”

“I don’t have your money,” Marcus countered, clutching a handkerchief to his face. “I have never stolen from you.” 

“You are mistaken,” he got up, pulling a paper out of his pocket. “You were about to steal from me, Marcus. That’s what you wrote to your acquaintance, isn’t it?”

The merchant sat there, wordlessly, his eyes wide. Y/n smirked into his direction, whistling. “You’re a naughty boy, Marcus, a naughty boy.”

The man only snarled at her, she rolled her eyes in response. 

“Well, since you wanted to steal from me, all I want is a percentage of your shares in one of the clubs in the Harbor,” Kaz looked at Marcus, his eyes still locked on the merchant. 

“You are crazy,” he yelled. 

“And you are a dead man unless you agree. It doesn’t have to be a big part, just a small one would be enough.” 

After some time, Kaz had his shares and she had a bruise around your neck. She could still feel the phantom of Marcus’s hands on her throat. Until it heals, she won’t make it go away. 

“So now what?” Jesper asked, his revolvers back in his belt and a smirk on his lips. “You’re going to sabotage the rest of his clubs?”

She was looking at the pavement, but not hearing Kaz’s response, she lifted her head and sent him a look. “Saints, you really want to do that.”

“Why else would I want shares from only one club? It wouldn’t be much if there were five others now, would it?” 

Jesper whistled at his words and resumed his vigorous steps towards the Crow Club. Y/n stayed behind, her legs heavy. 

“Kaz?” she whispered. She saw him lifting his eyebrow. “Why didn’t you help me when you saw him strangling me?” 

“I didn’t see it,” he replied. 

“What?”

“I only saw him holding you and you were trying to elbow him. And y/n I wanted to smash his skull so hard that his brain would leak out of his ears,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“That’s disgusting,” she breathed a light laugh. Her brows knitted together. “How did you get in?”

“A magician never tells his secrets,” he smirked, leaving her behind him. 

[morganmnemonic]

rewatching World Trigger. I forgot how gay it was. Osamu straight up says "hey Yuma. I know that we've only known you for like five days, but I can't help but notice that you aren't doing anything with your life right now. Mind if I borrow it for a bit?"

And then Yuma responds with "while its true that we've only know each other for like five days, your kind yet stubborn nature has compelled me. Sure. Why not? From this moment on my life is yours to do whatever you want with. One condition, though. You have to be my boss" and then throughout the story he occasionally makes these little remarks like "I'd do anything my captain (osamu) asked me to."

Like bro what? I really don't think that Osamu fully realizes the weight of the loyalty he somehow managed to earn from Yuma. I don't think he could realize it. From his perspective he cringefailed his way into b rank while Yuma did all the work. "And now Yuma would kill or die for me" is just not a conclusion that would ever occur to Osamu based on the avaliable evidence.

And like, what's going on here from Yuma's perspective? I get that he was a man on the brink when the story started, pursuing a sincerely suicidal plan, and then said plan failed and he was left with absolutely nothing, but I still feel like there has to be more going on here. He decided that he would follow Osamu through hell and back the very same minute that Osamu asked anything of him at all.

It's like, combat is all Yuma has ever known. He doesn't see any future for himself at all, but he especially can't imagine a peaceful one. But he's not a bad kid. He doesn't go out of his way to hurt people. Osamu has proven to be a pretty decent person, willing to sacrifice himself to save the lives of relative strangers. Maybe, the way Yuma sees it, yeah he's a weapon, but if he follows Osamu at least he'll be a weapon pointed in the right direction. He'll fight because it's all he knows how to do, but osamu would only ever ask him to fight for worthy causes. Y'know?

Anyway. The point is that Yuma accepted helping Osamu as his new purpose in life after knowing him for less than a week, and that's A Lot, no matter how you look at it.