#another day another saying the same thing in a new way

[nostalgebraist]

I feel like I've had the same experience several times now: someone does a new translation of a non-English literary classic, and all the critics praise it to the moon, so I go and try to read it, and it's turns out it's just . . . bad? Like, really bad? And weirdly bad?

A while back, I wrote about the case of Pevear and Volokhonsky. Here's another example, which I encountered while doing background research for my novel Almost Nowhere.

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One of my novel's major characters is a literary translator, famous for his rendition of the Persian epic poem Shahnameh ("Book of Kings").

To help me write this character, I tried to read the Shahnameh myself. I started out – where else? – with the translation that seemed to be the gold standard, and which was certainly the most critically lauded.

Namely, the 2006 translation by Dick Davis, in prose with occasional shifts into verse.

Here's how the Shahnameh begins, in Davis' translation:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty? No one has any knowledge of those first days, unless he has heard tales passed down from father to son. This is what those tales tell: The first man to be king, and to establish the ceremonies associated with the crown and throne, was Kayumars. When he became lord of the world, he lived first in the mountains, where he established his throne, and he and his people dressed in leopard skins. It was he who first taught men about the preparation of food and clothing, which were new in the world at that time. Seated on his throne, as splendid as the sun, he reigned for thirty years. He was like a tall cypress tree topped by the full moon, and the royal farr shone from him. All the animals of the world, wild and tame alike, reverently paid homage to him, bowing down before his throne, and their obedience increased his glory and good fortune.

And here is the same opening, in the 1905 translation by Arthur and Edmond Warner (which I only discovered much later in the process of writing Almost Nowhere):

What saith the rustic bard? Who first designed To gain the crown of power among mankind? Who placed the diadem upon his brow? The record of those days hath perished now Unless one, having borne in memory Tales told by sire to son, declare to thee Who was the first to use the royal style And stood the head of all the mighty file. He who compiled the ancient legendary, And tales of paladins, saith Gaiúmart Invented crown and throne, and was a Sháh. This order, Grace, and lustre came to earth When Sol was dominant in Aries And shone so brightly that the world grew young. Its lord was Gaiúmart, who dwelt at first Upon a mountain; thence his throne and fortune Rose. He and all his troop wore leopard-skins, And under him the arts of life began, For food and dress were in their infancy. He reigned o'er all the earth for thirty years, In goodness like a sun upon the throne, And as a full moon o'er a lofty cypress So shone he from the seat of king of kings. The cattle and the divers beasts of prey Grew tame before him; men stood not erect Before his throne but bent, as though in prayer, Awed by the splendour of his high estate, And thence received their Faith.

Now, I can't speak at all about the source text. I have no idea how faithful or unfaithful these two translations are, and in what ways, in which places.

Still, though. I mean like, come on.

This is an epic poem about ancient kings and larger-than-life heroes.

This is a national epic, half myth and half history, narrating the proud folkloric lineage claimed by a real-world empire.

There is a way that such things are supposed to sound, in English. And it sure as hell isn't this:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty?

Excuse me? That's your opening line? I thought I was reading a poem, here, not taking a fucking AP World Literature exam!

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Postscript

Some of the critical praise for the Davis translation, quoted on the back cover of my copy (emphasis mine):

"A poet himself, Davis brings to his translation a nuanced awareness of Ferdowsi's subtle rhythms and cadences. His "Shahnameh" is rendered in an exquisite blend of poetry and prose, with none of the antiquated flourishes that so often mar translations of epic poetry." (Reza Aslan, The New York Times Book Review) "Thanks to Davis's magnificent translation, Ferdowsi and the Shahnameh live again in English.” (Michael Dirda, Washington Post) "A magnificent accomplishment . . . [Davis’s translation] is not only the fullest representation of Ferdowsi’s masterpiece in English but the best." (The New York Sun)

[priniya]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 END OF THE DAY ! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. lando norris x reader

summary. being a supportive girlfriend during an awfully stressful time is hard, so when reader and lando ends up fighting, neither of them is surprised. however, she can’t help but be in love with him at the end of the day.

notes. pretty short and not proofread 😕😕

YOU WERE WALKING ON EGGSHELLS FOR THE PAST two weeks around your boyfriend. he was thrown into contention for the title mid-season and as the last race weekend of the season was getting excruciatingly closer, lando’s mood was dropping drastically. you understood it, not in the way that you were in the same situation as him, but frustration, pressure and disappointment weren’t strangers to you. you could see that your boyfriend was gradually becoming a ticking bomb, yet unsure when will his breaking point happen.

as it turned out, it happened on a second day after he got back from brazil. it was a silly argument that escalated to a major fight, resulting in you, driving back to your apartment in ventimiglia to give the brit his required space.

it wasn’t ideal, coming home, you hardly stepped a foot into your apartment, when lando was in monaco as you usually stayed at his place to get as much of him as possible in the — usually — short period of time. norris, unbeknownst to you, immediately felt terrible just as he watched you left. guilt creeped up his spine, yet he made no effort to stop you, knowing that he needed some space to get ahold of himself. no title could make him fill the void if he lost you.

so, after a few days of radio silence from one another, you were starting to feel like you were losing the precious time you had with lando. the clip from max fewtrell’s stream with your boyfriend there, saying that he’s eating food that sat in his fridge for more than six months or staying awake for 26 hours, has found its way into your twitter feed. it made you worry restlessly.

thirty or so minutes later, while lando was still playing some game with max and a few of their friends, you let yourself into his apartment and started rummaging through his to find all those expired items and threw them out, already making an order for new groceries. as much petty as you could be sometimes, you didn’t want your boyfriend to end up with food poisoning, it was kind of oscar’s thing now.

cleaning his fridge took you fifteen minutes at most, considering that you threw up a huge portion of its content. it was just then, when you decided to put on your big girl pants and face him. you made him some tea with lemon and honey, before quietly tapping him on the shoulder.

“jesus christ!” he shrieked, causing you to giggle. “mate, i think i’m having some sorta proper hallucinations.” your boyfriend spoke into his headset, not believing the sight in front of him — not believing that he was seeing you. you could’ve easily picked up the guys taking a piss out of him, which made you laugh even harder.

“you need sleep, lad.” “yeah, you sound like a maniac.” “that’s the expired meat speaking.”

“don’t worry ‘bout it, lads. i’ll take care of him.” you moved closer to the microphone to let the guys know that everything’s taken care of, fully aware that max, your boyfriend’s best friend, would get concerned.

“i’m super sorry.” lando spoke softly, once you left the discord call. his arms snuck around your waist, pulling you flush against him — almost as if he had really missed you. “i love you so much, please don’t break up with me.” he added. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to bite back the chuckle upon not only hearing his words, but also upon seeing his childish-like expression.

you managed to escape his embrace, dropping your hand into his, while trying to drag him back into his room for a nap. it wasn’t a hard task with lando trailing right behind you until you sat him down at the edge of the bed.

“i’m not mad at you, baby.” you reassured him in a gentle tone. your hand caressing his cheek. “i still love you, okay? but you gotta go to bed, lando. we’ll talk later, alright?” you tried to coax him into listening to you and you’ve succeeded.

WHEN YOUR BOYFRIEND WOKE UP A FEW HOURS later, he thought that your presence in his apartment was just a dream. having pushed himself off the bed, he walked to the kitchen to finish off his expired chicken. that’s when he found you lounging on the couch, while eating something that smelled incredibly well.

yup, he must’ve been hallucinating.

with that in mind, he didn’t even approach you, trying not to feed into his delusions. if his mates knew that he started seeing his girlfriend after eating something that spent a few months in his fridge, they would never let him live it down. he furrowed his brows at the sight of a pan full of carbonara that he had no recollection of making — maybe he should go see a doctor?

lando sighed in relief after having taken a sniff of the dish, realising that somehow it’s not gone bad. how did it ended up in his place? no idea.

“bloody hell, no more eating expired food. i’m seeing stuff.” the brit muttered, rubbing his face in slight frustration. upon hearing his quiet mutter, you let out a small chuckle, tilting your head to the side in amusement.

“lando, you know i’m real, right?” you mused, a small smile creeping up on your lips. your boyfriend’s forehead creased in confusion. god, he seemed so out of it. “as in, i came here this afternoon, you’re not seeing stuff.” your words were coated with hilarity as you gave him a look.

lando was bewildered. twenty six hours of sleep weren’t that much, how did he forget that you got to his apartment and, apparently, talked to him? his cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he put the plate down on the coffee table and sat next to you.

“i, uh, wanted to call.” he spoke, his head hanging a bit lower. “t’was unnecessary, my outburst, i mean.” a sigh escaped his lips. he was slowly beginning to look like a sad, kicked puppy.

“it was super unnecessary.” you agreed, running a hand through his hand in a slow motion. “we can’t really go back in time, can we?” he shook his head at your words, taking your hand in his hair as an invitation, so he moved closer to you, his arm sneaking around your waist.

“but you still love me?”

“yes, lando. i still love you.” you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“good, i would probably kill myself, uh, or die without you.”

[darktrashsoulbear]

Exploring Local Treasures

Ewan Mitchell x new girlfriend!reader

Summary: Ewan takes his new girlfriend on a tour of his hometown Derby, on her insistence, and scrambles to find things to do while also just being so incredibly in love.

This was a request sent in by the lovely Freyja @endless-ineffabilities who persuaded me to share a fic that showcased my insider knowledge of Derby!

Actors Masterlist

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2019

A big thank you to @gwaynesprincess for beta reading this!

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)

A/N: The rucksack is filled with your favourite drinks and snacks as well as extra hair bobbles and his own shopping bags to carry whatever the two of you collect during the day!

The sun was nowhere to be seen, instead the sky was littered with grey clouds and the odd pigeon here and there. Many would describe it as bleak, a fitting description for his location. The streets of the city centre were filled with the sounds of construction which would make you think perhaps it’s preparing for the upcoming Christmas Markets, wrong. There aren’t any Christmas Markets over here, only an ice rink if you’re lucky that year. With a grimace plastered across his face he sighed “I still have no idea why you’d want a tour of this place, love, there’s nothing to see. How about I take you to Nottingham tomorrow where they actually do have a Christmas Market hm?”

“Ewan, babe, I’ve come here to see where you grew up which is right here in Derby not half an hour away in Nottingham!” she refuted, eagerly dragging him along – to where, she wasn’t sure.

“Darling, there’s really nothing to see here, only a few pubs and there’s a decent milkshake place over there,” he fired back ready to head back to the lifts to the car park.

Grinning she manoeuvred herself, so she was before him, walking backwards, dragging him by both hands, “excellent, I’m absolutely parched and besides, aren’t you supposed to be calling me duck here baby?”

Letting out yet another sigh, Ewan resigned himself to his fate and a day of boredom before finally giving in and walking with his girl, pulling out his wallet “unless you’d like for us to get the attention of every girl within earshot then I won’t be calling you duck, my love its almost too common here”

“What and my love isn’t,” she teased leaning in to peck him on the cheek and he quickly took the chance to turn his head, earning himself a peck on the lips promptly followed by a reprimanding pat on the chest.

As they ordered their milkshakes Ewan racked his brain on what on earth he was going to do and how he was expected to provide an entertaining day when it was only three o’clock. Don’t get him wrong, Ewan didn’t hate Derby, but he had long made peace with the fact that it offered very little in terms of entertainment when compared to other bigger cities – sure there were still bowling alleys, escape rooms and a pub on every corner but that’s not exactly revolutionary anymore. This usually suited Ewan just fine when he came home from long shoots away from home and all he wanted was the comfort of doing mostly nothing but in this circumstance, it was a nightmare. Because this was her, his girl, the one. Yes, they had only been together for a few months, but things were going great, phenomenally even. She ticked every box of his and every night he’d send a prayer up to the sky that she felt the same about him. They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ yet but he sure as hell felt it and if the way she looked at him was any inclination, then she did too. Which is why he wanted today to be perfect, he had to say it today – he feared he would combust if he didn’t.

His thoughts were interrupted by another soft tug on this hand as his girl led him over to collect their milkshakes, hers a combination of white chocolate and raspberry and his, a plain dairy milk – he was far too preoccupied to be adventurous today. After checking yet again that she was absolutely sure she wanted to stay, he reluctantly led her towards the pub that was a favourite of his brothers and had become the go to pub ever since he’d first been taken their by his parents when he was twelve ‘The Bless”, ensuring he went the long way to give them enough time for them to drink their milkshake, and for her to change her mind.

Stepping into the warmth of the pub after walking around the city centre was welcomed but he received it with a hint of annoyance due to it meaning that his girl unfurled herself from her position wrapped around his arm, body pressed against his. Although the blinding grin she flashed him as they walked to an available table in a corner towards the back made up for it, her opting to sit next to him on the booth, body leaning against his rather than on the chair opposite certainly did. The pub was relatively quiet due to it being a random Wednesday at three-thirty which Ewan was thankful for as it meant he was able to bury his face in the crook of her neck, lips brushing against her skin as he responded to her questions without any shame.

Their drinks arrived, a water for his darling and an apple juice for him – a decision made after he advised her that it may be best to stay completely sober for what he has planned later, to which she excitedly probed him with questions and general triumphant remarks at her getting him to co-operate. As they sipped their drinks and made general conversation – gossiped – about anything and everything, Ewan couldn’t help but admire the gorgeous girl next to him, glancing over the eyes he so easily finds himself getting lost in, the slope of her nose and the lips that entice him in without even realising. He glances down to where her body meets his, one arm wrapped around his waist while the other switches between taking sips of her drink and wrapping around his, fingers dancing across his own as she plays with the cool metal of the ring on one of his digits.

“So, then I looked at her like yeah, I completely get it but honestly I have no idea what she was talking... mmph,” she was abruptly cut off by Ewan’s lips finding home and colliding with hers. After recovering from her shock, she eagerly responded thankful for the booth standing tall and curling around them as the arm Ewan wrapped around her shoulders tightened and near enough pulled her onto his lap. Believing she’d indulged him enough, his love pulled away as his hand had begun to snake its way up her soft brown knitted sweater.

Between refilling her lungs with air, she wondered where that had come from, his response came with a smirk that painted his angular face “well if you agree to end our little excursion, I’d be happy to give you the full package.”

To which she responded with a breathy laugh and a simple “as if I wouldn’t get it anyway”, rendering him momentarily speechless – because she wasn’t wrong – and she used the opportunity to pull him up by the lapels of his green coat, perfect for the chill in the air, and guided him back outside before demanding he take her to the next place.

With the thousandth sigh of the day, he did just that wrapping his arm around her waist this time and guiding her back into the centre’s main building to the car park, when he quickly explained they’d have to drive to the next location to narrowly avoid the shove coming his way as she believed he was yet again hoping to end their fun early. Reluctantly she agreed to get in the car but not before making him pinkie promise he wasn’t lying.

As Ewan parked up in what he can only assume is an actual parking spot – the car park was so run down he couldn’t really be sure – he took a quick look around, due to the fact that while this was shared between the ‘Rollerworld’ and the Indian restaurant next door ‘Slice of India’ that was its secondary use especially now that it had started getting dark sooner this time of year. With a light jog, he made his way around the front of the car to open the door for his love before she could even think about doing it herself – chivalry to him was not dead – and he happily accepted the “Cheers, Mitchell” and peck on the cheek, that actually landed on his cheek, he got in return.

Grasping her hand in his own (more like engulfing) he quickly led her around from the back of the building where the car park is to the front entrance, making quick work of paying for their entry before making their way up the steps that were far too steep to have a place so close to where people are roller skating. After giving their sizes to the guy behind the counter, Ewan and his love took a chance to survey the place. He again is thankful that it is a Wednesday and its less busy meaning fewer kids for him to accidentally run over or trample, he looks back over at her and sees she’s yet again grinning from ear to ear and has decided that while this certainly wasn’t how he’d have initially opted to spend the day, every second was worth it to see her so happy and he hopes she looks at him that way every day for the rest of their lives.

He was yet again snapped out of his musings by her dragging him over to the seats to put the skates on practically vibrating with excitement and he takes a moment to hope that his lack of roller skating over the past few years doesn’t catch up to him. Which, of course, it did. Multiple times. Any time he believed he had it, the universe sniggered and proved that he, in fact, did not. He wishes he was able to say that it was made worth it by his sweet girl being there aiding and reassuring him but well, if you looked at her any time he was reacquainted with the floor it would seem as though she had front row tickets to a Ricky Gervais comedy show – although she at least had the decency to attempt to ask if he was alright through her cackles.

Eventually, his legs started co-operating, his girl no longer laughed at him (mostly due to the pain her stomach was in for laughing all that time) and they embarked on a shared rhythm around the rink. Neither would admit to it under questioning due to the major cliché of it all, but they did indeed hold hands as they went – once she was sure he wouldn’t drag her down with him. About an hour after their arrival, they both gravitated towards the exit of the rink deciding to grab food on their way back home. As they debated where to go once they’d walked down the too steep stairs, Ewan suggested just popping over to the Indian buffet next door with the promise that the Chinese styled noodles were to die for. This caused her to softly chuckle while looking up at him through her lashes teasing about how “out of everything at the Indian food buffet his highlight was a different cuisine” and just as he was about to defend himself, he looked down at her. Really looked. He looked at the way she looked at him with the softest gaze he’d ever seen, the way she lightly bit her lip while waiting for a response and at the way the hints of her beautiful smile remained in her eyes, and he couldn’t stop himself.

He dipped his head making direct eye contact and said the easiest three words of his life. Her face went from shocked, to happy, to elated as she responded with an “I love you” of her own in earnest. The tension that he didn’t even realise was there escaped his shoulders as he grasped the lapels of his own green coat wrapped around her and met her lips in a kiss that had him seeing spots of white behind his eyelids. A minute or five later, they pulled away from one another, took each other’s hands and walked into the restaurant, where the Chinese style noodles were indeed to die for.

Notes:

As I've said, likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated

As is constructive criticism, this is my first time writing so some kind pointers are welcome!

Thank you so much for reading!

[hippiegoth97]

Random Spencer Reid Thought #1

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, fem!reader, bau!reader, new relationship, sex at work, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, no use of Y/N, caught in the act (kinda, at the end), fluff

Some Tags: @hotwritergf @melodymunson @rafeyscurtainbangs @mediocredreams @loserboysandlithium

@bloodibambiidoll @littlexdeaths @sanctumdemunson @cairro-xx @veemoon (tbh I wasn't sure who all to tag, so I tagged some moots and people I know usually read my stuff. Feel free to ignore if it's not your thing tho lol)

"I swear to god, you're gonna get us caught one of these days, Reid." You say breathlessly, tugging on Spencer's tie to keep his lips close to yours. You'd dragged him into a nearby supply closet after the rest of the team had dispersed for lunch, most of them heading to a new BBQ place nearby. They'd asked you and Spencer to come along, but you've both had much more pressing things on your mind.

From the second you came in this morning (separately, of course, even though he'd stayed the night at your place), your eyes have wandered from your work to each other's desks from across the cluster. It's been absolute torture, forced to sit so far apart, unable to touch each other or whisper all the dirty things you plan to do later. All you had to get yourself by was vivid thoughts of Spencer tossing his papers away, stalking over to you, and bending you over your desk to fuck you silly. You're sure he was picturing similar filthy things, given how often he cleared his throat and crossed or uncrossed his legs. Although, the ideas inside his head are usually more centered around getting down on his knees and burying his face between your thighs. It's a wonder that nobody seemed to notice your discomfort, really. The amount of stolen glances and fidgeting in your seats are certainly behaviors that should set off a profiler's internal alarms. But, thus far, you've managed to fly just below everyone's radar.

You've been seeing each other for a few months now, keeping it a secret from everybody else. It started off as a fluke date shortly after you joined the BAU team, and Spencer took a shine to your quick wit and bottomless well of intellect in no time at all. He'd asked you out for coffee (after a barrage of peer-pressuring encouragement from Morgan), wanting to show you around a bit as you were new to the area at the time. Spencer was a complete gentleman, opening the door for you, pulling out your chair, offering you his jacket when you got cold. Add on the way you talked one another's ears off about everything under the sun, moon and stars, and you were hooked on each other in an instant. Neither of you had met anyone who could keep up, or maintain your interest before. By the time he walked you home that night, you shared in the knowledge that this...spark you felt was something special.

Things progressed rather quickly from there. You've gone out together at least once a week, even sneaking out at night during cases to get some quality time in. A dinner here, a tipsy make-out in either of your hotel rooms there, as well as more educational outings to the planetarium, various lectures, and art exhibits when you're at home base. It didn't take long to heat things up, either. Spencer was less experienced than you, having only a couple casual hook-ups under his belt, which went as awkwardly as one would expect. But you were patient with him, showing him what you like and what you don't, helping him figure out the same for himself. It was a simultaneously experimental and exhilarating experience for you both when you finally had sex the first time.

And now, here you are, all wandering hands and moaning mouths in a closet full of office supplies. Spencer's got you sitting on a metal filing cabinet, legs spread in your pencil skirt as he stands between them. His large hands grip and squeeze your thighs, while he rolls his hips to press his erection against your clothed cunt. "Don't act as if the idea of getting found out doesn't turn you on." Spencer teases, smiling against your lips as you tug him forward into another kiss.

"Maybe a little." You admit, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. Your eyes drift closed, and you feel his hand slowly slip further down your leg and under your skirt. His lithe fingers pull your panties to the side, rubbing sensual circles around your clit. You moan down his throat, your own hands reaching blindly for his belt now. You don't have a lot of time, as much as you hate to rush this.

"We should tell them soon. It's only a matter of time before they catch on." Spencer suggests, slipping two fingers into your soaked pussy with ease. The sound he ends up swallowing from your lungs makes his dick twitch inside his pants. Never in his life did he think he'd be so lucky to find a woman like you, or a woman at all, for that matter. Spencer enjoys every moment spent with you like it's his last, and it's been nice existing in this safe romantic bubble. But sneaking around has its disadvantages, namely having to keep his hands to himself when you're around the team. Far be it from Reid to be unprofessional in any sense, but, fuck, it's so hard to behave when you're around.

"I know, Penelope's been dropping lots of extra hints lately." You say with a light laugh, your insides boiling as Spencer curls his digits inside of you. They're perfectly long and slender, reaching all the right places every time. He's made you come with them alone on many occasions.

"I noticed. She's not very subtle." Reid chuckles, his gaze drifting down as you manage to get his belt unfastened. You waste no time in undoing to button and zip, reaching inside his boxers to grab hold of his aching length. According to you, he's very well endowed. Even though he's aware the average size of male genitalia is 5.1 inches when erect, he's never gotten curious enough to measure himself. A brief visual guess probably puts him at around seven or eight, not that he's all that concerned about it. All he cares about it making you happy, and his mind is far too vast to be fixated on how long his cock is.

"I don't think she ever has been." You comment, eyes focused on Spencer's dick in your grasp. He's rock solid, his tip rosy pink and leaking pearlescent precum. The sight makes your pussy throb around Reid's fingers. If you had more time, you'd drop to your knees in an instant.

"And that's why we love her." Spencer adds, groaning as you stroke him nice and slow. The both of you keep this up for a moment, zeroing in on one another's most sensitive areas that you've craved all day. Soft sighs and moans leave your mouths, mingling with the wet schlick sounds of your foreplay. "But, enough about the team." He says softly, meeting your gaze. His free hand cups your cheek, drawing you in closer as you stare into his beautiful brown eyes. "This moment is just for us." He nearly whispers as he kisses you deeply, lovingly. Neither of you have dropped the 'L' word yet, though you both certainly feel it for one another. But the time to say it definitely isn't during a lunchtime quickie in a damn closet. The occasion will present itself, at a later date.

While Spencer has your attention captured in the kiss, he gently takes his cock from your grasp and into his own. He gasps against you, tangling his tongue with yours to make your knees weak, just like you taught him. He gives his dick a couple fervent strokes, taking his fingers out of your cunt so he can line himself up. You whine at the loss, though your stomach twists in anticipation of what will soon take their place. Using his pruned fingers to hold your panties to the side, the sticky tip of Spencer's cock nudges against your center. More moans brew within your throats, kept hidden inside to prevent you from being discovered.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, hands tangling in his hair as you melt into him. His lips and tongue make you feel dizzy with lust, and his cockhead rutting against your folds is sending you into orbit. "Spence, please. I need you, baby." You plead between desperate kisses.

"I need you, too, you have no idea." Reid replies, pulling back just a moment so he can see what he's doing. He positions his dick at your entrance, and pushes inside at an agonizing pace. Low moans escape you both, you at the stretch, and him at the squeeze. "Fuck, you're so wet." Spencer says, trying to keep his cool.

"All for you, Spence." You say sweetly, locking your ankles behind his back, pulling him as close to you as possible with your legs. His hands return to your thighs, holding on tight as he begins to thrust.

Spencer starts off slow, watching as his cock pumps in and out of your pussy with no resistance. Your arousal makes him all shiny in the dim light, already forming a creamy ring around his base. "God, you're perfect." He exhales, unable to think of a single thing that looks as beautiful as this. The two of you, becoming one, your interlocking parts sculpted by nature to fit together flawlessly. Nothing within his expansive memory could possibly compare.

"So are you, baby. Can you go faster? We're running out of time." You beg pathetically, needing this release before you inevitably have to go back to work filling out papers and looking over crime scene photos.

"I hate how right you are about that." Spencer replies with a broken sigh, picking up speed with his thrusts. The infallibly accurate internal clock you share is ticking down, every push of his hips against yours marking each second that's taken from you. He plants his lips on yours again, focusing on giving you what those desperate noises you're making are telling him. You need him, all of him. Every last inch rutting into your sopping cunt until you see stars. And when it comes to you, Reid always aims to please.

"Fuck, Spence, just like that." You pant between fervent kisses, marveling at the way his cock pounds into your g-spot with flawless precision. The coil of arousal you've been building up since you sat down with your coffee this morning ripples and tangles with every thrust.

It becomes rather difficult for Spencer to keep kissing you when his pace picks up even more. His head falls forward, resting on your shoulder as he continues to wind you both up towards ecstasy. He turns his head slightly, hatching the naughty idea to speak lowly in your ear. "I can't wait until we get home later, and I can take my time with you." He says, trying so hard not to let the loud groans he wants to emit come through. They come out as hushed whimpers instead, which only turns you on more.

"Fuck." You let out a small noise of your own, muted as you bite down on your lower lip. But he hears it all the same, and keeps going.

"I'll spend all night touching you in all your favorite places, fuck you until the sun comes up, make you cry out for me as many times as you ask me to." His words are equally filthy and adoring, showing you just how much he wants to worship you and your body. Chills run up and down your spine as he speaks, his breath burning hot against your neck. It's nearly too much, and yet, you can't enough.

"God, Spence, please don't stop!" You moan, far too loudly.

"Now who's gonna get us caught?" Reid teases, even though the way you squealed nearly made him blow his load entirely.

"Sorry...sorry..." You pant the words out, for fear of being too loud again.

"It's okay, baby. I like knowing just how good I make you feel." He coos to you, almost sending you over the edge. Your walls squeeze around him tightly in warning. His breath catches at the sensation, right there with you in terms of how close you are to reaching climax. "God, that's it...you're so close, so am I. Gonna make you cum, gonna make you feel so good, I swear...so fucking good..." Spencer's mind sprints faster than his mouth can get the words out, barely audible as he buries himself further into your neck. He slams himself into you even harder, faster, chasing his release and dragging you alongside him.

"Spencer, oh my god." You gasp as he hits that perfect place inside you cunt even better than before, his hips pounding against yours hard enough to leave bruises. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, his mouth sucking and licking at your neck in a feverish need to make you lose control. It's definitely working, the waves of bliss beginning to roll over you in thick crashes. "Oh, god, make me cum, baby...don't stop, you feel so good..." You babble mindlessly as your insides flutter around Reid's dick, threatening to clamp down on him at any moment. "Fuck, oh, I'm gonna cum...oh, god- fuck...oh, spenceSpenceSPENCE!" You clap a hand over your mouth to conceal your scream as your orgasm takes hold. You tremble violently in Spencer's grip, your pussy strangling him with all its might. Stars blur your vision, pure pleasure coursing through your veins at lightning speed. You cling to him, nails clawing at his back, heels digging into his ass helplessly.

"Fuck-ing- god." Spencer stutters out as you squeeze him so tight, biting down hard into your neck to muffle the load groan rushing from his chest. He pierces you sloppily through his release, painting your eager walls with thick ropes of sticky white, hips stuttering and feral grunts leaving him with every stab of his spent cock. He gradually comes to a stop as your shared high subsides, pulling his softening length from you, watching as your mixed release flows from your now-sore cunt. He reaches into his pocket for a kerchief he keeps for such occasions, gazing adoringly into your lust-drunk eyes as he cleans you up. He would use his mouth, if there were time for such things.

You gasp as the soft fabric meets your puffy lips, never breaking Spencer's stare while he takes care of you. You've never felt more in love in your life than you do right now, with your legs still spread wide open, while this gorgeous, scrawny, genius wipes your combined spend away. Once you're all clean, he pulls your skirt back down over your legs, and puts his flaccid cock inside his pants, fastening the belt with casual ease. He helps you down from the cabinet, noting your wobbling legs as you stand in your sensible heels.

"All set?" He asks, earning a giggle from you as his hair has become more of a mess than usual.

"Almost." You say softly, smoothing down his unruly locks to look more presentable, and less like you two just went to town on each other over lunch. "Well, we'd better get back out there. The others should be arriving back now." You say, heading for the door first. You hate to leave at all, but the last thing you need is to get caught right now.

"I'll wait the three minutes, and meet you back in there." Three minutes, the amount of time you'd determined was appropriate enough to excuse you both coming back to the bullpen near the same time without raising suspicion. No one bats an eye at three minutes difference. It could be explained away as a coffee refill, a bathroom break, anything really. But returning at the same time? Or leaving this small room at the same time? Out of the question. You'd made the mistake of returning at the same time once, and you didn't hear the end of it from the team for a good three days, despite the assertion that you and Reid had been in separate places at the time.

"Okay. See you then." You nod, giving him a quick kiss. You open the door, checking to see if the coast is clear. Satisfied with your findings, you step out from the closet, closing the door behind you. You're about to turn and walk in the direction of the bullpen, when you end up smack dab in front of Penelope. You have no idea where she came from just now, or how long she's been hiding out. But the sly smirk on her face tells you she knows enough. "Hey, Garcia. How was your lunch?" You ask nervously, failing to play it cool.

"Oh, it was good. I brought some leftover eggplant parmesan from home." Penelope replies, nearly bursting with the knowledge that you and Reid have indeed been hooking up, as she rightly suspected. "How was yours?" She asks coyly, biting her lip as she expects you to spill all the gory details she couldn't hear through the door.

"It was...fine. I packed a lunch as well." You answer, clearing your throat.

"Oh, I'm sure you packed something. What did you have? Some sausage maybe? Or a footlong?" Penelope continues to tease, and at this point, you know the jig is up.

"Oh, alright! Yes, I did! You happy now?" You exclaim, rolling your eyes as your arms cross out of reflex.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Garcia chuckles, doing one of the dorkiest victory dances you've ever seen. The few passersby give her a sideways glance, but she doesn't pay them any mind.

"Okay, okay!" You put your hands on her shoulders to still her, meeting her eyes. "Look, can you just promise me you won't say anything? Spencer and I plan to tell everyone when the time is right, but we like keeping this thing to ourselves for now. Alright?" You implore with her to keep her mouth shut, for your sake, as your friend, and Spencer's.

"Yeah, I can do that." She nods in understanding, pulling you in for a hug. "I'm so happy for you guys!" She squeals, getting excited again.

"Thanks, Garcia. I appreciate that." You smile, returning her embrace.

"So do I." Spencer says from the other side of the door.

"You better treat her right, pretty boy! Or mama is gonna get you!" Penelope warns with all the love in the world.

"I fully intend to." Spencer replies, and you can practically see his lovesick expression from out here, and how his eyes must be looking straight at where he imagines you're standing, meaning every one of those four simple words.

[ultramaga]

In Australia, regardless of who you vote for, things stay pretty much the same. Why?

For example, in Australia, Leftists have screwed up the country, making it more and more sexist and racist. How? Because they decided to create a "totally independent" body to police sexism and racism and so on, called the AHRC. Now if a Leftist screeches for the death of people of a certain group, the AHRC checks against the list of approved targets. Basically the government claims to be neither sexist nor racist, because it has checked itself. It just pretends that the Leftists of the AHRC are just somehow coincidentally coming up with the same conclusions that they do. So any politician who wanted to remove the discrimination would have to sack a huge amount of the civil service here, who are almost entirely staffed by people who hate the country and every one in it. Leftists saw that the way to infiltrate and subvert wasn't through democracy, but through the back doors. And if a politician tried to reform thing here, chances are they would be ruined and retired. All of the media, with maybe the exception of Sky News, would pump out propaganda against them, and every member of the huge civil service, down to the teachers, would be quietly pushing for their destruction via social media. You do not speak against this if you are a teacher, or you will be next.

I remember decades ago I spoke to a Labor Politician called Peter Garrett.

Yep, that was him, back in the days he was an edgy rocker. Anyway, he told me he didn't believe in any of the things he'd been saying. He'd gotten elected on words he'd sung, but had never meant. I argued that Australia needed a Bill of Rights, like the Americans had. He told me primly that the Labor Party had decided that the serfs do not need such things. I was hardcore Labor as a child, and that started my drift away. I had a look at the rival Party, but found it was just a watered down version - really, that's predictable as I believe the same marketing company was determining their policies. None of them had the guts to believe in anything, because they wanted the cushy chair and the cushy pension, and if they spoke up against the status quo, they'd be tossed out and left to drown in the sea of media hatred.

There are no independent voices on Aus. Media, not really. I watched ABC Australia the other night and they were discussing the election, and Fox News. I was confused as to why they thought they were important - most youtube channels have more viewers. Hell, I remember when Sargon of Akkad regularly pulled in more views. He was a gigantic influence globally, but he was never mentioned by the ABC. He was erased from existence - but they couldn't do the same with the Joe Rogan show, not entirely. The funny thing is Joe used to be their sort of guy, used to believe the things they did, but the Leftists moved hard away from Freedom and to Totalitarianism, and ever since it has been the quiet little youtubers and podcasters who have been moving the needle. JRE is important, but if he was assassinated tomorrow, the resistance to Leftism would carry on. Hell, Asmongold was just another gaming channel, and it became politicised. Leftists have become too awful and powerful to be ignored. You can't just tune out after work now, when loading up Dragon Age means having someone lecture at you for hours about gender pronouns.

Everywhere you look, there is Leftist propaganda, often State funded like with Dustborn, which taxpayers were forced to pay for. So it's natural now for normal people to look for a game, give up, look for a movie, give up, look for any goddamn thing that entertains - and the only thing left is youtubers encouraging them to burn the whole damn thing down and start again.

[hunieday]

Momo - 16PRODUCERS Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Yuki: Thanks for your hard work

Yuki: Anyone here?

Okazaki Rinto: You’re early, Yuki-kun!? I’m here!

Yuki: Okarin, you’re online. Yuki here

Okazaki Rinto: Yeah, I know. There’s still time before the interview though...

Yuki: That’s true, but today’s an important interview day and I finished composing, so I thought I’d camp here early.

Okazaki Rinto: How wonderful. Momo-kun will be thrilled when he reads this!

Yuki: Yeah, who’s the star of the show today after all? Are you at the recording booth with him?

Okazaki Rinto: Actually, the recording ran longer than scheduled so Momo-kun should be back to the dressing room right around the interview time!

Yuki: Is that so. So it’s just the two of us for now.

Yuki: So what should we talk about until he’s back. Shall we have a competition to list what we find the cutest about Momo?

Okazaki Rinto: There’s no way I’m winning that. Let’s talk about what we like about you instead!

Yuki: Are you doing a bit

Okazaki Rinto: Momo-kun himself actually suggested it. He said "There’s a chance I’m gonna be late, you two can just talk about how super handsome Yuki is!"

Yuki: We thought the same thing.

Okazaki Rinto: I’ll start with my opinion! You used to say you weren’t good with people, but now you’re so approachable it’s amazing!

Yuki: Thanks. Do I have to say something too?

Yuki: I can write music

Okazaki Rinto: Next! I also think you’re an incredible actor. I feel so proud seeing you soar even beyond the idol world!

Yuki: Thank you. More new rivals keep popping up, so I can’t slack off anymore.

Yuki: Now’s my turn

Yuki: Now I’m out

Okazaki Rinto: That’s it!?

Yuki: That’s it

Momo: You barely scratched the surface!?!?!?

Yuki: Here comes Momo

Momo: Here comes Momo-chan!! Sorry for making you two wait 🥺🥺 I couldn’t stop smiling reading all the rabbichat notifications 🥰

Momo: But really, just three or four points don’t even compare in the sea of Yuki’s charm!?!?!?!? Like, his beauty mark is beyond handsome, the way he looks at me with such intensity makes me fall in love all over again. He’s so beautiful from the tip of his fingers to every strand of his hair?!?!?!?

Momo: And the way he calls me his “precious partner” is just too handsome…!!!

Yuki: You type really fast, Momo.

Momo: Lightning fast!!!!!

Yuki: I appreciate you saying all that, but today is all about you, Momo.

Momo: That’s trueee~

Momo: You’re gonna share,,,, what feelings you poured into producing my project right,,,,,,,,

Momo: aaaaaaaaaghhh can my heart even handle this ‼ Yuki, Okarin, please take it easy on me ‼

Yuki: I’ll be gentle.

Okazaki Rinto: Let’s get started! As requested, we’re aiming for a casual, relaxed vibe for this interview, as if you’re not even working. So we decided to do it over rabbichat!

Okazaki Rinto: First off, Momo-kun! Please tell us how you felt when you found out Yuki-kun’s gonna produce your song!

Momo: Hmm...he usually composes for Re:vale as a whole, but he did it just for me this time. To think that he created not just the song but also the lyrics, costumes, and the whole concept...I feel so lucky it’s almost too much to believe.

Momo: The person I’ve admired for so long brings me so much happiness now. I want to take that a hundred, a thousand times and deliver it back to all my fans.

Momo: Wait a sec is this real? I’m not dreaming, right?

Okazaki Rinto: Don’t pinch your cheeks so hard, Momo-kun!

Yuki: It’s real, Momo.

Momo: It is...

Momo: This is so special to me that it always felt like a dream! I mean, just singing with Yuki already makes me so happy, but I didn’t know there was even a possibility to ascend to another level of happiness.

Yuki: I’m just as grateful for the opportunity to focus on a project entirely for you, Momo.

Momo: Yukiiiiii~

Momo: Wait a sec, how come my darling is the most handsome guy in the world !?!? 😭😭😭

Yuki: I know. So what did you think when you heard the song?

Momo: It was so cool... I thought it’d be more cutesy

Momo: But it was completely different! And it has this super stylish dance number, I could picture us dancing together the moment I listened to the airy melody.

Momo: Even though we sing in a high pitch, the deep bass was so powerful, I love it soooooooo much…

Yuki: I’m happy

Yuki: I wanted to capture all your different sides

Okazaki Rinto: Interesting…! I’d love to hear more about your creative process!

Yuki: You could say it’s about Momo’s “switches”, in a way. A switch for when he’s singing, when he’s performing.

Yuki: A switch for when he’s pressing close to my side, thinking about lyrics to write. Working earnestly and wholeheartedly.

Yuki: They’re all different switches within Momo. It all shifts. The gap between them all is intriguing.

Momo: My “switches” huh... So that’s how you see me. 

Momo: You’re right though, I do change depending on the person or situation without even realizing. The gap between the melody and the high pitch reflect that.

Momo: And the electronic sounds are supposed to represent little switches, right? That’s just like you, it’s fascinating!!!!

Yuki: Thank you. It was challenging since I wasn’t allowed to compose the entire thing myself, but it was worth it.

Momo: And the lyrics moved me deeply. I could feel your message of wanting to face the future together, and to keep singing for an eternity and beyond.

Yuki: That’s right. This song is for you, who pulled me forward and shone your light upon me that day.

Momo: That’s because

Momo: Yuki’s music gave me the push I needed back then

Momo: So that’s why I

Yuki: Momo. You always say you’re thankful to me but

Yuki: "Beneath the countless stars, I can reach anywhere as long as I’m with you." Being with you lets me sing anywhere, Momo.

Yuki: Just like that day we sang together on the sandy beach of a deserted island, the place where you and I sing, the place where Re:vale is, will always be the best stage ever. (1)

Okazaki Rinto: Momo-kun’s crying.

Yuki: Don’t shed tears when I can’t be with you to wipe them.

Momo: Wh

Momo: Whoa stop stop stop stop hold up wasn’t that way too smooth?!?! That line was so hot my tears stopped on their own!?

Yuki: Hello, it’s me, the handsome Yuki.

Momo: Kyaaaa!! Please look my wayyy!! 🤩✨

Yuki: Yep. I’m looking straight at my phone.

Momo: lolololol thanks! I totally feel your eyes on me 🤩✨

Okazaki Rinto: Alright, I’m sorry but let’s get back on track. I’d love to hear about the concept behind your outfits and promo shoots!

Momo: I’m so excited to hear about it! I was hyped the moment I walked into the room for the photoshoot! It looked exactly like a gaming room 🎮

Yuki: The song doesn’t fit an outdoor setting. I felt like even indoors would still be too bright, so I went for a moody, neon-lit setup the moment I found out something like that existed.

Yuki: It was perfect for Momo since he loves gaming, but the gentle neon light reflecting in the dark felt especially very Momo-like to me

Momo: I’m so happy!!!! I really do love those kinds of lights toooo~~ I see how it is, hehe~~~~

Okazaki Rinto: Yuki-kun, your idea of what “feels Momo-like” is always very diverse.

Yuki: Is it? I think it’s normal

Momo: And don’t forget the outfits, I loved them so much >u< Yuki doesn’t usually wear clothes in that style so I snapped a ton of photos of him!

Yuki: I thought we might as well embrace the Momo vibe for this shoot too. We even took tons of pictures together.

Momo: Yup! We were dressed like Player 1 and Player 2! 🪄

Yuki: It's been fun trying a style I don’t normally wear

Momo: You looked amazing!! 😍 💚 Why don’t you start wearing clothes like that more often?!

Yuki: Then how about we try some different combinations next time? (2) 

Momo: Huh?! W-w-ww-w-ww-we don’t have to go that far!!!!!!!!!???

Yuki: Why not? Matching outfits always have a wide variety

Momo: Huh!!!!!!!!!! Okarin !!!!!!!! What do I do !!!!!!!! Work is one thing, but a private setting is totally different?!?!?!?!?!

Okazaki Rinto: I find it funny that you’re typing what you’re muttering in real life, LOL.

Yuki: How nice. I wanna be there too

Momo: You have work after this right? so Momo-chan will wait for you to finish!!

Yuki: Yeah. Thank you

Okazaki Rinto: The request was to make this a more relaxed conversation, but you might be a bit too relaxed right now, or maybe you’re just acting like you always are….

Yuki: Is that a problem? It’s fine, right, Momo?

Momo: Right, Yuki! 🫶

Okazaki Rinto: That’s right! It’s totally fine! And finally, please share a message for the fans!

Yuki: This new direction may surprise some fans, but from where I stand, Momo is strong, gentle, and full of warmth. Just like a sunrise that blends the dark and light, he’s a mix of many wonderful qualities.

Yuki: That’s why the song plays tricks with a variety of rhythms, melodies and singing tones. They reflect Momo’s ever-changing expressions. I hope you enjoy “Get in the Groove.”

Momo: I always spend every day thinking about how happy I am ever since Yuki and I became Re:vale. Sometimes so much so that I wish time could stop.

Momo: But you know, listening to “Get in the Groove” made me feel even happier! I know this project was born all thanks to our fans’ unwavering support. Thank you so much!!! I feel like the happiest person alive right now!

Momo: And that’s why I want everyone who supports us to feel as happy as I do, always and forever! I hope that you never get your feelings hurt! And if sadness ever comes your way, I hope our songs will be able to heal you!

Momo: Re:vale will always be a warm light, shining on everyone like the sun that rises each morning. Now and forever, with Yuki by my side!

Momo: That’s all I got!

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you both! This was Re:vale in full force!

Momo: Yup! I feel Yuki’s love overflowing more than usual 🥹❤

Yuki: Really? I’m not really good with words

Momo: Well no, you’ve gotten dangerously much better at that recently!!??!!!

Okazaki Rinto: It’s hard to believe you once had to practice saying stuff like this.

Yuki: Yeah, that sure did happen.

Yuki: Momo, promise me you’ll keep smiling by my side now and forever

Momo: Yeah. I promise!!

For those who are confused, the sandy beach of a deserted island refers to a specific plot point in part 5 of the main story.

I. am frankly not entirely sure how to interpret this. Because judging by Momo’s reaction I believe Yuki was Most Definitely Not insinuating an actual change of color combinations but. A Different Kind of “combinations”. 

[padfootagain]

Love in verses (XXVI)

Chapter 26: ‘Well, how else are you to live except by denial’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This is one of my favourites, just… some adorable stuff!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4227

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Earl

In Sitka, because they are fond of them, People have named the seals. Every seal is named Earl because they are killed one after another by the orca, the killer whale; seal bodies tossed left and right into the air. “At least he didn’t get Earl,” someone says. And sure enough, after a time, that same friendly, bewhiskered face bobs to the surface. It’s Earl again. Well, how else are you to live except by denial, by some palatable fiction, some little song to sing while the inevitable, the black and white blindsiding fact, comes hurtling toward you out of the deep?

Louis Jenkins

The pain in your abdomen was a sensation you were used to, sadly. You recognized the pattern in the intensity, you knew it perfectly after years of suffering once a month. This month seemed to be particularly nasty though, and there was little doubt on to why. Your stress was so high these days, between your new job, your research, your career, and Frank’s bloody wedding… You were drowning, to be fair. Drowning in an ocean of emotions. You bent in front of your sink, waiting for the wave of pain to fade again, closing tightly your eyes, while the microwave beeped with the heating pad now reaching a burning temperature. You placed it on your stomach, not caring about your skin, only about the pain under it.

Damn… that was a bad month…

You stood straighter again, letting out a long and careful exhale, relaxing once more. Your head was spinning a little, but you didn’t dare to eat too much for now, your nausea was too bad and you didn’t want to end up throwing up. You settled for a bit of rice and an apple for lunch.

You were supposed to see Andrew this afternoon, but there was no way you could plan on fucking up Frank’s appointment at the tailor when it was hard to stand… At least, it was the weekend, you didn’t have to deal with work, and could spend your day being a burrito on your couch while watching TV and eating junk food.

You were supposed to shop for groceries in the morning, but you didn’t have the strength for that either, so you decided that you would get some food delivered for the rest of the weekend and would tackle the issue of not dying of starvation on Monday.

You sat down on your couch, at long last, heaving a sigh of relief. You held the heating pad against your stomach, covered yourself with a blanket and grabbed your phone while you turned on the TV.

You pressed on Andrew’s name on whatsapp while the tu-dum noise of Netflix echoed in your living room.

You heaved a sigh…

… you had forgotten tea… never mind, you were too much in pain and too tired to be bothered making some tea now that you were seated.

Back to your phone, you typed your message quickly.

Hi Andy! Sorry, but I’m not feeling well today, gonna have to cancel for this afternoon. We’ll talk about our plans next week. Hope you have a nice weekend, see you on Monday! Xx

You pressed ‘send’ and started browsing in the list of movies available on your TV screen.

Your phone lit up with Andrew’s name.

Sorry to hear that! Are you alright? Do you want me to drop you something?

You were too tired not to acknowledge the warmth that spread in your chest as you read his text.

Nothing to worry about, don’t worry.

His answer was quick to arrive.

Are you sure? You want me to drive you to a doctor or something?

You chuckled at his obvious worry. He really was too sweet…

No, I’m okay. Period being bitches, that’s all. I can handle it.

He answered with a thumbs up right under your text, right when you found Pride and Prejudice was on Netflix…

Well, it looked like your afternoon was all set.

You cursed under your breath. You didn’t have any snacks. Not even chocolate… and your kitchen was so fucking far… a whole ten steps away…

Damn you and your stupid brain.

You were surprised when you received another text from Andy.

So, what’s planned for today? Did you get your groceries this morning?

You snorted at the mere thought.

Nah. Too much in pain. Too tired to go to the kitchen and make myself tea, so imagine going outside with people?! No, thanks.

I’m gonna spend my afternoon with Mr. Darcy instead.

You waited for his answer, ignoring your TV now.

The Keira Kinghtley movie?

You sent him a thumbs up.

Will you hate me if I admit that I’ve never watched that film?

You almost dropped your phone.

YOU’VE NEVER SEEN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE?!

OH THAT’S IT! DISHONOUR! DISHONOUR ON YOUR WHOLE FAMILY!

He sent a laughing emoji.

You’ve forgotten the dishonour on me and my cow too…

You couldn’t refrain a laugh, even though it hurt your stomach.

You don’t have a cow. But I’ll take it out on Elwood.

You could picture the grin on his face at the joke.

HOW DARE YOU! HE’S SUCH A GOOD BOY!

Elwood, my son, don’t listen to the nasty lady…

You laughed again, but quickly stopped this time, the pain getting too strong.

You didn’t think as you wrote your next text.

You could drop by and watch it with me.

You reread the text and realised your mistake; your eyes grew round. You were in your old pyjamas, you hadn’t showered and had no intention to do so, your hair was a mess, you hadn’t washed your dishes…

You wanted to delete the text, but the blue symbols under it let you know that he had already read it.

Damn it!

I mean… I’m in pain, grumpy and look like trash…

So… maybe not the most pleasant way to spend your afternoon.

Feel free to refuse.

You waited for his answer, watched the dancing dots, until a text was received.

I’d love to, actually.

Besides, I am not five, I know about menstrual cycles, thank you very much…

You bit on your lips as you hesitated.

You’ve never seen me like that.

 A pause. You guessed that he had rephrased his text several times.

Would that make you feel uncomfortable?

You thought about it for a second. Frank didn’t really pay attention to that part of you. It was cliché, but you knew he was making a conscious effort to acknowledge your period and how much of a burden they were to you. You saw it as him making an effort at the time. Now, you were worried Andrew would be the same, with typical disappointing male behaviour…

And yet, you didn’t care. You couldn’t find a way to care. You couldn’t imagine Andrew, out of all people, disappointing you on that. Perhaps it was naïve, you weren’t sure. Your answer was earnest anyway.

No

His answer came in a matter of seconds.

Give me forty minutes to come over then.

You smiled.

An hour then.

You laughed again at his answer.

Gobshite…

You didn’t select the movie for now and merely watched some crappy TV instead, with whatever was on.

You tried not to pay too much thought on how excited you were at the idea of Andy coming soon…

Andrew ended up ringing at your door an hour and fifteen minutes later, proving you right about his time blindness, and the thought made you smile. You had washed your dishes waiting for him, using a fifteen-minutes break from the pain to stretch your legs and attempt to look like a human being. The pain was soon back with full strength though, and you gave up on the idea to change into a proper outfit. You remained in your comfortable pyjamas, tied your hair up to hide the mess it was, and went back to suffering on the couch, the heating pad growing colder and less effective, but you were too tired to get up again.

You groaned as Andrew rang at your door, forcing yourself to stand. You couldn’t hold yourself completely straight, not with the pain in your stomach being now combined with a sharp stinging sensation in your lower back. You opened the door still, and welcomed Andrew with a genuine smile.

He was wearing his hair in a bun today, his glasses perched on his nose, and a warm smile on his lips as his gaze rested upon you. He looked gorgeous in a simple brown jacket, dark jeans and a black turtleneck. You couldn’t refrain the way your heart fluttered at the sight, nor the butterflies that were added to your painful stomach.

“Hey! God, you do look like shite,” he exclaimed, but there was worry in his frown despite the obvious teasing in his voice.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you stuck your tongue out, and he couldn’t refrain a chuckle.

He walked inside, took off his shoes and jacket, and it’s only when he set the bags on the floor to do so that you noticed them.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Groceries.”

You looked up at him with a puzzled look.

“Jeez… if you were busy this afternoon, you should have declined!”

He laughed, and you were more puzzled than ever.

“These are for you,” he clarified, picking up the bags again.

You blinked up at him.

“For… me?”

“Yeah… you said you didn’t get any groceries this morning. Can’t let you starve! Come on, get a move on, these need to go in the fridge.”

You let him pass, followed him in your kitchen. He started to empty the two paper bags on your kitchen counter.

“I didn’t get you much, just enough to last for a couple of days. Pass the weekend. Nothing that needs fancy cooking either, don’t worry. Mostly pasta, rice, and a few vegetables and fruits. I also got some take out for tonight, so you don’t have to bother with cooking today. Chinese, hope you’re in the mood for that. And then, the obvious ice cream, crisps and chocolate combo. Oh, and I bought you this tea! My mom recommended it once for menstrual cramps to one of my cousins, and it’s apparently pretty nice, so… thought you could use that too.”

He looked up at you then, after his little babbling. He frowned at your expression though, and you noticed the shift in his demeanour: the way he shrank, bending over himself instead of standing straight, with his full height. Trying to look smaller than he was, to occupy as little space as possible. He rubbed nervously at his collarbone.

“I… I thought it would make things easier for you. I… I’m sorry if I’m overstepping… if you… sorry. Sorry…”

But he was interrupted by your arms around him; you almost tackled him with the strength, and you heard the loud huff he let out at the impact. It took him a couple of seconds to close his arms around you too, but then it felt like he was unwilling to ever let go.

“Thank you so much,” you mumbled into his chest. “That’s… so fucking sweet, Andy.”

“That’s nothing,” he tried to brush your thankfulness away, but you could hear in his voice that he was smiling again, feel that his body was relaxing once more. “I didn’t mean to overstep… I just… I just thought it would make it easier for you.”

You spotted your favourite chocolate on the table, along with some ice-cream.

“These are my favourite,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You didn’t have to do that…”

“It’s nothing.”

You didn’t say it. You didn’t say that Frank had never done that for you. And Andrew did? When he wasn’t your boyfriend? When he didn’t even have feelings for you?

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, rubbing your back, and the caress was so soothing you were ready to cry. “Painkillers or something? I can go to the pharmacy…”

“I’ve got that covered, don’t worry. Thank you.”

“Right…”

Another cramp came breaking your embrace, you let out a groan as you held your painful stomach. You tried not to think of how your heart stumbled and missed a few beats when Andrew brushed a messy strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You really don’t look well. You should sit down.”

“I need to reheat my heating pad…”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do that, love. Sit down, okay?”

‘Love’… he had called you ‘love’… You wanted to cry…

Why were you so affected by it? It was Andy. It was Andy, not Frank, and you wanted Frank, you wanted Frank, you wanted…

He walked into the living room about 10 minutes later, carrying your heating pad under his arm, ice cream and some chocolate. He had to go back to the kitchen to fetch your two cups of tea.

“Alright… need anything else?”

You shook your head, and he settled on the sofa next to you. Readjusted the blanket so it would cover your feet. You didn’t recognise the flavour of the tea, you reckoned he had made a cup of the one his mother had recommended.

You refused to name the feeling that was spreading across your entire body, the unbearable fondness aimed at Andrew that came with it.

I want Frank, I want Frank, I want Frank…

“Alright, let’s watch Mr. Darcy getting rejected…” he grinned at you, as if he was at his happiest, as if he couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend his afternoon than to watch Pride and Prejudice with you while nursing you back to health because you were on your period…

You scoffed, trying to hide the tears in your eyes by looking for the movie on Netflix again.

“He doesn’t just get rejected. They do get together at the end, you know?”

“Thanks for spoiling it all to me…”

“Wait… you told me you read the book…”

He laughed.

“I did! I was joking, like… It was a joke. I did read it. I simply haven’t watched any adaptation.”

“Wow… Oh… so you haven’t seen the one with Colin Firth either?! The BBC series?”

“Nope…” he answered, popping the ‘p’ before taking a sip of his tea.

Two teabags. As always. The detail made you smile.

“Okay, that is going to be our next activity together.”

He laughed, but didn’t contradict you, on the contrary.

“Well, I guess my next Sunday is all booked…”

“Indeed, it is!” you grinned, but your tone was too soft not to show how emotional the thought of spending another afternoon like this with Andrew made you feel.

He didn’t comment on that, though, and you were grateful for it.

He reached for your coffee table, where he had put the two sets of ice-cream and spoons, and handed you one.

Your heating pad was back on your stomach, warm and effectively soothing your cramps. You seized the opportunity to eat a large spoonful of chocolate ice cream.

You moaned at the taste.

“Andy… this is perfect, I hope you’re aware of how amazing you are.”

He chuckled, but there was something a little sad in his eyes when he looked down at his food, a tinge of melancholy. You didn’t know why.

“Bribing you with chocolate is the way to your heart, then,” he joked, clearly stirring the conversation away from himself, while pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes, starting the film.

You exchanged another smile, while the movie started. You didn’t realise your own movements as you scooted closer to him on the couch, and neither did he notice how he leaned towards you, until your arms were softly touching.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul. And I love… I love… I love you…”

You heaved a sigh after whispering the words in sync with Mr. Darcy, clutching at your heart, burying your face further in Andrew’s shoulder.

You weren’t sure when you had ended up in Andrew’s arms, but you were now. He had wrapped an arm around your shoulders at one point, noticing how livid you had become because of the pain, how you had tried to withhold your wince but failed. And it was meant as a temporary anchor, a soothing gesture that should have lasted just a few minutes, until the pain subsided again. But when you relaxed once more, he didn’t pull away, and instead of freeing yourself from his hold, you leaned closer, sank deeper into his embrace. And now, he was resting his long fingers on your waist, while you leaned into his chest.

Which was… better not think about boundaries and friendship and professional behaviour and all those limits you were breaking.

Meanwhile, Andrew was brushing a tear away, but you spotted it before he could pretend it hadn’t happened.

“I know… I know…” you patted his chest, trying not to notice that you were touching his chest. “I cry every time too.”

“For proof,” he chuckled, brushing your tear away with his thumb, making your heart stutter and expand to the point that you wondered how it hadn’t broken any of your ribs yet.

“It’s Jane Austen’s superpower, Andy… we can do nothing against it,” you concluded before nuzzling into his chest again.

“I’ll have to agree,” he nodded.

You noticed how his breathing was a little irregular for a moment, when you shifted to be a little more comfortable in his arms, but he didn’t push you away, didn’t move at all, in fact. Instead, he waited for you to settle again, readjusted the blanket on both of you, and stared at the end of the movie. His cheeks were turning a bright shade of red. You hated the thought that crossed your mind…

There were but a couple of minutes left, it was the end: Mr. Darcy had walked across the moor already, he had declared his love and Elizabeth had accepted his hand in marriage. They were waiting for Elizabeth’s father. You were staring at Andrew, the feeling of your gaze on him made him look down as well, catching your eyes with his. His hazel eyes, they looked so green now, in the rather bright light of the late afternoon, and the tears he had dried just before had enhanced that colour too. Green… like leaves bathed in sunlight during the summer… you loved that shade…

You didn’t even notice when the screen went dark, when the credits started rolling. You were thinking of Andrew, of how sweet he had been all afternoon, of how handsome he looked now, how much turtlenecks suited him, how cute he looked with his glasses…

He blinked a couple of times, as if he were coming back from a reverie, and looked at the TV again. You looked at his profile, found yourself longing to run your fingers through his short beard, noticed the red tainting the brown of his hair.

“Well, that was an amazing film,” he easily admitted, bringing you back to earth.

And indeed, the story was over. Mr. Bennett had accepted their union. Elizabeth would marry Mr. Darcy. All ended well. Black screen and a list of names, printed in white pixels…

You pushed yourself out of Andrew’s arms.

Back to reality now… and in the real world, you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank. You wanted Frank…

You looked away in a hurry, and trembled at the loss of contact, when Andrew finally moved his hand away from your waist.

You kept on talking about the film for a while, but eventually, Andrew checked the time.

“I should get going, let you get something to eat. And I mean… something proper. Not snacks,” he teased, standing up and taking the remnants of your various snacks with him to the kitchen.

And you had to tell yourself that mantra again. Because your heart was aching at the thought of Andrew leaving. Which was ridiculous because you would see him in two days. Which was ridiculous because he was only a friend. A colleague, even. And it was ridiculous because you didn’t want him, you wanted Frank. You loved Frank. You wanted the life you had with him back. You… you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank… You… You wanted…

“Andy?”

He reappeared, coming from the kitchen, and tilted his head a little as a silent invitation for you to speak again.

“Do… do you want to stay for dinner?”

He stared at you for a few seconds, long enough for you to start spiralling and babbling…

“Unless you need to take care of Elwood…”

“No, my parents took him to the seaside today, they’re keeping him for the night. He’s living his best life, trust me. I bet my dad is giving him all the treats he wants.”

“Or like… I mean… you’ve already spent your afternoon with me, even if I’m sick and not the best company today, and… yeah, I totally get it if you don’t want to stay, like… that’s…”

“Y/N.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’d love to stay.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I’m too much to take care of…

You merely shrugged in response, making him chuckle, clearly unaware of your thoughts.

“Well, if you’re not bored of me yet, I’d love to stay for dinner.”

You grinned.

“Grand…” you nodded, and Andrew disappeared in the kitchen again to prepare dinner.

Still, you noticed how he was smiling when he turned around, how he was blushing, too…

You ended up watching tv again after dinner. The pain wasn’t as vivid as it had been during the rest of the day, and so you were more comfortable during that part of the evening. So much so that you started dozing off, as you were watching for the nth time how Luke and Han were trying to save Leia.

You had stumbled upon a rerun of the old Star Wars movies, and settled on the nostalgic feeling of these stories to end the day. Andrew was supposed to go home after the end of the movie, once the Death Star was gone and Leia was placing medals on the heroes’ chest.

Andrew had made you laugh with his best impression of Chewbacca, and you had made him choke on his glass of water with one of your jokes and snarky remarks. It was lovely, but you were so tired you neared exhaustion by now. So, it was quite logical that you started dozing off after a while, losing tracks of the story when Han and Luke were dressed as stormtroopers.

You hadn’t noticed that your head had fallen on Andrew’s shoulder as you were falling asleep. You didn’t notice how he stopped paying attention to the movie when you did. How his heart started pounding at how adorable you looked like this. He waited for a few minutes, to see if you would stir and wake up again, but you didn’t. He stared at you for a moment longer, but you weren’t aware of it. You weren’t aware either of the longing in his gaze, of the smile on his lips as he watched how peaceful you looked in your sleep.

You blinked your eyes open again only when you felt something slipping under your knees and behind your back, felt the warmth upon which your head rested move.

“Andy?” you called in your drowsy state, still unable to understand what was happening, where you were…

“I’m here, love.”

That pet name again… were you dreaming it?

You reached up, held onto a soft fabric, and somehow, despite the fact that you had closed your eyes once more, you knew it was Andrew’s turtleneck.

“You’re falling asleep, you need to go to bed,” he said softly, his voice unbearably low and deep, it made your heart skip a few beats and warmth spread across your entire frame.

And it sounded so reassuring… so safe… He was so reassuring…

You nuzzled into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. His cologne, his softener, him…

“Can I help you reach your bed? Can I do that? Is that okay?” he asked in the same caring voice, and you nodded. But then again, you would have accepted anything, for as long as you could remain in his warmth, as long as his voice came back…

You realised then that he was slipping his arms under you, it took a moment longer for your brain to register he meant to carry you.

“I can walk,” you whispered, opening your eyes again and forcing yourself to look at him.

You were too stunned when he bent down to kiss your hair to argue when he told you there was no need, that he got you, that you could close your eyes again. You obeyed, having no strength left to argue, and you wrapped your arms around his neck when he stood up and lifted you off the couch.

He readjusted your position, and then you were vaguely aware of moving, while he walked through your apartment. You nuzzled closer, your forehead brushing his jaw and your entire body trembled as you felt his beard against your skin.

Too soon, he was gently putting you down on your comfortable mattress, tucking you in, under your warm blanket.

You blinked your eyes open before he could leave, found his hazel eyes looking down at you. He seemed so tall like this, standing above your bed.

“Thank you, Andy. For everything.”

He smiled, gesture gentle and full of fondness.

“Sleep well, Y/N. Goodnight.”

He tucked a strand of your hair away from your face, and the brush of his fingers across your cheek made you close your eyes for good.

Your last thoughts were of him, while you heard him move away from the bed, recognized the creaking of the tiles by the door of your bedroom.

God, you wanted him so much…

[azrielwingspan]

THE CYBORG WHO STOLE MY HEART (Bucky X F!reader)

A/N: I know I know, there's another Bucky fanfic that I'm already working on and yet here I am starting a whole new one. Why you ask? Because I'm a dumbass. The idea just popped up into my head and I HAD TO write it down. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1 :

Chapter summary: Bucky and Sam come across a woman who seems to have lost her mind. Literally. Using Bucky’s cyborg brain, they try to figure out who she is.

Chapter warnings: Mild swearing.

You know when you're having a great dream with a hot guy that could only possibly exist in dreams ? The happiness that breathing the same air as him brings you? That's what you were feeling right now.

Eyes as blue as the ocean, veins that were easy to put an IV in and that black shirt phew. Was it possible to drool in dreams? You were going to have a great day once you woke up. That was for sure.

Why was he looking at you like that though? Weren't they supposed to be flirting with you or puckering their lips in your dreams by now? Was this supposed to be a slow burn or enemies to lovers genre dream?

"Why is she staring at me like that?" the hot guy asks the air next to him.

"She's just coming into it, give her a second." it responds back to him.

Wait, what ?

"Are we sure she's alright and not having an absence seizure?" the air voice asks.

"She's alright. Probably in shock." another voice responds.

Shock? From seeing that beautiful man in front of me? Sure.

Okay, focus.

Wait, it's a dream. Why do you need to focus?

Eyes, the colour of piss , come into focus. "Cannn youuu hearrr meee?"

"Why are you speaking like that?" you manage to ask, still trying to figure out if you'd accidentally taken shrooms.

"Not a seizure then." the voice from earlier comments.

Piss eyes looks proud of himself. "I told you, she's in shock."

If this really was a dream, it would have to be the strangest one you have had in a while. What in the actual cockfuck was happening?

"Youu areee in theee hosp-ee-taalll. Weee---" piss eyes sounded like he was having the seizure.

"Stop talking like that." you say, blinking rapidly to clear the dark spots from your eyes. Things were starting to feel more...real. A heaviness settled over your head, every breath seemed to send a slight sliver of pain through your side and your arm felt numb.

Dreams weren't usually ultra-realistic, were they? Only one way to find out now.

"Is she...pinching herself?" hot guy asks, that strange look on his face.

A set of cold hands clamp your hands down.

"HEY." you say, the slight sting of your pinch confirming your doubts.

"Self hurt or mutilation can be a side effect. We need to restrain her for her own safety." Piss eyes speaks rapidly and you hear him muttering to himself.

"I'm not...is this not a dream?" you finally ask leaving the room in pin drop silence.

"I don't think so...unless Wanda is upto something again." air voice sounds a bit unsure himself.

"Wanda?" the name seemed familiar but in this state , you could barely remember your own name.

You try to get up only to be gently pushed back down by piss eyes. "You probably shouldn't be doing that. Bed rest for the next 10 days, I'm afraid." he says not sounding apologetic about it at all.

"What even happened? And---" you're cut off by air voice.

"Where are you? Well, the Avengers compound. Now, don't get too excited and all. We can make you sign a NDA , but we aren't going to because we're hoping you're trustworthy. Stark said you might be...useful. Now, if you're feeling upto it, how the hell did you end up in the middle of a cemetry half dead?"

You blinked once, twice, thrice.

"Who is Stark?"

"Listen, man. She's got to be living under a rock if she doesn't know who Stark is. That guy has been stuffed down everyone's fucking throat." Sam tells Bucky as he takes off he looks at their new visitor.

Bucky doesn't respond and instead stares at Sam with a poker face.

"What's going on in that cyborg brain of yours?" Sam isn't phased by Bucky and his staring anymore. He was however very sure that Bucky would not be bringing home any ladies with that serial killer look.

"What if she's lying?" Bucky finally says, turning to look at the CCTV recording of the room you were in. You were sleeping again, knocked out by the pain killers.

"Lying about not knowing Stark or not being able to remember what happened to her?"

"Both."

"What purpose does that serve her?"

"Well, that's what we're supposed to find out."

“How exactly are you planning on doing that?” Crossing his arms over his chest , Sam raised an eyebrow at his cyborg friend.

“I’ll think about it.” Bucky walked past him, grabbing his jacket on the way. “With my cyborg brain.”

“I understand that you want to get some answers” you said for what seemed like the 100th time, exasperation taking hold of you. “I honestly cannot remember what happened. I’ve thought myself into a headache. I’m sorry, okay?”

Sam looked defeated as he let he shook his head. “It’s been two whole days. Now, I don’t want to seem like a dick and question you in this state but we need some goddamn answers.”

“Too late for that I guess.” you muttered under your breath.

“Huh?”

“She said ‘too late for that I guess.’” The hot guy, Bucky, was his name chimed in.

How the hell did he hear that? As if reading the question on your face, he simply said “Advanced hearing.”

Okkayyyy.

Sam on the other hand was giving you a flat look. You gave him one back.

“I’m feeling much better now. Can I atleast get out of this damn bed?” you scratched near the iv line, wanting to just rip it out. “Piss eyes told me I shouldn’t but I cannot stay like this.”

“Piss eyes?” Sam was clearly running out of patience.

“The doc. Is he even a doctor? He’s very…”

“Sort of.”

That explains it.

“She’s right.” Bucky takes a step forward, looking at Sam. “Walking around will help her recover faster.”

“THANK YOU. See , I knew you were the smart one.” you give him a wide smile to which you get a poker face in return. Embarrassing. Not letting it deter you, you pull the iv out.

“Hey !!” Sam steps forward, surprised at your show of stupidity.

Before he can reach you to help you out of bed, you’ve already stood up. Which was another stupid move considering that the entire room was spinning around. Holding on to the wall next to you for support, you blinked rapidly.

“That’s another concussion waiting to happen.” Bucky commented dryly.

After regaining some semblance of direction, you managed to stand up straight ignoring the slight stab of pain in your chest.

“Much better.” you say, taking a step forward. The pastel pink tee and pants that had been given to you did not compliment your current condition, you knew. To be quite frank, you were a good looking woman too. Always have been. Then why the hell was Bucky looking at you like he was going to stab you right then and there?

“Uhhh…now what?” your suddenly felt extremely awkward in front of the two men.

“Don’t ask me, you were the one who wanted to do this.” Sam still had an arm out, ready to jump into action in case you cracked your head on the tiles again. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Bucky make a slight movement. Thank fuck you did because the next thing you knew , you were holding a dagger 2 inches away from your chest by the handle.

Silence engulfed the room for a good 20 seconds before it was broken by a very calm “What. The. Fuck.” from Sam.

You looked at Bucky who stood in the same spot like nothing shocking had even happened. Finally a crack of a smile appeared on his face.

“Told you she was lying.”

[korrasera]

Yes, we had a vote at the last leftist meeting and I got appointed head explainer, so it was my turn to pick a way to refer to people who pretend to be leftists but don't actually adhere to any leftist values.

No leftist worth their salt would be spreading propaganda and despair. And anyone who gets serious about being a leftist starts by educating themselves about politics, so they wouldn't be repeating nonsense that's debunked by the google equivalent of a single episode of Schoolhouse Rocks.

That said, let's talk about some of your specific points:

I just see you saying “the right isn’t getting stronger” and all I wanna ask is what kinda Kool-Aid you’re on, because I look around the world and see a generational trend towards authoritarianism and fascism.

That's your fear talking.

No, really. It just looks that way to you because they frighten you.

I live in a country where people used to consider it a fine day out, a sunday best clothes kinda day, to wander down to the tree to watch someone lynch a black man. I live in a country that inspired Hitler's policies towards the Jewish people. I live in a country that has been responsible for genocide many many times.

I also live in a country where a man said "I have a dream" and helped bring about the end of a century of racist terror. A place where pride has become a nationwide celebration of diversity and strength. A place where people want to live up to the ambitions of the New Colossus.

So yeah, the authoritarians have been losing for a long time, but social change takes a long time. Politically, they were almost sunk in the 50s, with the way the Republican party was set to collapse. Sadly, we hadn't made as much social progress, so the Republicans rebuilt their base of power and started with new policies to try to undo progress. Every surge they've made to try to reclaim their position has gotten weaker and weaker.

Here's what the electoral map looked like for Reagan:

This is the first time in something like 20 years that the Republicans have won the popular vote for president and it required not just a colossal mistake on the part of the Democrats but also an unprecedented time of economic inequality across the entire planet.

What you see as a generational trend towards authoritarianism and fascism is just a reactionary surge. The trend is going the other direction. They're thrashing that much harder knowing that their way of life is dying out. It means they're dangerous, but it also means they're dying.

Maybe you're too young to know this from experience, maybe you don't have the broad picture yet, but they are getting weaker. A party known for being able to mobilize and unify wasn't able to pickup any additional support when they really needed it.

If the Democrats had really supported the working class, if they'd really tried to allay fears about the ongoing economic woes? The Republicans won by a hair in a year when the Democrats made big mistakes.

In closing, Re: Israel

Yes I can say both of those things at the same time.

Biden doesn't have the ability to dictate Netanyahu's behavior *and* he also should have made it policy to end offensive aid to Israel, not just slow roll it. I'm not sure why you think Israel is only able to do what they do because of US aid, especially because they currently aren't even getting that aid. They're a developed country with a large GDP and a completely modern military. They aren't another arm of the US military that can be disarmed at a whim.

If you don't know all of the things that the Biden administration did to put pressure on the Israeli government to end the genocide, you should go do some research, it's a decent list.

We tried to warn you, and you wouldn’t listen to us over the sound of your own self-righteousness. You must be so proud of yourselves.

[greengoblinswifey]

Secret Lovers— Brother’s Bsf!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you and your little brother’s best friend sneakily navigate your secret escapades around your house. based on this request.

warnings— slight age gap(nicholas is 2 years younger), mentions of sex, sub!nicholas, oral, praise kink, unprotected sex, forbidden relationship, sex in brother’s bed.

Part one

The first time it happened, it was late at night. Nicholas, shy but completely captivated, had stumbled over his words as you found your way into his pants. That night was his first, and by dawn, he’d snuck out before anyone could notice. But as fate would have it, he ran into your brother at school the next day.

“Dude,” your brother had gawked, looking at the hickey’s all over Nicholas’ neck, “what happened to you? You look like you got into it with a—well, someone.”

Nicholas had just grinned, his face flushed. “Yeah, you could say that. Maybe I’ll tell you about her sometime.” But he never did.

After that, things only got riskier. Nicholas would slip in through the front door while your brother was gaming with headphones on, and the two of you would race past his room to your own. It was thrilling, sneaking around in your own home. Your brother assumed you were just seeing someone new, completely unaware that his own best friend was sneaking in.

One evening, Nicholas started showing up at your house a bit more often under the pretense of “hanging out.” Your brother didn’t think much of it, only shrugging when Nicholas stuck around long after he’d gone to bed. Those nights always ended the same, with Nicholas slipping down the hall to your room once the coast was clear, holding back moans as you pushed him up against the closed door behind him.

But there were close calls, too. Once, after a late night together, your brother woke up earlier than expected. Panicking, Nicholas jumped out of bed and bolted into the bathroom, pretending he’d been in there the whole time.

Another time, your brother came home unexpectedly, just as the two of you were tangled up naked in bed. Nicholas managed to hide under your bed just in time, holding his breath as your brother knocked on your door, asking if you'd seen his headphones.

Then, there was the night Nicholas accidentally dozed off in your room, only to be jolted awake by the sound of your brother’s voice just outside the door. He barely had time to scramble under the bed before your brother strolled in, asking you for help with girl problems.

“Hey, have you seen Nicholas? Thought he might still be here,” he mumbled, oblivious to the fact that his best friend was lying flat on the floor under your bed, barely stifling his laughter.

Whenever Nicholas stayed to eat with you and your family, he’d sneak glances across the table, his eyes filled with lust. You’d catch him looking just a little too long, smirking over the rim of his glass or giving you a slight nod had you throbbing. He looked innocent enough to everyone else, but you knew better; those looks were anything but.

Your brother, though oblivious, began picking up on little changes. “Hey, Nicholas, you got a lock on your phone now?” he asked one night, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t think you were the private type, you never used to have one.”

He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Just—uh, you know, gotta keep things secure.”

Your brother smirked. “You hiding something? Got some secret girl or something?”

You listened quietly from the kitchen, heart pounding as you overheard their exchange. Nicholas played it cool, just laughing it off and saying, “Nah, nothing like that.” But you knew he needed the lock for a reason. His phone was practically a vault of amateur porn— naked photos of you both, late-night messages, and homemade sex tapes you’d both be mortified if anyone, especially your brother, found.

“Just admit it,” your brother teased, nudging him. “You’re holding out on me.”

“Nothing gets past you, huh?” Nicholas muttered, glancing toward the kitchen where you hid, smiling to yourself.

One evening, things got riskier than usual. Your brother’s bathroom was under repairs, and he’d started using yours out of habit, which made sneaking around with Nicholas more challenging. You and him thought you had a moment for a quickie on the couch downstairs, his hands tracing soft patterns along your inner thighs as he pulled you close. Just as he began lifting up your skirt, you heard footsteps coming down the hall. In a split second, you scrambled, doing your best to appear innocent just as your brother stepped in, oblivious to what had nearly happened.

And yet, those close calls only added to the thrill. When he’d stay over, you’d find yourselves whispering in hushed tones, or meeting for a secret kiss in the hallway while your brother watched TV. Those late nights, Nicholas would slip into your room once your brother was asleep, barely containing his excitement as youshoved him onto your bed, whispering how much he’d missed you in your ear.

The stolen moments, the thrill of secrecy, and the constant dance of nearly getting caught only made things more electric.

Nicholas slipped into your room one evening with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. You tried to keep him quiet, whispering, “He’s right downstairs! We can’t risk it.”

He gave you a needy look, running a hand through his hair, leaning in close. “Five minutes. That’s all I need,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently along your jaw with pleading eyes.

You sighed, glancing at the door. “Five minutes? You’re sure?”

His smirk deepened. “I’m sure. I missed you way too much for me not to cum quick.”

Your resolve melted as he pulled you close, his hands warm and insistent. You couldn’t resist him, feeling the excitement of sneaking around and the thrill of getting away with it.

“Five minutes,” you murmured, guiding him to sit quietly on the edge of your bed as you kneeled in front of him, his breath hitching.

He barely held back a quiet moan, his eyes wide with gratitude and need, whispering, “Y-you’re the best,” as you leaned in, savoring the feeling of him deep in your throat. You bobbed your head faster and faster, determined to make the five minutes count and to not have your brother catch you in such a compromising position with his best friend.

You arrived home late from your trip, bags in hand, to find your house in full party mode. Music blared, people were mingling, and your brother was clearly hosting more friends than he'd probably asked permission for. Shaking your head at the scene, you slipped inside quietly, hoping to reach your room without being spotted.

As soon as you opened your door, there was Nicholas, sitting on your bed, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You’re back early,” he whispered, pulling you into a warm hug.

“Looks like my brother’s a little preoccupied,” you murmured, nodding toward the commotion outside. “Guess that means we won’t be disturbed for a while.”

His grin widened. “So, we finally have the house to ourselves?”

You smirked, locking the door behind you. “And no one’s going to come looking for either of us.”

For the next few hours, you and Nicholas enjoyed your stolen time together, sharing quiet laughter and mind blowing sex as loud as you wanted as the party thumped downstairs. You listened to the sounds of your brother and his friends, comfortably hidden away in your room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so big!” you screamed.

God, it felt good to scream as loud as you wanted. Nicholas was enjoying himself too, unable to contain his sweet little whimpers as he stared up at you like you were the only girl in the world while you rode his cock.

Later, your brother knocked on your door. “Hey, you in there?” he called, the music fading as he paused outside. Nicholas held his breath, glancing at you with wide eyes.

You kept your voice calm. “Yeah, I got back early. Just tired, going to sleep.”

He hesitated. "You seen Nicholas around? I can’t find him.”

You exchanged a glance with Nicholas, who was barely holding back nervousness. “Uh, last I heard, he said he’d be mingling. Probably outside somewhere.”

“Alright,” your brother replied, sounding slightly suspicious, but he wandered away, calling Nicholas’ name as he headed back down the hall.

When his footsteps faded, Nicholas shook his head, laughing quietly. “We really need to be more careful. He’s going to catch on one of these days.”

You grinned, pulling him closer. “That’s the risk we take, isn’t it?”

It was late, and your brother had just gone to bed after a long night of studying. Nicholas had come over under the guise of helping him with an assignment, but as soon as your brother headed upstairs, he quietly slipped into your room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he was on you, hands on your tits, pulling you close and groping as he murmured, “Do you know how hard it is to sit across from you and pretend like I’m focused on anything else?”

The thrill of him sneaking around, practically right under your brother’s nose, made everything even more intense. But just as things were heating up, you both froze, hearing footsteps heading toward your room. Nicholas’ eyes widened as you whispered, “Closet, now!” You pulled him inside, shutting the door just in time to hear your brother knock on your door.

You barely breathed as your brother called out, “Hey, I thought I heard something in here, everything good?”

“Yeah, I’m just on the phone,” you replied quickly, hoping he wouldn’t question it.

He paused, as if he might press further, but eventually, he muttered a distracted “Alright” and walked away. You let out a sigh of relief, turning to Nicholas, who was smirking at you even in your huge closet.

“Close call,” he whispered, grinning mischievously. “Guess we’ll have to be quiet—if you still want to finish what we started.”

You shot him a daring look, realizing you might just take him up on that.

One afternoon, when your brother was out with his other friends, Nicholas couldn’t resist pulling you into your brother's room with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You uh, ever thought about us doing it—here?” he whispered, eyes dark with that playful, needy, look.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “In his fucking bed? You’re insane.”

“Just a little,” he grinned, moving closer. “But it’s kind of thrilling, isn’t it?” He kissed you deeply, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you down onto the bed with him. The forbidden aspect only made things more intense.

You were both already naked, on your brother’s fucking bed too and you straddled him as he lined his very hard cock up with your leaking entrance.

You never thought in a million years you would ever do something like this, you were even shocked out of your wits when shy, sweet, Nicholas suggested it, pulling you onto the bed without waiting for protest.

“You’re so fucking sexy, I need to be inside you, please, right here, right now,” he pleaded.

Your eyes were filled with a dark glint, how wrong it was, how absolutely insane it would be, but that’s what made it all the more endearing. The thought had you warm and throbbing.

Giving in, you slowly sank onto his cock, his loud moans filling the room, he was enjoying this, maybe even more than you were.

“You’re so naughty,” you murmured, your knees on either side of him as you bounced wildly.

The bed creaked beneath you, the bed frame slammed against the wall loudly and the sound of skin slapping and both your moans would be heard the minute someone stepped into the house.

“Faster, p-please baby, please,” he whimpered, his hands gripping your hips.

But just as things were getting heated, you both heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up outside. Nicholas’ eyes went wide, and you both scrambled, hurriedly grabbing clothes and slipping off the bed. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, both of you barely stifling your giggles as you made a break for the door, tiptoeing down the hall and slipping back into your room just as the front door opened.

You and Nicholas collapsed onto your bed, breathless from the rush, both of you laughing quietly. He leaned close, grinning. “Worth the risk,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

“You’re lucky we didn’t get caught,” you teased, nudging him.

Then, you heard loud pounds on the door, “hey, Y/N, were you in my goddamn room?”

[d-z20]

The Agent Next Door (18+, NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You don't really talk to your (extremely attractive) neighbour, Rio Vidal, that much until one day an accident leads to you staying at her apartment for a couple of days. An awkward encounter leads to having one of your fantasies come true. -OR- Rio finds you injured after you slipped and fell out the shower and decides to look after you (non-magic AU)

Warnings: Blood, small injury, fluff, smut, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving)

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Just wanted to write a bit of Rio caring for reader and well then it turned into smut and I have no regrets. Also I have their whole relationship arc in my head now lol

Read it on AO3

Rio Vidal is your neighbour. You've noticed her plenty of times before—a striking woman with a sharp, confident look that's hard to ignore. You live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. Most days, your interactions are limited to polite smiles and brief chats in the elevator, her dark suit and badge often catching your eye. You've heard her phone buzz with work calls that end with her curt, professional voice. It's obvious she's someone important—serious and dedicated. You've pieced together that she's an FBI agent, but beyond that, you don't know much about her.

You can't deny that you're drawn to her, though. There's something about the way she carries herself—all self-assured and enigmatic. You've caught yourself staring a few times, your heart skipping a beat when she looks back and flashes a rare, amused smile. It's not just her looks—it's the way she moves, the air of mystery she carries, like she's seen things you could only imagine. It makes you nervous, but at the same time, you can't help but look forward to those fleeting moments when your paths cross.

One morning, your shower decides to betray you—your hot water cuts out just as you put your head under. You let out a bloodcurdling scream, quickly trying to jump out of the shower. Unfortunately for you, your foot slips on the hard floor, and you come crashing down, hitting your head on the sink, landing with a very loud thud. Dazed and confused, you are unsure if you passed out for a second there or not, but either way your head is killing you. 

"Fucking brilliant," you mutter to yourself, draping an arm across your eyes to shield them from the light.

At that moment, you heard your front door slamming open and hurried footsteps searching your apartment. You had just about enough sense to yank your towel off the hook and cover up your naked body.

"Y/N?" called a voice just outside the bathroom door.

Shit. It was Rio. You wished the ground would just swallow you up.

"Are you okay? I heard you scream, and then I heard something shatter." You could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

Lifting your head slightly, you noticed the shards of glass from what used to be your bathroom shelf, surrounding you. All you could do was let out a groan and close your eyes at this new development of what was turning out to be the worst morning of your life so far.

This was a bad choice, as a split second later, Rio barged into your bathroom.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Your neighbour teased, but you could hear the relief in her voice. She moved further into the room, assessing the damage. "Not to ruin such a perfect morning for you, but I might have broken your door getting in here." 

You open your eyes, blinking up at her. Taking her in, you noticed she was wearing a cropped baggy tank top and gym shorts. You blink up at her again, and your head throbs with each beat of your pulse, the pain radiating down your neck. You're still dazed, trying to process how you ended up sprawled on the cold bathroom floor with your FBI agent neighbour standing over you. Rio's sharp eyes take in your silence, concern clouding the playful smirk she'd worn just moments before.

"Hey," she says, voice softer now, as she crouches down beside you. She reaches out, fingertips gently brushing your cheek to turn your face towards her. "Y/N, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

You swallow, trying to focus. Her touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to her usual no-nonsense demeanour. You nod slightly, the movement making your head spin. "Rio," you manage to croak out. "Neighbour, FBI agent. And, apparently, a door kicker."

She huffs a laugh, a brief flicker of relief crossing her face. "Good. That's a start. I don't usually make a habit of barging into people's bathrooms uninvited, but I heard that scream, and... well, I'm glad I did." Her eyes drop down to your arm, where blood seeps from a jagged cut. She curses under her breath, her grip on your shoulder tightening just slightly. "You're bleeding. We need to get you cleaned up."

You glance down at your arm, wincing at the sight of blood trickling down to your hand. "I really know how to make an impression, huh?"

Rio shakes her head, lips pressed together in a tight line. "Let's save the jokes until you're not covered in glass, yeah?" Without another word, she slips an arm under your shoulders, helping you sit up. The world tilts slightly, but her hold on you is firm, steadying you as you get your bearings.

"You're going to have to trust me for a minute," she tells you softly. "Can you stand?"

"Maybe," you say, though you're not entirely sure. She helps you up, careful not to jostle your injured arm, and you try to ignore the heat of her skin against yours, the way her fingers dig into your side just enough to ground you.

Rio's eyes dart around the room, quickly assessing the mess of broken glass and water pooling on the floor. "Alright," she says decisively. "I'm taking you back to my place. We'll patch you up there. Your shower is out of commission, and I don't trust that you won't take another tumble if I leave you alone here."

You don't have the energy to argue, so you just nod, letting her guide you out of the bathroom. The two of you make it to the hallway, but not before she grabs a spare towel and wraps it around you more securely. Her movements are quick and efficient, but there's a gentleness to them that surprises you. It's a side of Rio you've never seen before—one that's patient and caring, not just the tough, sarcastic woman you've exchanged pleasantries with in passing.

As you step into her apartment, you notice it's much more personal than you'd imagined. There are framed photos on the walls—nothing too sentimental, mostly candid shots of places she's travelled to, city skylines, and sunsets. Her living room is cosy, with a worn leather couch and a small stack of books piled on the coffee table.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the couch. You sink down into it, feeling strangely out of place but oddly comfortable. Rio disappears into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. She kneels in front of you, carefully prying your hand away from your arm.

"This is going to sting," she warns, pulling out an antiseptic wipe. You flinch as she cleans the cut, her brows knitting together in concentration. "Sorry," she mutters. "I'm used to dealing with criminals and suspects, not clumsy neighbours."

"Criminals don't trip in the shower much?" you quip, trying for humour despite the pain. It earns you a small smile from Rio, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Not usually, no. Though I'll admit you're far more entertaining." Her voice softens again, the smirk fading as she wraps a bandage around your arm. "You scared me for a second there, you know."

The confession catches you off guard. "I did? you ask, watching her face as she finishes tying off the bandage.

She doesn't look up, her focus still on your arm. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I thought something bad had happened. Guess I care more about my neighbour than I realised."

Your heart skips a beat, the words hanging in the air between you. It's the first real admission of anything beyond casual friendliness, and it leaves you breathless. You're about to say something—anything—but Rio stands up, offering her hand to you.

"Come on," she says. "Let's get you some proper clothes and maybe a coffee. You can stay here until we sort out your door and shower."

Rio's grip on your hand is firm as she helps you up, her expression still hovering somewhere between concern and her usual, dry amusement. You follow her into the kitchen, and she releases you, motioning for you to sit at the table. It feels strange being here, in her space, especially after the chaos of your morning. She pulls out a chair for you with a slight roll of her eyes, as if it's absurd that you'd even try to resist her instruction.

"I don't have any shifts for the next two days," she announces, moving towards the coffee maker without glancing back at you. "And considering you might've blacked out for a second back there, I'm not letting you out of my sight. So, you're staying with me, here, until you're back on your feet properly."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look she throws over her shoulder silences you. It's one part worry and two parts something else—something softer, almost protective.

"I can manage," you say, but your voice lacks conviction, especially as you rub your throbbing arm. The bandage is already starting to bleed through a bit. Rio's eyes narrow at the sight, and she steps closer, prodding your arm gently.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job," she says dryly, then nods to herself. "You're staying here."

"Fine," you sigh, though part of you feels a flutter of something—relief, maybe, or the thrill of being looked after by someone like Rio. "But I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

Rio's lips twitch into a smirk. "I'm not letting you take the couch. You've already proven that you're a danger to yourself in any situation that involves standing up."

You can't help but laugh, despite everything. "So, what, we share your bed?"

She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to challenge her. "It's a queen size. I think we can manage. Unless you've suddenly developed a fear of co-sleeping?"

The thought of sharing a bed with her sends a rush of heat through you, but you try to play it off with a shrug. "As long as you don't hog the covers."

"I'll do my best," she says, the smirk widening.

-

The first night is awkward, as expected. You lie stiffly on one side of the bed, while Rio takes the other, the space between you feeling like a chasm despite the closeness. She's warm though, and you can feel the heat radiating from her body and the subtle scent of her shampoo filling your senses. It's both comforting and maddening, making it hard to fall asleep. Your hyper-aware of every shift she makes, every time her arm brushes against yours. At some point, she turns onto her side, facing you, and you feel her eyes on you in the dark.

"You still awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you reply, swallowing hard.

There's a pause, then you feel her hand brush against yours. It's light, almost as if by accident, but when you don't pull away, she leaves it there, her fingers barely touching yours.

"Try to get some sleep," she murmurs. "You need to rest."

"Alright," you say, voice hoarse, and somehow, with her so close, you finally drift off.

Over the next day and a half, the tension between you shifts, It's subtle at first—small, lingering glances from Rio that last a bit too long, the brush of her fingers against your back when she helps you into the kitchen. Her sarcasm returns, but there's a flirtatious edge to it now, like she's testing the waters.

"You're really milking this injury, aren't you?" She teases, handing you your drink to have with the pizza she bought for dinner. "You'd think you broke your entire body, the way you're lounging around."

"Hey," you protest, setting the drink down. "You're the one who insisted I stay. Don't blame me for enjoying the hospitality."

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, I'm well aware. But don't get too comfortable with me waiting on you hand and foot—I've got to go back to work tomorrow.

-

That night, the atmosphere between you shifts even more. When you climb into bed besides Rio, there's no hesitation this time. She turns towards you almost immediately, her hand resting lightly on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your shirt, her breath warm against the back of your neck. It's a small touch, nothing too bold, but it feels significant—an unspoken acknowledgement of everything simmering between you two. You fall asleep like that, closer than before, your fingers unconsciously brushing hers under the covers.

When you wake up, she's already dressed for the day, leaning over you with a mug of coffee in hand. She sets it down on the nightstand with a playful smile. "Morning sweetheart," she says, her voice laced with that familiar teasing tone, but there's a softness to it now. "Try not to do anything risky while I'm gone, yeah? I don't want to come back to find you've taken a tumble without me here to save the day."

You laugh, reaching for the coffee, but there's a flutter in your chest at the pet name, even if she means it jokingly. "I'll do my best," you say. "But no promises."

She smirks, leaning down just enough to press a light kiss to your forehead. "Good. I'll be back later. Make yourself at home."

You do. The rest of the day passes in a strangely pleasant haze, and you find yourself enjoying the small comforts of her apartment. It's quiet without her, but there's a sense of ease you haven't felt in a long time, like you truly belong here. You find yourself smiling for no reason, touching the small trinkets on her shelves, running your fingers over the soft throw blankets she has draped across the couch.

By the time you decide to take a shower, you're feeling entirely too content. You strip down, stepping under the hot spray with a sigh. That's when your thoughts drift back to Rio—how she looked last night, half-asleep and tousled, her arm draped over your waist, her expression unguarded in a way you'd never seen before.

Your thoughts turn to fantasy almost unbidden. You imagine her joining you in the shower, pressing you back against the cold tiles, her hands sliding down your wet skin. You can almost feel it—the heat of her breath on your neck, the firmness of her body against yours. You start to move your hand towards your aching clit, letting out a quiet, shuddering moan, lost in the fantasy of what it would be like to kiss her and have her hands on you.

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but suddenly, you hear her voice—low and amused. "You sure you're okay in here? Didn't have another fall, did you?"

You freeze, eyes snapping open. You can barely see her through the steam, but she's there, standing just outside the shower curtain, and you realise with a jolt that she must have heard you. You heart slams against your ribs as the curtain slides back just a little, and Rio steps inside completely naked, her smirk evident even through the haze.

"I really just can't trust you not to injure yourself while showering, can I?" she says, voice teasing but thick with something else—desire, maybe. Her eyes travel down your body, lingering in a way that sends a shiver through you.

"Rio," you breathe out, half a warning, half a plea.

She steps closer, crowding you against the wall, her hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. "You know," she murmurs, her lips so close to yours now that you can feel the brush of them with every word. "I think you've been waiting for me to do this."

And then she kisses you, slow and heated, like she's been thinking about this just as much as you have. Her mouth is soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you until you melt into her, hands tangling in her hair as you kiss her back just as eagerly. The steam from the shower mixes with the heat between you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours. "I knew it," she whispers, her voice laced with satisfaction. "You've been wanting this so badly, haven't you?"

You nod, swallowing thickly. "Yeah," you admit, barely louder than a whisper. "I have."

She grins, tugging you closer until you're pressed against her, chest to chest. "Good," she says, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time. "Because I've been wanting it too."

And with that, she shoves you against the wall. Hard. She's kissing you all over, igniting the skin where each one lands. She nips and sucks at your neck, finding where you're most sensitive. A moan escapes your lips, and you buck your hips, trying to get any kind of friction against your core. For a brief moment, you start to get embarrassed, but then one of Rio's hands finds its way between your legs. She dips a finger between your lips and hums at how wet you already are for her.

Looking directly into your eyes, silently telling you to keep her gaze, she lowers herself to suck on one of your tits, tongue swirling around your nipple, making it harden quickly. The hand not on your clit, starts to pinch your other nipple, pulling another loud guttural moan from you. 

Working her mouth down your torso, marking up your body as she goes, Rio sinks to her knees, her face now directly opposite your dripping cunt, eyes still locked on yours.

Her hands deftly grip your hips, steadying you against the wall. "You've got to promise me you're not going to fall again, sweetheart," she all but growls, the arousal evident in her voice.

You nod your head, but it wasn't enough for the woman, who digs her nails into your skin where she's holding you. "Ye-Yes. I promise."

That was all Rio needs before she starts to drag her tongue through your folds. Switching between broad licks along the length between your entrance and your clit, and firmer, more purposeful circles over your bundle of nerves.

You feel dizzy, but you know it has nothing to do with your concussion and everything to do with the woman kneeling between your legs. Despite your head spinning, you manage to bring your hands down to tangle in Rio's hair, pushing her harder into you. You need more.

She moans against you, clearly enjoying how turned on you are. The vibration from the moan goes straight to your core, and you nearly cum just from that. Sensing you're close, Rio pushes two fingers inside you, causing you to curse her name inbetween moans.

You feel her chuckle and then start fucking you more vigorously. "I want to hear you, baby. I want the whole floor to hear you moan my name," she says, momentarily pulling away from your pussy. You can't help but oblige as she starts to curl her fingers, resuming her licking and sucking.

With her fingers curling inside you like that, it isn't long before you climax, legs shaking, coming hard over her fingers and tongue. Rio helps you through the end of your orgasm, making sure to hold you up as you come back down. 

"Okay, darling, I think we need to sit you down before you lose another fight with gravity," Rio smirks. You can't help but agree; your knees feel very weak and it's taking all of your concentration to stay upright.

"Oh, by the way, I bumped into the maintenance guys on my way in," Rio says lightly, helping you out of the shower. "And they said that your door isn't getting fixed for at least another week. So, it looks like you'll have me to help you shower for a little while longer." Winking, she drags you to her bed, determined to continue what she had just started

[h50europe]

8.06 post mortem - Buck/Tommy - General - 9-1-1 Zombified

Many of us wondered why a cut emergency case from episode 7.04 was used. A novelty and if you look closely, you'll notice that the characters appeared very different from how they did in the rest of season 8, and the scenes felt erratic. This inconsistency is reminiscent of the writing from Andrew Meyers, who also wrote episode 7.04. However, in that episode, he had a co-writer who was clearly more talented. Episode 8.06 was poorly written compared to 7.04. Alone the scene in the beginning. Buck could have pointed out that this chick was interrupting the date he had with his boyfriend. Tommy then mentioned the Kinsey scale

Our walking encyclopedia had no idea what his boyfriend was talking about. Seriously? Also, Buck doesn't want to buy a present for their 6-month anniversary, and Tommy gives him 2 Lakers baseball cards and awkwardly mentions that Buck could go with Eddie? Is this dinner supposed to be romantic? Well, they could have gone to McDonalds. Meyers should have consulted his co-writer at this point; we're heading straight for disaster. Then Tim had this wonderful idea with Abby and thought it was hilarious. The guy's humour isn't just weird, it's kind of crude. Abby never mentioned that she went out with another guy from the 118. Isn't that weird? No one ever knew about it? Not Hen, not Chim? For two years? Did Tommy keep her locked in his basement? This plot is so poorly constructed that it's cringe-worthy at best. And that's when Himbo's jaw hit the floor… along with the audience.

The only good scene was Josh's GLEE speech. And I may be reading between the lines, but I felt that the way Josh talked about post and past GLEE and how Buck can't blame Tommy for his actions because times were different was a wink and a nod to the haters. I really had the impression that this was a cunning move to address why Tommy was who he was back then and why he has changed now.

But seconds later I nearly choked on my drink, and I can tell you it's orgasmic when a sip of Pepsi comes out of your nose, when Maddie said, "She wondered how many men Abby had turned gay." Because I was chatting to a friend before I watched the episode and I almost said the same thing. I live in Europe, so I watched it the next day, knowing what was coming, but nothing about that particular scene. Which, frankly, was terrible.

Forgive me for ignoring the emergencies in this episode. They were repetitive, to say the least, just with different protagonists.

So far we have a recycled episode, a recycled ex, a recycled emergency and a recycled scenario, Maddy is pregnant (hooray). It begins to reek of decay.

Brownie points to those who aren't already traumatised or bored to death. Now for the highlight: Tommy shows up at Buck's apartment in a great mood. He is looking forward to a date with his friend and hot sex as the icing on the cake (that's what I had in mind). Tommy gets suspicious when Buck asks him to sit down. It doesn't take long before he pulls out his phone and shows his friend photos of Abby and a younger Buck. This is followed by an awkward explanation of why he didn't share the news in the restaurant, and Tommy's reaction is a little awkward too. But this is only the overture to the worst retconning I have seen on television in a long time. The coincidence is swept under the carpet in the blink of an eye, and now it gets creepy.

Compare the scene in the coffee shop with this one. It has the same structure, bit by bit. Buck invites Tommy to the wedding in the coffee shop, and Tommy says, "What?" Here it is: "I want you to move in with me." We have a mashup of the first kiss and the coffee shop scene, and Oliver plays it similarly. The worst part is when Tommy turns into his zombie version. Excellently played by Lou. No doubt about it. He gave it his all. He maimed that shitty script, which felt like Meyers had raided AO3, picked the worst written fics and went for the most cringe-worthy insult he could find for a bisexual. "I was your first, but I won't be your last." Hello? This topic only comes to Tommy's mind after he is asked to move in together? I was expecting "I can't move in with you because I wouldn't know where to put my car lift and Muay Thai studio". No, it's because all the trust and love Tommy put in Buck is wiped out by the retconning of Tommy's personality. He succumbs to total chaos. This is not the Tommy we met in S7 and certainly not the one we met in 8.05. Fuck me! It didn't make sense. We would have needed a lot more background information ON SCREEN to make it believable. A scene from Tommy's past. Who hurt him so badly? It wasn't Abby. She only managed to traumatise Buck. Was it after he met Abby? Was it another guy?

Hello writers, are you still in your right mind? We have no clues. Neither the loyal fans and certainly not the new ones. You're reducing a character to a sad laughing stock. You rob him of all his merits, which you had Buck recite like a poem in school. And then you expect us to believe it? You steamroll over everything that's been painstakingly built up to this episode? It's actually convenient, I let the whole relationship run off screen. We don't see any flying lessons together, no training together, no cosy get-togethers in front of the TV, no exchange of affection, nothing. It's all headcanon. Guys, I've seen shows and movies where a sequence like this lasted five minutes and you knew where the couple stood. Maybe a flashback or two into Tommy's past would have helped. But no, instead the audience had to put up with the same old nonsense. A ridiculous story about an urn, a guy who sneezes and his intestines fall out, a kid who doesn't fall down a drain but slips down a pipe. They give us nothing, but we're supposed to believe everything, retconning is so great. If any of us wrote fanfiction like that, we'd be banned from AO3. And as if that wasn't enough, Tommy stands up and says, "Believe me, I didn't see this coming either. Tell me, were you on drugs when you were writing? There are a thousand ways to respond sensibly to "Let's move in together" without turning it into such a dumpster fire. The crowning glory of all this madness is when Tommy says "I'll see you around Buck" instead of Evan (the same words he said to Evan when he left him standing outside the restaurant on their first date). Where did that come from? It's as if Tommy had lost all respect for his lover, or as if he wanted to punch him in the face while he was already on the ground. We, the viewers, also had this feeling. And Tommy's behaviour was completely disturbed. I wonder if he checked himself into a mental facility right after that.

I won't say anything about the rest of the episode because I'm a polite person.

Conclusion: Please take the pen away from this lunatic and never let him write anything again or give him a co-writer like in 7.04. The guy is totally unhinged.

Extra brownies, you made it!

[hunter470]

My 9-1-1 RANT

Ok, I don’t normally do these types of posts, but I can’t move on until I get some things out. These are just my thoughts about the latest episodes of 9-1-1 as well as overall comments on the Buck/Tommy relationship. These opinions are mine and are based on the countless hours of TV I’ve watched in my 54 years on this planet, as well as my knowledge of writing and how Hollywood operates. I’m not confirming that any of this is true or are the real intentions of anyone involved with the show. Just my opinions. So, you can agree with me or not. I’m not trying to persuade anyone in any way. Also, I’m not going to get into endless arguments about my opinions but feel free to comment if you want, I just don’t promise I’ll reply. 

Ok, here we go. Sorry it’s so long. Like I said earlier, I just needed to get it out. So many wasted opportunities.

If you think TM cares what the fans want, you’re seriously kidding yourself. If he did, Buddie would have been canon a long time ago. The only thing he cares about is ratings and his vision for the show, which can change at a moment’s notice with no rhyme or reason as we’ve seen. 

Although I loved Buck and Tommy together, I knew the show wouldn’t do their story justice. So, no matter what TM or OS have said, the bi story was only to garner publicity, draw in new viewers, and increase ratings especially with the show moving to a new network. There was no altruistic reason behind it so don’t kid yourself. They knew there was an audience for the story because of all the Buddie shippers. Just remember, it’s called show business, not show friends for a reason.

Do you think OS really cares about bi representation? Based on his latest comments and non-apology it’s obvious he only cares about getting the stories that garner him the most screen time and press. Seriously, read his latest interviews. He’s excited to get to have fun now. So, congrats OS, Buck gets to F around. Just shows how most, if not all, actors are ego driven no matter what they say. Sorry not sorry.

TM has commented that he doesn’t owe anyone anything. In fact, I recall him saying to Buddie fans if they don’t like it, read fanfiction. If that didn’t clue you in, then you weren’t reading the room. Kinda reminds me of another show runner…for those who watched H50 you know who I’m talking about. That’s why I don’t get heavily invested in these shows. I’ll watch but I never expect anything I like to last…especially if it has to do with gay relationships.

It says a lot that the show remained completely silent about the bullying and death threats Lou received just for playing a role he was happy to play. Again, they really didn’t care because they knew he wasn’t going to be there after episode six. What a great message for all the bullies…just keep bullying and you’ll get what you want. 

Again, reread OS’s interviews. He was doing the Hollywood double speak. Says just enough to keep you hooked with hope to get you to watch even when he knew all along it wasn’t lasting. It really was as clear as day if you go back and read what he said. 

Also, if you thought Buck was going to get into a meaningful long-term relationship, then you didn’t watch the video from the You Tuber “Call Me Chato” that TM posted on his Facebook. The video was all about characters and how they should always stay fundamentally the same with minimal development - I’m paraphrasing. However, Buck is the golden retriever, heart so big it gets broken, character who will remain on a hamster wheel and unlucky in love because that’s who he is. If he changes too much it shifts the dynamic, which only happens if the show was ending. 

If you thought the writers would do justice to a bisexual story, then you haven’t been watching the show closely. There’s been minimal Buck/Tommy relationship development on screen. Taylor got more. Viewers were lucky to get crumbs in the limited screen time Buck and Tommy got. Then, a breakup out of left field? One minute Buck is saying Tommy is it for him and he wants him to move in, and then it’s over? If he truly felt deeply for Tommy, why not fight to keep him? Why give up so easily and let him walk away? What’s the point? Also, to end it on a terrible stereotype is yet another clue. Horrible writing and another sign that TM and OS had zero investment in the relationship. The whole break up was rushed and made no sense. Essentially, it was just used to draw people in and to get Buck single and sleeping around again because that’s who he is. I for one won’t care for any of Buck’s future relationships. I mean, why would I when they never last. 

Also, writers that give you a 66-year-old police sergeant and a 10 y/o boy landing a heavily damaged plane on an active freeway in LA with no prior training, and sorry playing video game flight simulators is not training, is some Sharknado level writing, which is not a compliment. Oh, and that whole story was truly the shows “jumping the shark” moment. If you don’t know what the term “jumping the shark” means, look it up and try to tell me I’m wrong. 

Not having Tommy involved in the three part premier episodes, other than a few minutes at a birthday party, was so obvious as to the show’s intent. I mean, the fake captain from Hotshots got more screen time. 

They claim they wanted someone for Buck that was connected to him and the 118 and then you don’t use the character at all. You wanted Buck off the hamster wheel? What a crock! Such a wasted opportunity.

Since it’s been confirmed episode 6 was filmed before 5, Tim’s just playing god with peoples’ feelings and crushing their hearts at this point. I mean, how do you have such a great episode (5) and a wonderful speech by Josh (6) just to break them up? Plus, having Tommy break up after six months? That man was all in, which was obvious in episode 5.

Guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that’s how TM would handle things after that horrible Tarlos breakup. At least on Lone Star we knew Rafa (Carlos) was a main cast member so there was hope. Lou was a guest star so it seems kinda final based on his interviews. Again, what was the point? They could have had Buck's bi revelation be with a random character. So, building up the Buck/Tommy relationship just to take it away was to inflict the most pain. Good job. 

Do I think the show will make Buddie canon? Who knows…one thing I do know is I wouldn’t trust them if they did. Also, even if Tommy somehow returns, I don’t trust TM with anything related to this story. Sure, hope he’s happy with ruining the show for so many people. Again, like another show runner I mentioned in item 4 above. Honestly, I can’t believe the Buddie fans have stayed for so long. That’s commitment, I guess. 

Do I think Lou should go back to 9-1-1? Hell no! He was screwed over by both TM and OS. Prove it to me otherwise. However, it’s up to him and of course, he loves acting so I wouldn’t blame him.

Finally, even though I’ve watched the show since the beginning, it no longer brings me joy. There are too many other TV shows to stick with one I no longer enjoy. So yes, I’m announcing my departure, and I don’t give an F what OS, you, or anyone else thinks about it. Not that any of this matters any way…

[cyanhydrangea]

Unconventional

[Sakusa Kiyoomi x Artist! Fem! Reader]

Sakusa chuckled, "You got a very unconventional way to propose a friendship"

Sakusa always notice your presence whenever you're nearby.

You're always on your phone among the cheering crowd in Itachiyama's tournaments. Sakusa is always wondering if you're actually recording his matches or something.

He also wondered why he wishes you would cheer for him rather than doing whatever you do with your phone.

"I don't even know her name...", Sakusa muttered under his breath after he put on his mask again as he walked out of the gymnasium with his teammates.

"Whose name?", Komori asked, startling Sakusa a little as he didn't realized he was thinking out loud.

Sakusa stared at his cousin for a second, considering if he should ask him or not.

"The funny looking girl who's always on her phone on our matches", Sakusa's curiosity wins him over this time.

"Oh, her? I believe her name is [Last Name] [First Name]", Komori answered his question.

Sakusa hummed as a response, trying to make it seems like he's done being interested. Deep down, he knows he's far from being done looking for anything about you.

~~~

Apparently, you're a relatively new transfer student in Itachiyama. Your class is next to his, so Sakusa sometimes see you at the hallway.

Whenever you make eye contact with him, you always smile at him but says nothing.

Sakusa noticed how your eyes would lighten a bit whenever you noticed his presence. He also noticed you always bring a book wherever you go. For three months, no words are exchanged between the two of you, despite how badly Sakusa wants to.

"Sakusa! Someone is looking for you", Iizuna shouted from the door of the school gym.

Sakusa saw you panicked and said something to his team captain before you practically running away from the gym.

"What happened?", The curly haired boy was saddened as he thought he finally got a chance to talk to you.

"Here, she said it's for you", Iizuna handed him the book you're always carrying everywhere. He can read the book title right away, [First Name]'s Sketchbook.

Sakusa decide to open the sketchbook when he's finally alone in his bedroom.

The book is full of your headshot and bust up drawing of him, from rough sketches to fully rendered ones. Sakusa noticed your artstyle varies based on the media you used, although he can't name them one by one as he's not an artsy type himself. However, there's something remarkable about your artstyle that anyone will recognize.

~~~

The next day, Sakusa wasted no time to go to your class first thing in the morning.

You were already sitting at your desk by the time he arrived. Mixed feelings swirling inside you as the curly dark haired boy approached you.

"Why do you give this sketchbook to me?"

You smiled at his question, "Consider it as something I offer in exchange of a friendship I want with you"

Sakusa chuckled, "You got a very unconventional way to propose a friendship"

You sheepishly answered, "I'm not very good at expressing my feelings in words"

"Same, but I'm not skilled at anything else than volleyball. I'll just buy you another sketchbook in return, sounds good?"

You giggled, "Is gift giving your love language?"

Although he's wearing his mask, you can sense a smirk across Sakusa's face, "Isn't it yours too?"

Your giggles subsided, "Yeah, you're right"

The two of you know these remarks a new friendship bond that's going to differ from the usual.

#CyanHydrangea Date Written: 11/11/2024

[areyouwell]

Hii I love your Phobophobia series so much, can you do a little one shot of flashback from the relating series? Something like a day in their life back when they're still in that gateway forest cabin house.

They spend quite some time there, I remember a brief scene where Logan made a DIY gift for the reader's birthday and it was the CUTEST thing ever, or the framed picture of him reader's put on the counter. I just need to get know more of what happened like a reality tv show lmaoo. When it's only the two of them most of the time, isolated. Surely there'd be time where they'd get sick of each other, but they couldn't ask for more, and they wouldn't ask for more, they only have each other.

i have no restraint when it comes to these two... as much as i wanna focus on my new long series i just can't quit them

'Prisoner of My Past' – A Phobophobia Oneshot

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: if y'all keep requesting them, y'all are gonna get em. here's another firefly and logan oneshot, taking place after 5.5 and before 6. smut, angst, fluff, what else could a girl need?

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

The slightest breeze kicked up the light, sheer curtains of the cabin window, the approaching autumn heavy in the air as your brows furrowed instinctively. Pulling the covers closer around your neck and burrowing further into the furnace warmth of Logan’s chest, a croaky groan of disapproval rumbled from your throat. 

Too early. Once again you’d woken up too early. 

A soft smile of adoration pulled at Logan’s lips as he tightened his hold around your body, already knowing you’d woken up in an irritable mood because you had indeed woken up before ten in the morning. He didn’t say anything, knowing you’d rather attempt to gaslight yourself into believing you were still asleep for a few more minutes before you’d finally accept that you were conscious. Still, he pressed a light kiss to the crown of your head, his way of telling you he was awake too. Whilst you didn’t quite have the same appreciation for mornings that he had, there was still no other way he’d rather spend his time. Curled up with you beneath the plush duvet and various quilted blankets with the window cracked open, just the way you liked it. The only downside was the sun. And oh boy was it making a bright debut this morning

You shifted again, pressing your nose into the hollow of his throat as if you could simply assimilate yourself into his body and escape the reality of having to open your eyes. But you weren’t that kind of mutant, unfortunately. At least, not that you were aware of…

“Ready yet?” He murmured into your hair, voice thick and scratchy with sleep in a way that made you shiver slightly. Smug bastard knew the effect his voice had on you, and had, on more than one occasion, used it to borderline seduce you out of bed. Not that you hadn’t turned the tables, and seduced him into bed. But this was different. This was unfair. Because it was happening to you. It was fine when you did it…

You answered with another long groan of malcontent and a huff of resignation, before finally removing your head from the comfort of his neck, blinking away the remnants of the sleep you so sorely wished to return to. 

“Hey.” He grinned with a raised brow. After the first few times of you reminding him that the concept of a ‘good morning’ didn’t exist and was stupid, he decided to drop the whole ‘mornin’ thing altogether, despite being content to lie back and listen to you rant about it for the next twenty minutes.

“Time?” You asked gruffly, not having the energy to lean up a fraction and look past him to the bedside clock.

“You really wanna know?” 

“Good news or bad news?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

You huffed again, your forehead falling forward to rest back into his chest. “So that’s bad news then.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from where your forehead rested, and you almost thought waking up this early was worth it just to hear that. Almost.

“It’s before ten.” You could hear his shit-eating grin, clearly thrilled you were up earlier than the goddamn worm before it’s eaten by the bird. 

“How long before ten? There’s a difference between five minutes and fifty.”

“Then you definitely don’t wanna know.”

You looked up from his chest with a deep, irritated scowl, before mustering up the courage, and the energy, to prop yourself up on your elbow to look at the digital clock by his bedside. 

You almost fainted. 

“Three minutes past nine? Three minutes past nine?! Times like this shouldn’t fucking exist. There was a reason I scheduled all of my damn classes in the afternoon. What do people even do this early in the morning? Sit around and wait for the day to start?” You lamented, flopping back onto the pillows before Logan could take advantage of your change in position and remove his arm from beneath your body. It’s fine, he didn’t need to feel his hand anyway…

“Hate to break it to ya Firefly, but most people would be at work by now.”

“Disgusting heathens.”

Logan snorted a laugh, shifting himself to lie atop you, blanketing you with his own body. You found it comforting, like the world’s warmest weighted blanket that could also double up at a stress toy when your hands needed something to knead into. You savoured the way he’d almost purr when your fingers dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders or back, working through stiff knots until he melted into your chest. But this time your deft fingers wove through his hair, simply playing with the soft brown strands as you slowly woke yourself up, the scruff on his jaw scratching against the skin of your collar. Your nails scratched lightly against his scalp and you felt the telltale, purring sigh dust your chest where he’d turned his head to listen to your heart.

“Ya know…” he began, his voice taking on a different gravelly tone to the one he woke up with, and you could already sense where this was going. “There are ways to make mornin’s like this worth wakin’ up for,” he turned his head to rest his chin on your breastbone, heated desire swirling in his dark gaze.

‘Mhm? That so? And how, may I ask, could waking up this early be so worthy?” You loved these little games you played together, the rhythms you danced. Logan pushed himself up on his elbows to barely hover over you, and you didn’t miss the way his arms flexed slightly as he worked his way back up to your neck, tracing his lips up from between your breasts, over your collarbone and to the side of your throat, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Your body slowly smouldered to life, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he littered the side of your neck with little nibbles and sharp bites, smoothing over the small hurts with his tongue. Your breath hitched in your throat as he sucked a light bruise against the scar on your pulse point, his hands braced either side of your head. 

“I could start from here…” he murmured against the lobe of your ear before pulling it with his teeth, revelling in the way he could smell your sweet arousal building between your thighs. He went back to suckling deep purple blossoms into the skin of your throat, leaving the side of your head tingling deliciously from the attention.  “‘N work my way down…” he did as he said, indeed working his way down from the side of your jaw to your collar, grinning against the bone as you shivered a quiet gasp when his hand skirted from aside your head to brace against your waist, his thumb smoothing soft circles against your skin. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, breasts aching for him to finally claim what was his and seal his mouth over your peaked nipples, but he did nothing but tease you, tongue darting out to lap between where you needed him most. Well, not most, but you knew when he was in this kind of a mood, it was going to take a while before he was where you needed him more than anywhere else, the apex of your thighs already slick and ready for him. 

Logan looked up at you through dark lashes, committing to memory the way your brows pinched when he neared the peak of your breast, only to furrow again when he moved away to work up the other as if he couldn’t decide which he wanted to take first. He knew it was cruel for him to tease you this way, and he knew you could give it just as much as you got, maybe even more, but at this moment, he truly didn’t care. If you decided later to bring him to the edge only to leave him high and dry, he knew it would be worth seeing you like this. Submissive. Impatient. Yearning. Desperate. 

Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, lips sandwiched between teeth when his tongue circled the tip of your breast, and you could only arch your back so far before he took pity on you and enveloped your sensitive pebble with his warm, wet mouth. You keened, head falling back onto the pillows as your fingers in his hair encouraged his movements, a disobedient whine flying from your gated lips as he sucked gently, his tongue flicking over and over the perked bud. 

A low groan rumbled from his throat, heightening the soft sparks of pleasure he delivered with his mouth, already feeling his need for you throbbing against your thigh, his hips grinding against your soft skin. But he wanted to take his time. After all, you’d woken up much earlier than normal, and things like that should be rewarded. Drawing in a deep, slightly shaky breath, he nipped across your plush chest, scraping his teeth over where he knew you were most sensitive before settling his mouth over your neglected nipple, drawing another breathy whine from your lips. 

“Logan…” you sighed, squeezing your thighs together and unknowingly providing more for his pulsing cock to grind against. His eyes fluttered closed as muted ecstasy fogged his mind from doing nothing but grazing his tip along your inner thigh, his teeth clamping down lightly on your hard bud. You gasped airly, and Logan wished he could capture the sound in a bottle.

Descending further, he took his time kissing and lavishing the various scars across your stomach, making sure to run his tongue along each one at least once, even as your body quivered with wanton anticipation and your hips rose needily into his chest. 

“All the way down to here.” You’d completely forgotten he was explaining what he could do to make the morning worth it until his gravelly, lust-laced voice rose from between your thighs, his hands now braced against your hips to hold you still. Your scent wrapped around his addled brain, pulling him closer to your slicked cunt and your teeth sank into your lower lip just as he moved to swerve your heat altogether, his lips attaching to the needle-point scar to the left of your inner thigh.

Frustration kindled in your chest despite the tickling pleasure of his mouth, the rough surface of his bears scratching deliciously against your velvet skin, sending a mixture of feelings through your scalding blood. Your fingers twirled through the strands of his hair, pulling harshly in an attempt to shift him to where you truly needed him most, but it resulted in nothing but a huffed groan and a sharp nip as if he was reminding you to behave. You tensed your jaw hard enough to hear your teeth grinding together, the ache between your thighs becoming almost unbearable, that needy pulsing of your walls begging for attention. 

It was taking all of Logan’s self-control to ignore the call of your sweet arousal, to push down his instincts to devour you and continue on with his constant, lengthy teasing. Until you tugged on his hair again, a shiver running down his spine as he grinned wickedly against your thigh, his leaky cock jumping with equal need. 

You cried out the moment his nose nudged your clit as he practically nuzzled into your throbbing pussy, his tongue finally darting out to lap up the honeydew nectar dripping from your heat. And the moment he tasted you, he couldn’t hold back. Lewd groans and wet smacks filled the air as he devoured your aching cunt, lashes of pleasure struck your body with each desperate suck of your clit. 

“Fuck…! Logan… Logan!” You gasped his name through harsh pants and airy moans, your voice unrestrained as he dragged you closer and closer to that edge after working you up for so long. Your spine arched, hips undulating against his waiting tongue, and he loosened his grip on your waist to allow you to ride his face, relishing the desperation of your movements. His lips latched onto your throbbing pearl, freeing one hand and teasing his fingers around your entrance, inhaling sharply as your nails scratched up the sides of his neck. 

Achingly slowly, he gifted you the ecstasy of his fingers, your velvet walls instantly clamping down on the sudden, welcome instruction. Fuck he could feel you pulsing around him as his digits curled inside you, and he burned to feel you around his cock. With steady, careful ministrations, he heard your voice crack slightly, a telltale sign of you getting teasingly close to achieving your high. 

Your head snapped back as the pads of his fingers grazed that little bundle of pure lightning deep within your cunt, your entire body shaking as you teetered on the precipice of euphoria. “Th-there! Don’t stop… Fuck yes, Logan ‘m so– so close!” You trembled, subconsciously proud of yourself for even being able to form a coherent sentence with your mind so blissfully blank with pleasure. 

He growled in affirmation, pulsing his fingers against the rapturous key to your release until he felt your thighs clamp around his head and breathing became almost impossible. A broken wail stuttered from your lips as he finally pushed you over the edge, fractured gasps cried into the ceiling as warmth flooded your senses, feeling nothing but the unbearable ecstasy of his tongue and fingers. 

Your hips ground senselessly against his mouth, wave after delectable wave of release coursing through your nerves, your sharp nails sinking into the sinewy muscles of his shoulders as you clung to him for dear life, every fibre of your being set alight by his wicked ministrations. And in true Logan fashion, he didn’t stop, and it wasn’t long before sharp spikes of sensitivity shocked your system that had you frantically pushing him away, giving yourself a moment to recover. 

You hissed a curse as you floated back into your trembling body, dark chuckles fanning up your body as his slick mouth crawled back up to your neck and you were barely able to shift your boneless arms up with him.

“Worth it yet?” He asked, voice husky from groaning into your cunt, and you managed a crooked grin, chest still heaving with the intensity of your orgasm. You didn’t quite know how to articulate that, even if he hadn’t just sent you to nirvana and back, just waking up by his side and seeing his face makes early mornings worth it. 

“Mmm, not quite, but it will be.” You hummed, your fingers leaving the tangled mess of his hair to ghost down his chest, dancing across the prominent vein at his naval before dipping lower to gently grip his cock, feeling it hot and heavy in your hand. Logan’s features slackened, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly dragged your palm up and down his shaft, circling his sensitive tip and using the copious pre-spend as a natural lubricant. His jaw fell open with heavy breaths, abs flexing as he thrust into your grip and you could see the muscles in his shoulders tense with restraint. 

Wrapping your still slightly shaky thighs around his waist, you gave his member a small squeeze before swiping his tip between your soaking folds, clamping your lips together to silence your oversensitive whimpers when he nudged the hood of your clit. Slowly rolling his hips, Logan breached your heat, loosening a low groan into the side of your neck as you welcomed him eagerly. There were few moments he’d feel more at peace than when he did buried deep inside your cunt, wrapped in the clenching velvety walls at the apex of your thighs. 

And he could feel the way you deliberately tensed around him, gripping him like a vice as he drew back. Clenching his teeth, he could already feel himself wanting to fill you, wanting to claim you as his own here and now, despite having done just that countless times before. His fingers gripped the sheet on either side of your head as he managed to find a steady rhythm, almost teasing himself with the promise of the earth-shattering release he knew he’d find. He always did when it came to you.

“Always feel so good, sweetheart. S–! So fucking good.” He stuttered, a shock of ecstasy catching him off-guard as you sank your nails into his shoulders. The gentle roughness of your scratches always sent his mind reeling with the paradox, and in response he circled his hips slightly, grinding into that spot only he could reach. You’d confessed once that you’d never managed to make yourself cum like that, and it inflated his ego tenfold knowing that only he was able to bring you that kind of brain-numbing pleasure. 

“‘M yours, Logan…” you whispered like a secret, sending a shiver down his spine and a pulse to his cock. His hips stuttered into yours, losing control of himself briefly before he found himself having to still completely, lest he came before you did. You sent him a knowing grin, tensing around him as if to seduce him back into the rhythm he’d previously set. 

“Say that again.” He almost pleaded, and your brows pinched as your efforts proved successful, only this time there was a primal brutality to the way he started to thrust into you, his back arching with the slicing pain of his claws sliding through the skin of his knuckles, providing more pleasure than hurt.

“I’m yours. Belong– Fuck! Belong to you…” Your voice hitched slightly, head pitching back as your second release of the morning bubbled just below the surface. Logan growled into the side of your neck, carefully freeing his hand from the tangle of sheets and mattress filling to wrap around your thigh, lifting it higher to sit at his rips, nicking his own flesh with his claws as he did. An involuntary gasp sailed from his lips, another strike of lightning igniting his blood as he felt you tremble around him, your high so fucking close. 

“Mine.” He snarled, catching your earlobe between his teeth as he shoved his claws back into the padding of the mattress, your nails sinking deeper into his shoulders as you canted your hips onto his pistoning cock, your moans climbing higher in pitch before getting caught in your throat altogether. There was the briefest moment of silence before you tipped over the edge, back into the ocean of pleasure you’d just crawled out of. 

Logan sank his teeth into the space between your neck and shoulder as you shuddered uncontrollably around him, your entire body spasming with utter bliss as you rode him through your second orgasm, your nails dragging from his shoulders to his back, down over the tense muscles running down either side of his arching spine. How he managed to hold out whilst you soared through inconceivable ecstasy was a testament to his self-control, and only when you were coming back down did he continue, now chasing nothing but his own release. 

“Yours… ‘m yours.” You repeated almost like a mantra as your mind blurred for a moment, before returning with a clarity you hadn’t felt since waking up that morning. “All yours, Logan…” you whispered with renewed intentions. Leaning up slightly, you clenched around him once again, dragging a low, desperate moan from the depths of his chest before you murmured something that sent him flying over the edge. “And you are mine.”

Logan’s eyes screwed shut as you sank your teeth deep into the side of his neck, his jaw locking open as he stuttered a roaring gasp of your name, his cock jolting and pulsing as he shot rope after thick rope inside you, a firestorm of pure, unadulterated pleasure coursing through his system. He could feel the warm trail of blood trickling down his shoulder from where you’d bitten into him, the sharp sting only causing him to lose control of himself completely, his hips bucking wildly into your cunt before he stilled inside you, chest heaving, mind hazing, cock throbbing. 

The coppery tang of blood invaded your mouth and you were worried for a moment that you’d gone too far, but the way he sagged onto you, uncaring of his weight, told you otherwise, and you watched the wound stitch back together with the same fascination you felt when seeing it for the first time. 

He was dead. He must be. There was no way he could have come back from that. Everytime you fucked, he swore it just kept getting better, and he reached a new height with each release. Cracking his eyes open, he could see the three deep veins in the mattress left behind by the slashing of his claws, stuffing and fluff scattered across the floor and the bed. He knew he should move. Knew he should probably roll off you and let you breathe, but if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think he could. It was rare the Wolverine felt little to know strength, and every single time he did it was little after spilling into your welcoming cunt. 

With a soft hum, you thumbed away the little trickle of blood down his neck before your fingers wove through his soft strands of sweat-damp hair, chuckling lightly as he groaned in exhaustion. You knew it wouldn’t last long, and if you continued, he’d be hard again in a matter of minutes, but you couldn’t stop the yearning to soothe his pretty head. 

“Almost tore your throat out… sorry.” Though, from the sounds of it, you didn’t sound sorry at all. If anything, you sounded almost proud of yourself. Logan breathed a sigh into the side of your neck, feeling too heavy to do much other than shift slightly, pulling himself from your heat. 

“‘N they say I’m the animal,” you giggled wickedly at his words, though your expression softened almost instantly as he looked up at you, eyes full of nothing but sheer, pure devotion. “Christ, I love you.” He murmured, before finding the willpower to raise up onto his forearms and roll onto his side, tucking you in tight and taking you with him, his lips sealed to yours in a passionate, languid kiss. 

“I love you too.” You responded, your tone hushed as you basked in the afterglow of the morning. “Definitely worth waking up for.” 

Logan scoffed, but the sound warmed your heart because his little, disobedient smile meant everything to you. He meant everything to you. You sincerely hoped he knew that. With everything that was going on. Kreva, Jade, the file, your past… you hoped he knew that, despite all of that, he was what mattered most to you. 

And something shining in his eyes told you he did.

It was early afternoon by the time you and Logan managed to peel yourselves away from each other for longer than two minutes to hop into the shower, as dismayed as he was for you to wash his scent from your body. He made sure to hold you the entire time, from the moment you stepped in the shower all the way to heading down the stairs and starting breakfast. Or brunch. Or whatever the equivalent of an afternoon fry-up was. 

Logan set his chin atop your head as you shimmied the pan of bacon, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as he swayed the both of you to silent music, pulling a small chuckle from your lips. 

“If I burn myself I’m blaming you.” You murmured, leaning further back into his embrace as you carefully set down the pan.

“I’ll kiss it better, don’t worry.” He responded lowly, doing just that to the various deep purple blossoms across the side of your neck, a delicious reminder of thirty minutes ago when he was pulling you to the edge of insanity. You never reprimanded him for the marks he left behind, never scolded him for the bruises he sucked into your skin because truthfully, it drove you crazy. His animalistic instinct to mark and claim you called to your desperation to be claimed. To belong. And you’d be lying if you said you would refrain from disappearing into the shadows for a good long while after. 

You breathed a contented sigh, wondering just how at peace you were feeling considering your circumstances. You’d been here for around a month at this point, falling into a steady routine. A few days of the week Logan would head out to handle little jobs for extra cash, from fixing up old cars with the local mechanic Todd, to removing trees and branches for the locals in the next little town. And he’d always come home with whatever provisions the two of you needed. Running out of milk? He’d come back with a few long-life cartons. Needed more flour? He’d come through the door with another two bags of all-purpose, or self-rising if you were baking bread that day. 

And you loved it. You truly did. However, there were some days you couldn’t help the cabin fever. You needed to get out. You needed air, a change of scenery, anything. It was a conversation you’d had a few days after you’d arrived, and he insisted you didn’t need to leave for any reason. But you’d failed to mention that maybe you wanted to. 

“We’re running out of eggs…” you tried to keep your tone as nonchalant as you could, glancing over to the tray of a dozen empty little egg cups, the remaining two about to be cracked and fried along with the bacon. 

Logan hummed thoughtfully, his chin dipping into the top of your head as he nodded. “I’ll pick some up tomorrow, Mrs Whitethorn wants some firewood for the colder months so I can grab some on the trip and– what?” He’d sensed something was up the moment you opened your mouth, knowing you better than the back of his own hand at this point. And when you sighed slightly at his resolution, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I just… maybe I could grab some? Ya know, we’ve been here for a month now and nothing’s happened so–”

“No.”

You clenched your teeth together, flicking off the gas to the stove and stepping to the side so you could turn and face him. “Logan, we’re safe here. Nobody knows where we are. Not even the Professor. You said it yourself. What’s going to happen on a quick trip to the shops? Because that’s all it would be. A quick in and out. No faffing, no lingering, just a change of pace.”

“We’ve already had this discussion.” He responded, his voice taking on a hard edge. 

“Yeah, well, I want to have it again.” You mirrored his change in demeanour, folding your arms across your chest defensively. 

“And what coulda possibly changed in the last month? They’re still lookin’ for ya, an’ people talk. Ya think nobody’s gonna whisper that there’s a new girl in town? That’s how things get outta hand. That’s how he’ll find you.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but terrified frustration was starting to make it impossible. He didn’t want to argue about this. He didn’t want to fight about this. This was the safest option and he wasn’t going to budge.

“It’s a tiny fucking town in the middle of nowhere, who’re they gonna tell? Their neighbours? You’re right, we’re fucked if Mrs Whitethorn finds out you’re living with someone,” you spat sarcastically, the lonely days he was away feeding your claustrophobic irritation. “They don’t even know I’m a mutant! I’m fairly certain they don’t know you’re a mutant.” The shadows in the room started to grow and twist, silhouettes exaggerated, disproportionate to the casting furniture. But Logan didn’t back down. He was used to it by now, the way the leash on your mutation would slip whenever you were experiencing heightened emotion. 

“Look, Charles asked me to keep you hidden and safe, so–”

“Oh, that’s why you’re here? Because Charles asked you to be here? Well, excuse me for thinking you did this out of any kind of concern for me. I should have known Charles would just get his fucking guard dog to deal with the situation. Shoulda been here two years ago, maybe you coulda accompanied me when he sent me away! Made sure I didn’t murder anyone else in cold blood.”

“You’re insane.”

“And this shocks you? You say that like you didn’t know this already, Logan. Newsflash, I was always insane! But that’s what you fell in love with! Insane ol’ me, running around, scaring the kids, endangering her team. Yep, that’s me!”

“Why’re you bein’ like this? You’re behaving like a fuckin’ mo–” Logan stopped himself, a flash of hurt whipping your features before your eyes turned hard, jaw clenching. 

“Go on. Say it.” You hissed, daring him to finish his sentence. But he kept his silence, simply returning your venomous glare. “Like a monster, right? That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? You’ve read the file, Logan, you know just how much of a monster I really fucking am.” 

Logan snarled, tearing his glare from your daggers and snatching his coat from the hook. He couldn’t be here right now. He couldn’t be around you right now. You both needed to cool off, and there was no chance of that happening whilst you were both in the same house. 

“And just where do you think you’re doing?” You spat accusingly, eyes narrowing.

“Out.”

“Must be nice to be able to leave whenever you want. Send me a postcard, will you? I’ll be here because apparently I’m on fucking house arrest!” You shouted as he slammed the door behind him, the only confirmation you had of him actually leaving was the rumble of the truck’s engine and crunching of gravel as he drove off. You screamed in frustration, the shadows around the house whipping and lashing out in similar rage. The shattering of glass tore you from your anger, raising your head from the cradle you’d made with your hands to glance over to the mantlepiece. 

Your heart shattered along with the glass. 

“Shit…” you whispered, rounding the sofa and sinking to your knees on the rug, your fingers trembling as you debated trying to salvage the picture you’d broken in your outburst. It was one you hadn’t taken that long ago, and you only surprised him with it last week. He’d rolled his eyes at your beaming grin, remembering distinctly the moment you’d wrapped the scarf around his neck and snapped a quick picture before he could do so much as protest. And oh did he protest, the moment you took the picture you had to run back inside and hide beneath the bed. Even then he dragged you out. 

You loved that picture.

And now you’d broken it. 

You ignored the sharp sting of pain as you picked up the shattered glass, blood leaking onto the warm rug, crimson fingerprints staining the frame. You exhaled a shaky breath, sniffing back the tears lining your eyes as you fought to fix the pieces back together, almost frantically jamming the sharp edges against one another. 

By the time you gave up with an angry shout, your hands were covered in blood, and there was a stain in the carpet you knew would likely never wash out. You could theoretically just dissolve your hand in shadow and heal up, but you savoured the sting on your fingertips, the welling of blood on your palms. As twisted as it was, it not only reminded you that you were alive, but it kept you grounded, kept you from getting caught up in the tidal wave of grief and rage and guilt. You didn’t mean to say all those things to him, you just wanted him to listen and he wasn’t hearing you. 

You watched as a trail of scarlet dripped from a cut from your fingertip down to the centre of your palm, pooling around the stains, merging with other little brooks of sanguine. Closing your hand, you winced slightly as the slices barked in pain, blood oozing from your clenched fist before you stood from the ground, grabbed your coat, and slammed the door behind you in an extremely similar fashion. 

He didn’t even know where he was going. Didn’t even know where he needed to go. He just knew he needed to get out. Did you really think he was here just because Charles asked him to be here? Did you not understand just how unbelievably dangerous it was for you to venture off on your own? He knew you valued freedom, but did you value freedom over your own life? Over his grief? Did you not understand how completely and utterly broken he would be if he lost you? It was too much of a risk. How couldn’t you understand that?

And how could he be so fucking stupid as to think you’d just let him keep you hidden away? How could he let himself get comfortable with the fact you’d never want to leave the house? How had he almost called you the one thing you were so terrified of being? Christ he was such a fucking idiot sometimes. That flash of hurt played over and over in his head. The way your features shifted from fury to pain so damn quickly, before it was back to fury. He’d cut you. Deeply. Deeper than even his claws could cut you. He should turn around. Try and explain without raising his voice why he had to keep you safe. Why he was begging you not to drive off on your own. But it was so damn difficult when you kept arguing with him constantly and not letting him finish his goddamn sentences. 

He should turn around. 

And it was with a harsh smack of the steering wheel and a savagely muttered curse that he did, flipping the indicator and pulling into a layby, swinging the truck around and tracing the road he’d just taken, only the opposite way, back to the cabin. Back to you. How could he be so damn stubborn? How could you be so damn stubborn? Fuck, he loved everything about you, from your hotheaded rants about mildly irritating things to your little head tilts when you’re reading a particularly good book but Christ alive were you stubborn.

And he loved that about you too. 

And this was what he was focussing on when he pulled back into the drive, the gravel crunching beneath the wheels. The lights were still on, which, under normal circumstances, would mean you were still awake. But something didn’t sit right. The door to the cabin was left slightly ajar, and he could have sworn it clicked shut earlier when he slammed it. Maybe he’d slammed it a little too hard and it had bounced back open? But surely you would have closed it. You were always complaining about it being too cold in the north. He was certain you could have closed it. 

His heart started to beat a little faster, and he begged his mind not to get ahead of itself. He needed to keep steady if he was walking back into the swirling storm of your justified rage. But as he stepped out of the car, not even the calming breeze could soothe his pulse. The cabin was far too quiet. He half expected you to be anger-cooking, something you were known to do once or twice. But nothing. And not the relieving kind of nothing. The incredibly concerning kind of nothing. 

The copper scent of blood hit him like a ton of bricks. The interior reeked of it. Fresh as well. Freshly spilt blood. In his cabin. In his cabin he shared with you. In his cabin he’d left you in. Now panic started to well in his chest, gripping his heart in a clawed fist. Pushing open the door, he called out your name. He couldn’t smell you over the scent of freshly minted coins, but he couldn’t hear you either. Not your breathing, not your heartbeat, not even your angrily pacing footsteps. You weren’t here. 

Fuck. 

You weren’t here.

Logan raced up the stairs, still calling your name. He had to be sure. He had to be certain you weren’t here before he let himself go crazy. Before he let himself completely lose composure. And just as he suspected, nothing had changed since that morning. The bed still wasn’t made, the lamp was still knocked over from your morning tryst, and you still weren’t there. He took a breath, willing himself to think rationally before he completely lost his shit and tore down the whole forest looking for you. Racing back down the stairs, he quickly scanned the living space for any kind of clues, before his eyes fell to the rug. And the shattered glass surrounding your treasured picture frame. 

A crack of guilt splintered his heart as he crossed the room, bending to one knee and gingerly picking the picture from the scattering of sharp shards, removing the paper from the frame altogether. His thumb wiped clean your scarlet fingerprint from your beaming smile, forever captured. He wished he could go back to that moment and ask you to take it again. Take another where he didn’t look so mildly irritated to be in it. But you adored it. Said it captured the two of you perfectly. 

A large part of him couldn’t disagree.

Logan spun around as the door flew open, heavy boots trudging through the doorway. And he knew things were extremely wrong when you didn’t pause to remove them, instead tracking mud and leaves through the kitchen. You hated it when he did that. When he didn’t remove his shoes before entry. He would always receive a sharp look of disapproval and a deep huff before you’d all but push him back to the doormat. It used to be a game, where you’d stand and wait to see how long it would take for him to roll his eyes and cave. It never took long. 

He inhaled deeply, carefully setting the photograph back on the mantlepiece as you wordlessly strode past him. “Look, I–”

“Don’t.” You cut him off instantly, not even bothering to cast a glance his way as you trudged up the stairs, pine needles and soil dusting each step with the force of your stomping. And all he could do was close his eyes against his slight wince when the door to the bathroom slammed shut, the sound of the shower humming from inside accompanying his guilt. After everything you’d been through, he went and called you the one thing you were so afraid of being. 

How fucking insensitive could he be?

It felt empty. The room felt empty. The bed felt empty. Your heart felt empty. This wasn’t right. As much as you wanted it to be right now, and holy shit did you want this to feel right, it simply didn’t. You tossed and turned, having far too much space than you were used to having. You could spread your legs without obstruction, starfish to your heart’s content. Except your heart wasn’t content. Your heart was anything but content. 

With a heavy, defeated sigh, you rolled onto your back, looking at the space beside you, the permanent dip in the mattress that you both knew would never fade now. Your chest felt hollow, a pit of longing opening up in your gut. But you couldn’t give in. You were mad at him. And he was mad at you. You were mad at each other. You wished he would hear you, just listen for one damn sentence before he immediately got lost in a tirade of his own and drowned you out. It was infuriating. It was irritating.

But it was Logan. 

And it was that thought that had you throwing the duvet off your legs with an exaggerated huff, as if gaslighting yourself to be annoyed about the situation. Bare feet touched the cold, wooden floorboards as you crossed the upstairs bedroom and over to the stairs, dragging the woollen blanket with you. It was larger than the one on the sofa, and you knew that one would barely be long enough to cover his legs, let alone his entire body. 

The boards creaked beneath your footsteps as you padded down, ignoring Logan as he immediately sat up from his admittedly uncomfortable-looking position on the sofa. You knew he was awake. Just like he knew you were awake. This wasn’t your first fight, not by a long shot, but it was the first fight you’d had as a couple, and honestly you didn’t much care for it. Neither did he. 

Wordlessly, you crossed the living room, savouring the warm rug beneath your toes, a nice contrast between the cool floorboards. And there was no argument the two of you could ever have that would stop Logan from opening his arms for you, the comically small blanket falling from his body. There was no way he was about to admit it out loud, especially being in the throes of a heated argument, but he missed you. Fuck, he didn’t hold you for one night, less than, and his entire body burned to be near you. To pull you into his chest and murmur just how sorry he was. 

But neither of you said anything as you clambered onto the sofa next to him, lying with your back against his chest, his arm caging you against him as you settled the blanket over the two of you, fluffing up the cushion by his head before laying down. It was precarious, and you knew you could return to the bed if you both wanted to, but there was something too soothing about this to even consider that option. 

“I’m still mad at you.” You muttered as he buried his nose in the back of your head, inhaling the smell of your shampoo. 

“I know,” he responded, voice thick with exhaustion. 

You nodded firmly in affirmation before regret gnawed at your insides. 

“But I still love you.” The soft admission wove its way into his heart, and he couldn’t help the slight smile pulling at his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. 

“I know.”

Your eyes glowed with the reflection of the dying embers. No matter the season, it always seemed to be fucking freezing here, and you were eternally grateful for the constantly burning hearth Logan kept up for the both of you. Sparks popped from the charred wood, rising up the chimney and into the night above, and you watched them go, too much on your mind for sleep to find you a reasonable candidate. 

“I don’t want to be a prisoner of my past.” You whispered, trying in vain to stop the harsh sting of tears from falling down your cheeks. You knew he could smell the salt, and you didn’t want to give the wrong impression. You didn’t want him to think you were too vulnerable, or too weak, to leave the damn house.

But you could tell it was futile when his arms wrapped around you tighter, holding you with the solid surety you’d craved since you’d first started fighting, and you both hated and adored the comfort that settled in your chest. He’d still be here. He’d always be here. You knew you were grasping at straws when you said he was only here as a favour for Charles, and everything he’d done for you, was still doing for you, screamed otherwise. Logan wasn’t a liar by nature. When he said he loved you, he meant it. 

Logan screwed his eyes shut, opening his heart and allowing himself to hurt the way you were. He knew this was his doing, but he just didn’t know how to explain it to you. “I don’t know how to keep you safe…” he uttered, feeling your body tense a little with the admission, before you were shifting in his arms, twisting awkwardly until you were facing him, nose to nose, on the tiny sofa barely big enough for him alone. You stayed silent, letting him take his time in finding the right words. You knew it was a lot for him to say that, to admit he didn’t know what he was doing. You wouldn’t press. You wouldn’t push. You were content to wait for him. 

And the depth of his gratitude could never be spoken aloud, for the failure of those very same words he was trying to find. “Kreva found you in the last place he’d ever think to look. He said so himself. I can’t– I can’t run that risk. I can’t let him find you again. Because if I lose you– Firefly, if I lose you–”

“I know,” you did. Truly, you did. Because if you lost him. If Kreva found you, and you lost him, you knew it wasn’t something you’d ever recover from. Pressing your forehead against his, your hand slowly found its way to the side of his jaw, your nails scratching ever so lightly through his beard. “I’m sorry. I– I know you’re not here just because Charles asked you to be. I was angry and upset and honestly? Kinda just looking for something to justify it,” you apologised quietly, and he breathed a soft smile against your chin. “And you were right. I was behaving like–”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he interjected, pulling back from you slightly. “I was an asshole. I have read some of the file, an’ there was nothin’ to even suggest that. There were plenty of monsters I read about, but you weren’t one’ve ‘em, alright?” He implored, his eyes slightly reflective in the low light. You nodded faintly, a hefty weight lifting from your shoulders and chest, your breath looser in your lungs as you drew in an easy breath despite the cramped space.

“Okay…” 

Logan pressed a delicate kiss to the side of your mouth, sighing as you reciprocated, shifting so you could capture his lips wholly. 

“I love you.” You whispered, a secret shared for only the two of you in the bubble of security you’d created for yourselves.

“I know.” He repeated, and your brows furrowed, your lips pulling in a disobedient, reluctant smile. 

“Say it back, asshole.” You couldn’t help but laugh as his mouth split into a grin, a hearty chuckle rumbling from the depths of his chest as you slapped his bicep lightly.

“I love you too, Firefly.” He hummed, tucking you cosily beneath his chin and holding you tight, both for emotional and practical reasons. He really didn’t want you to fall off the sofa and ruin the moment. 

As hilarious as that would be.

Logan let the silence settle for a minute whilst his mind started to wander. Neither of you had really come up with a solution to the issue, and whilst yes, it was nice to be speaking to you again and holding you again, he was worried that this was only temporary until the problem reared it’s ugly head a few weeks down the line. That was when it struck him. Christ he really could be fucking stupid sometimes. This was such an obvious answer and you’d both just had a ridiculously heated argument over it. 

“Come with me. Tomorrow, when I head to Mrs Whitethorn’s. Come with me.”

Your head shot up from the crook of his neck, and even in the darkness, he could see how they danced with disbelieving hope. “You’re serious?”

“I’m serious. I’m no good at talkin’ to these people. I just show up, do the job and leave. Reckon she’d want some friendly company for once.” He shrugged, trying to play off just how much your excitement was rubbing off on him. In truth, he wanted you to meet the people he did odd jobs for. He wanted people to see the woman who’d stolen his heart. His soul. And to be callous about it, he wanted to show you off a little. Especially to Todd. 

“Even if she’s a secret spy for an underground mutant experimentation project?” You provoked lightly, raising a crooked brow.

“I think I’ll take that chance.” He murmured, loosening his grip so you could get comfortable again before he secured you flush against his chest. This was what he’d craved since the beginning. Since setting eyes on you that first time when welcoming you home. He just wanted you safe. Preferably with him. Actually, that was also a requirement. But he never wanted you to feel like a prisoner of your past.

Not now. Not ever. 

[hyenafu]

I know this might seem like a bit of a random question, but what are some criticisms of Slightly Damned you can't stand, and what are some you think are at least somewhat valid? I only ask because I do have a few problems with the comic (not really gonna go into here because I don't want to come off as too critical obviously) but I feel like some of the more noteworthy ones have been too long established to just change it altogether, and the best one can do is make something better from its foundation (which I must say, you've done a really good job at ^^)

The complaints that I think are the most unfair are by bigots who think my comic is only getting more inclusive because I'm pandering to wokeness or whatever. These people are also the most likely to misgender me and have no idea what they're talking about. They just can't stand the bare minimum of gay and are often hypocritical, using fallacies as the basis of their arguments. It's tempting to want to argue back, but when has that ever worked on the internet? I think the most valid complaint is that the pacing of the comic is too slow. Sure. Not much I can do about that one. My comic alone doesn't pay all my bills. If I focus exclusively on work, I get depressed, so I have to goof off sometimes. I'm just one person. I don't have a team. I'm doing the best I can already. Another valid complaint is that people don't like my blend of humor and drama. Sometimes readers find it inappropriate or jarring. It's valid because I recognize it as a difference of opinion and understand why they feel that way. But I don't care. I like my weird mix of goofy faces and drama. I sometimes make jokes during periods of great stress in real life. I love all the wacky faces and over-the-top cartoon action among dire circumstances in comics like One Piece and Usagi Yojimbo. Like, it's just my style, man I don't seek out unsolicited advice about my comic. Some people may think that's snobbish of me, but the truth is, very little of what you find that way is actually valuable.

"And as to those critics, she said that she’s managed to do something that might make us all better off- she doesn’t read the comment sections. In perhaps the most roundabout poignant part of the talk, she likened receiving feedback about her work as being like consuming food. She would take a pie from someone she knew and trusted but compared taking unsolicited barbs from strangers as “licking a handle on the subway.” She used to pay very close attention to that kind of critique because she felt that it somehow would make her a better creator but ultimately decided that it was only toxic." - I HAVE SEEN OLIVIA JAIMES, THE CARTOONIST BEHIND THE NEW NANCY, by Rocko Jerome (2018)

Besides the outright hateful sentiments, a lot of unsolicited criticism can be categorized as "I don't like this story because it didn't do what I wanted it to do." Which is fine. I do the same thing when I try to process stories and talk to my friends about them.

But I don't get in the author's face to tell them I think they did a bad job. At the end of the day, no matter how crap I think someone's story might be, I'm not psychic. I don't really know if they did exactly what they set out to do. For example, people have never stopped giving me crap about the death of certain characters. But their whining has only made my convictions stronger. I don't like when other stories don't take deaths seriously, with a real sense of permanence and grief that is not easily solved. To someone else, seeing that character be alive might have solved all sorts of problems they had-- but that's not my story. I've had someone tell me that the focus on Buwaro and Kieri's mushy romance is too distracting to the main story. I don't think that person knew that a large part of why I started making this comic in the first place was as a vehicle for my OTP. I also want to make said vehicle entertaining and worthwhile. If I didn't succeed for that person, that's fine. But don't tell me that half the reason I made the comic is distracting from it. What do they know about what I want? What do you really know about what the author wanted to achieve? That isn't to say that my comic is immune to scrutiny. Of course it has problems; every story has problems, depending on your perspective and the basis by which it's getting judged. I've solicited and received thoughtful criticism and helpful advice from teachers, my advisor, my friends, and from reading/watching tutorials. Some I agreed with, others I chose to ignore. Sometimes it just took a while for me to come around. I hope I never stop learning and improving. Like you said, I have to keep working with the foundation I already set. But I don't feel trapped by it; my creativity is being challenged in new ways. I have a lot of playing pieces and now I get to see what kinds of connections I can make between them with my older, more experienced (both good and bad) mind. Since Slightly Damned is a story serialized over a long period of time, a certain amount of it is made up as I go along. I do have plans and goals, of course, but I'm also discovering this world alongside my readers.