#but if that's what you're into then why do you even like these people??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mcrdvcks · 3 days ago

Text

needy pt.1

chapter summary: You're Scott's younger sister and for months you've been secretly dating Logan. How much longer can you and him keep the secret?

word count: 8.3k+ (19.3k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: don't ask how or why this is so long, it was meant to be be less than 10k words but it just kept going. i was having a lot of fun writing this, and if people want to see a continuation or some other part of the story with these two, don't be afraid to ask! for now, enjoy cause there are like 3 smut scenes

there are two parts! tumblr has a word limit so i had to split it up!

warnings/tags: smut, unprotected piv, slight exhibitionism, slight pain kink, creampie, age gap (that's obvi), oral (f!receiving), slight praise kink, fingering, secret relationship, jealously, some possessiveness, peter maximoff being a little shit, fluff, slight angst

❀ part 2 ❀

“That’s it sweetheart.” Logan drawled, his body hovering over yours while slowly thrusting into you. “Doin’ so good for me.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nail indents healing immediately.

Logan let out a low, rough chuckle against your throat. "Feisty, huh?" His voice was thick with heat, lips dragging along your pulse as he thrust deeper. "Go on, doll, mark me up all you want. Ain't like it'll stick—but I like feelin' you try."

Your breath hitched, legs tightening around his waist. "Shut up and move, Logan."

His smirk was all teeth. "Bossy." But he gave you what you wanted, picking up the pace, the bed rocking under both of you.

Knock. Knock.

Your body stiffened instantly. Logan froze too, just for a second, before his head snapped toward the door.

"Y/N?"

Scott.

Your stomach flipped. Logan's grip on your hip tightened. "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," you hissed, slapping a hand over his mouth. He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly amused despite the situation.

Scott knocked again. "You in there?"

You scrambled for an excuse, trying to keep your voice normal. "Uh—yeah! What do you want?"

Logan leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Think he knows his baby sister's gettin' fucked dumb by the big bad Wolverine?"

You smacked his shoulder. "You're not helping."

Scott sighed on the other side of the door. "Jean said you weren’t in your room, and you missed training this morning. You okay?"

Shit. "Yeah! I'm fine! I just—I was asleep."

Logan stifled a laugh against your neck. "Not a total lie," he murmured, nipping at your jaw.

You shoved at his chest. "Stop it," you mouthed.

Scott hesitated. "You sure?"

Logan's hips rolled, and you barely bit back a moan. "Positive," you choked out. "Just… tired. Can we talk later?"

A pause. Then: "Alright. Just checkin'." His footsteps retreated down the hall.

Logan didn’t wait. The second Scott’s footsteps faded down the hall, he was back on you—mouth hot, breath rough, hands greedy.

"You shoulda heard yourself," he murmured, lips dragging along your jaw. "Tryin’ to sound all innocent when I got you stuffed full like this."

Your nails dug into his back again, legs still locked tight around his waist. "And whose fault is that?"

His smirk was downright filthy. "Mine. And I ain't even a little sorry."

He moved again—slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping against his shoulder. You bit down on his skin, just to keep quiet, and he groaned low in his chest. "Fuck, doll, do that again."

You did, dragging your teeth over his collarbone, then licking over the mark like an apology. His pace stuttered for half a second before he pressed you deeper into the mattress, forearm braced next to your head.

"You wanna play dirty, huh?" His voice was a growl now, rough as gravel. "You're gonna be real sorry 'bout that."

And then he set a punishing rhythm—hips slamming into yours, his body pressed so tight to you that you could feel the heat of him everywhere.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Every drag, every thrust had you unraveling under him, nails clawing at his arms, his back, his shoulders—anything to ground yourself.

"Logan," you gasped.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Yeah, sweetheart, I know. I got you."

His breath was hot against your skin, his weight solid, grounding. But there was nothing slow or sweet about the way he moved now—his hips drove into yours with an intensity that made your nails sink even deeper into his back.

"Fuck, Logan," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, rough and dark. "S'what I like to hear," he muttered, dragging his teeth along the side of your throat. "All those little noises—only I get to hear ‘em, huh?"

Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking just enough to make him grunt. "Maybe if you'd shut up and—oh, shit—keep going—"

Logan didn't need more encouragement. He pressed you further into the mattress, keeping you pinned beneath him, his pace relentless. Every roll of his hips sent a sharp, toe-curling heat through you, your pulse thudding loud in your ears.

Then—his mouth was at your ear again. "You still think Scott bought that bullshit excuse?"

Your stomach tightened, pleasure warring with panic. "Shut up," you hissed.

His smirk was pure sin. "Nah. Kinda fun knowin’ he was just outside while I had you like this—"

"Logan," you warned, biting back a moan.

He just hummed like the idea amused him. "Bet he'd lose his fuckin’ mind if he knew, huh? His sweet, innocent baby sister—" His hips slammed into yours, forcing out a sharp, breathless gasp. "—gettin' wrecked by the guy he hates most."

You slapped a hand over his mouth again, eyes flashing. "Do you want us to get caught?"

Logan just huffed against your palm, but his eyes burned with something darker. Amused. Possessive. A challenge.

Then, just as quickly, he shifted, dragging your hand away and pinning it above your head, his fingers laced through yours. "Nah, I like keepin’ you all to myself," he murmured against your lips before claiming them in a kiss—deep, messy, all tongue and teeth and heat.

The knock at the door had long since faded into silence, but the risk still lingered—your brother was right there, just down the hall. The thought alone made something coil tighter in your gut.

"Logan," you whispered, half warning, half plea.

"Shh," he muttered, his free hand slipping down your body, gripping tight at your waist as he drove into you again. "Just focus on me, sweetheart. Nothin’ else matters."

And for now, with his body pressing you deeper into the sheets, his breath ragged against your skin, and his hands branding you in ways that would never fade—he was right.

---

Dinner was already a disaster, and you hadn’t even sat down yet. Scott was in full big-brother mode, still eyeing you like he wasn’t convinced by your excuse from earlier. Jean had that look too—like she could hear your heart rate spike every time Scott brought it up. And Rogue? She was the worst of them all, smirking every time you so much as shifted in your seat.

“So,” Scott started, arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “You sure you’re okay?”

You grabbed a plate, keeping your expression neutral. “Yeah, Scott. Just tired. I overslept.”

Scott frowned, clearly skeptical. “You never oversleep.”

Rogue snorted into her drink. “Maybe she had a long night,” she said innocently, then flicked her gaze toward you with way too much amusement.

Your stomach dropped. You shot her a glare, but she just smirked over the rim of her cup.

“Long night doing what?” Scott asked.

Jean sighed. “Scott.”

“No, seriously. She missed training. That’s not like her.”

“Maybe she was busy,” Rogue said, taking a slow sip. “Real busy.”

You swore you were going to kill her. Right here. At the dinner table.

Scott’s frown deepened. “Doing what?”

Before Rogue could dig your grave any deeper, Logan walked in like he owned the place, rolling his shoulders and grabbing a beer from the fridge. He barely spared you a glance, but you knew he was enjoying this way too much.

“Doin’ what, Summers?” Logan popped the cap off the bottle and took a swig, looking entirely unbothered.

Scott gestured toward you. “She missed training this morning. Said she was sleeping, but she never oversleeps.”

Logan shrugged. “Guess she needed it.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

Logan leaned against the counter, looking unimpressed. “What’s weird is you interrogatin’ her like she committed a crime.”

Rogue let out a cough that sounded a hell of a lot like a laugh.

Jean, who had been watching the entire thing unfold, finally spoke up. “Scott, drop it. If she says she was tired, she was tired.”

Scott exhaled sharply, clearly still unconvinced but finally letting it go. “Fine.” He grabbed his plate and moved to sit down.

Logan smirked over the rim of his beer before taking another sip. You didn’t even have to look at him to know exactly what was going through his head.

As soon as Scott turned away, Rogue leaned over and muttered under her breath, “You’re lucky Jean shut him up.”

You kicked her under the table. She just grinned.

---

Later that night you were in your bedroom reading a book when someone knocked on your door. “It’s open!” you called out. You knew it wouldn’t be Logan, not when it was only 9 pm.

Rogue plopped down beside you, stretching her legs out and giving you a shit-eating grin.

"So," she drawled, nudging your shoulder. "How's your nap?"

You groaned, already regretting not locking your door. "Not you too."

"Oh, especially me," she said, grinning. "C'mon, sugar, I deserve some details after helpin’ cover your ass at dinner."

You shot her a glare. "You almost got me caught."

"Please," she scoffed. "Scott's dense as hell when it comes to you. If Jean weren’t there, he’d still be tryin’ to figure out what was ‘off’ about you today." She smirked. "Meanwhile, I know exactly what was off."

You grabbed a pillow and smacked her with it. Rogue just laughed. "Hey, I ain't judgin’! I just think it’s funny how not subtle you two are."

You gave her a look. "We are subtle."

"Uh-huh. Sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "So subtle that I had to watch Logan barely contain his smug-ass smirk at dinner. You realize you got played, right? Scott started pushin’, and Logan shut it down in, like, two sentences."

You frowned. "That wasn’t playing me—that was helping me."

Rogue snorted. "Girl, Logan lives for this. He’s gettin’ off on the fact that he’s sneakin’ around with Scott Summers' baby sister."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You hated that she was probably right.

Rogue grinned. "Bet he’s got a real nice ego boost right now."

You sighed, flopping back against your pillows. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," she said cheerfully. "But you do love makin’ bad decisions."

"Logan is not a bad decision." She raised an eyebrow. You crossed your arms. "He’s not."

Rogue just smirked. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, sugar."

You groaned. "Are you done?"

"Not even close," she said, kicking her feet up on your bed. "But I’ll give you a break—for now."

"Gee, thanks."

She chuckled, then eyed you for a moment before her smirk softened just a little. "You really like him, huh?"

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. I do."

Rogue nodded, like she already knew. "Then I guess I’ll keep coverin’ for you."

You smiled. "Thanks."

"Don’t thank me yet," she said, grinning. "If you two do get caught, I wanna be front row for Scott’s meltdown."

---

A few nights later, you barely made it two steps into your room before a rough hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside. The door shut behind you with a quiet click.

“Jesus—Logan!” You turned, ready to shove him off, but the moment you saw the look in his eyes, your stomach flipped.

His hands were already on your waist, pushing you back until your spine hit the door. His body was flush against yours, heat radiating from him.

“You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy all day,” he muttered, voice low, rough. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place like he needed to. “Sittin’ across from me at dinner, actin’ all innocent, while I’m still thinkin’ ‘bout the way you came on my cock the other night.”

Your breath hitched, pulse spiking. “Logan—”

“Could barely keep my hands to myself,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “You think Scott noticed how damn quiet I was?”

You swallowed hard, hands clutching at his arms. “You were quiet?”

Logan chuckled against your skin. “See? You weren’t payin’ attention either.” He pressed closer, one thigh slotting between yours, and you felt him—hot, hard, ready.

“Logan,” you breathed, your fingers twisting in his shirt.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His lips brushed your ear, teasing. “Tell me what you want.”

A sharp knock made you both freeze. Again? Your stomach dropped as Logan exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath.

“Y/N?” Scott’s voice.

You shut your eyes, biting back a groan. Logan’s forehead dropped against your shoulder, his whole body tense.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he whispered.

You shoved at his chest, mouthing move. He just smirked, staying right where he was.

Scott knocked again. “You in there?”

Logan's smirk widened, eyes gleaming with something smug. You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to sound normal. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Open up.”

Panic shot through you. Logan just raised an eyebrow, amused. You shoved at his chest harder, whispering, “hide.”

He grinned. “No.”

Your glare was sharp. “Logan.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes before finally stepping back. “Fine.” He moved toward your closet, muttering, “This is fuckin’ humiliatin’,” under his breath.

You didn’t have time to argue. The moment he was out of sight, you exhaled hard and cracked the door open.

Scott frowned down at you. “Why’d that take so long?”

You forced a casual shrug. “I was getting ready for bed.”

Scott squinted at you, then looked over your shoulder, like he expected to find some kind of evidence of your lies. “You sure?”

Your heart pounded. “Yes, Scott,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Why are you here?”

Scott still looked unconvinced, but finally said, “I wanted to see if you wanted to train in the morning. Just us.”

You blinked. “Uh… sure?”

“Cool. Early morning session. Don’t be late.” He gave you another suspicious look before stepping back. “Night, Y/N.”

You gave him the fakest smile you could muster. “Night.”

The second the door shut, Logan was out of the closet, shaking his head. “You owe me for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, poor you. Hiding for thirty seconds.”

He stepped close again, hands sliding back onto your waist. “Not the hidin’ part that pissed me off,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to your throat. “It’s the part where I didn’t get to finish what I started.”

Heat curled in your stomach. “Then finish it,” you whispered.

Logan’s grip tightened, fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the door, his body flush against yours. Heat radiated off him in waves, thick and consuming.

"Thought you'd never ask," he murmured, his voice all gravel and dark amusement. His lips traced a slow path along your jaw before dragging down to your throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, desperate to hold onto something as his hands moved—one sliding up your side, under your shirt, rough fingers splaying against bare skin. You sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed his thigh between yours, the pressure making your head spin.

"Logan—"

"You were teasin' me all damn day," he muttered against your skin. "All wide eyes and sweet little smiles like you weren’t sittin’ there with my fuckin’ marks still on you."

Your breath hitched. His teeth caught on the spot where your shoulder met your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp. "Not my fault you left them," you whispered, your own hands slipping under his shirt, tracing over the hard muscle of his stomach.

Logan chuckled—low, dangerous. "Oh, it was on purpose, sweetheart. Wanted you rememberin' exactly where my mouth was."

His lips skimmed your jaw, his stubble scraping your skin as he worked his way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat. His hands were firm, fingers digging into your waist, holding you against him like he needed you there.

"You should've finished before Scott interrupted," you muttered, breathless, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Logan chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. "Sweetheart, you really think I’m the kinda guy to rush this?" His teeth scraped over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. "Nah. You started this game, now you gotta deal with the consequences."

His hands moved—one slipping beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, rough and warm. The other slid lower, down the curve of your hip, before gripping the back of your thigh and hauling it up against his side. The movement sent you pressing closer, heat meeting heat, and you gasped.

"You feel that?" His voice was a low growl. "Been hard all damn day because of you."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him even closer. "Then do something about it."

His smirk was pure arrogance. "Oh, you got some fire tonight, huh?" His hand on your thigh tightened, his other sliding higher beneath your shirt, grazing the underside of your breast. "I like that."

Before you could snap back, he kissed you—hard. No hesitation, no teasing. His lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he was claiming you, like he'd been waiting for this all day. And maybe he had.

Your back hit the door harder as he pressed into you, deepening the kiss, swallowing the quiet moan that slipped from your throat. His hands were everywhere—roaming, gripping, pulling.

Then, with no warning, he lifted you. You gasped against his lips, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he turned, carrying you toward the bed like you weighed nothing.

"You just gonna manhandle me now?" you teased, breathless.

Logan smirked, dropping you onto the mattress with a bounce. "Damn right I am."

Before you could recover, he was on you—hands braced on either side of your head, knee pressing between your thighs. His lips were back on yours, insistent, hungry. He kissed like he fought—relentless, determined, and utterly in control.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and the growl he let out sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, dragging it up, his knuckles grazing heated skin as he peeled it over your head. The second it was gone, his mouth was everywhere—kissing, nipping, sucking at the newly exposed skin like he had something to prove.

"Logan—" Your voice hitched as his teeth scraped over your collarbone.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, lips moving lower. "Let me enjoy this."

His hands found the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with far too much ease, his lips still moving, still teasing. You barely had time to process the cool air against your skin before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open.

He looked up at you, eyes dark, heated, hungry. "You are gonna be real quiet for me, right?" His voice was nothing but rough gravel and amusement. "Wouldn't want your brother to come knockin' again."

You should've had a smart-ass response ready, but the moment his mouth was on you, your brain short-circuited. A sharp gasp tore from your throat as his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, a teasing flick before he sealed his lips around you and sucked. Your fingers shot to his hair, tangling in the thick mess, your back arching off the bed before you even realized it.

"Logan—"

He growled against you, the vibration sending a shock straight through your system. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Quiet, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his mouth away just enough to speak. His lips were slick, his voice dark with amusement.

You clenched your jaw, the reminder making your face burn—but not enough to stop you from tugging his hair, shoving him back down where he belonged. Logan chuckled, but didn’t argue.

He buried himself between your thighs again, tongue pressing, curling, teasing. Every flick sent heat pooling deep in your stomach, every slow, deliberate movement dragging you higher and higher, the tension coiling tight.

Your breathing turned uneven, fingers clutching at the sheets. "Logan," you gasped, your thighs threatening to clamp shut.

He didn’t let you. His hands flexed, holding you open as he devoured you, his pace slow and maddening, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"You’re close," he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. He pressed a kiss right where you needed him most, almost gentle. "I can feel it."

You bit down hard on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging. But Logan had other plans. He sucked, hard and sudden, and your whole body jerked.

A sharp cry broke from your throat, your hands flying to muffle yourself as heat crashed through you. The tension snapped, pleasure rolling through you in shuddering waves, your body trembling beneath his hold.

He groaned against you, like he was savoring every second, like he lived for this.

Only when you finally slumped back against the sheets, breathless and spent, did he pull away, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Sweetheart," he muttered, his voice thick with heat and satisfaction. "You taste so fuckin’ sweet when you come for me."

Your face burned, but you still shot him a glare. "Cocky."

Logan smirked. "Damn right."

Then he was on you again, lips crashing against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His body pressed flush against yours, his jeans rough against your bare skin, and—

Yeah. He was still hard as hell.

"You got yours," you murmured against his mouth, reaching between you. "Now let me return the favor."

His breath stuttered as your fingers brushed against the hard length straining behind his zipper, but before you could do anything else, his hand caught your wrist.

"Not yet." His voice was rough, strained. "I need to be inside you first."

Your stomach flipped. He reached down, making quick work of his belt, his jeans, shoving them down just enough. You caught the briefest glimpse of him before he was lining himself up, the heat of him pressing against you.

"Fuck," he groaned as he pushed inside, slow, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

Your mouth parted, a soft, breathless moan slipping free at the feeling of him—full, deep, overwhelming in the best way.

Logan shuddered. "You feel so fuckin’ good, doll," he rasped against your ear.

Then he moved. A slow, deliberate pull before thrusting back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm. Every movement sent sparks through your system, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in soft gasps.

Logan groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Fuckin’ hell, I missed this."

You clung to him, your body tightening around him in response. His pace faltered for half a second before he growled—and snapped his hips into you. A sharp cry tore from your throat, and Logan grinned. "That’s what I thought."

Then he really started moving. Deep, rough thrusts, dragging you higher and higher, your nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tight again, building faster this time.

"Logan—"

"I got you," he muttered, voice wrecked. "Come on, sweetheart, let go for me."

You did. The pleasure crashed through you, your body trembling as you came around him, his name falling from your lips in a breathless moan.

Logan groaned, his thrusts turning erratic before he buried himself deep, his whole body tensing as he followed you over the edge.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just tangled together, catching your breath.

"You’re heavy," you muttered, pushing weakly at his chest.

Logan huffed a laugh but finally rolled onto his side, dragging you with him.

"You love it," he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

You snorted. "You wish."

He just grinned, pulling you closer.

---

You and Logan rarely have date nights. It was hard to find a quiet, empty space in the mansion that you knew no one was going to go into.

Let alone Scott letting you go out at night, even if you were 25.

But, tonight, you had a way around that. Rogue had already gone out with Bobby to the carnival that was in town which gave you a perfect excuse to leave the mansion.

You walked to the front door and barely put your hand on the doorknob when Scott’s voice rang out.

"Where do you think you're going?"

You froze, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral before turning around. "Carnival. Rogue and Bobby already went, so I figured I’d go check it out."

Scott crossed his arms, eyeing you suspiciously. "Since when do you like carnivals?"

You shrugged. "Since now." Scott frowned like he was trying to figure out what was off. You didn’t give him a chance to ask more questions. "You gonna let me go, or are we really about to have a whole interrogation over funnel cakes and rigged games?"

Before Scott could answer, Logan came strolling down the hallway, clearly on his way somewhere—until Scott turned to him.

"Logan, drive her."

Logan blinked. "What?"

Scott gestured toward you. "She’s going to the carnival. Drive her."

Your stomach flipped. You had to fight to keep the surprise off your face. This was perfect.

Logan’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the slight twitch of amusement in his eyes. "Why?"

Scott gave Logan a flat look. "Because I don’t want her going alone."

"I can handle myself," you said quickly.

Scott ignored you, still looking at Logan. "Just drop her off and make sure she actually goes inside. Then pick her up when she’s ready to leave."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "I’m twenty-five, Scott. Not fifteen."

"And yet, you’re still my little sister," he shot back.

Logan sighed like this whole conversation was exhausting. "Fine. C’mon, kid," he said, jerking his head toward the door.

You clenched your jaw at the nickname, knowing exactly why he used it in front of Scott. But you didn’t argue. Instead, you grabbed your jacket and walked past them, ignoring the smug look Scott gave you like he’d just ensured your safety for the night.

The second you and Logan stepped outside, he let out a low chuckle. "Well, ain’t this convenient?"

You shot him a look. "Don’t be smug."

"Too late."

---

The drive was quiet at first, just the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Logan shifting gears. You knew Scott had probably expected Logan to drop you off, watch you go inside, then leave. But instead, Logan was taking the scenic route, driving further away from the carnival.

"You know, if Scott ever finds out about us, he’s gonna kill you," you said, watching the streetlights blur past.

Logan smirked, eyes still on the road. "Nah. He’s gonna try."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading in your chest betrayed you.

After a few minutes, Logan pulled into a small lot near a bar you both knew was usually quiet on weekdays. He killed the engine and turned to you. "So, what’s the plan, doll? We head in, grab a drink, then pretend you spent the whole night winnin’ stuffed animals?"

You smirked. "Something like that."

Logan leaned in slightly, eyes darkening. "Or… we could skip the drinks and find somethin’ else to do."

Your breath hitched, heart pounding. "Temptin’."

His smirk widened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just reached for his door handle. "C’mon, let’s make this date look real."

You followed him inside, the warmth of the bar a stark contrast to the cool night air. It wasn’t crowded—just a few regulars, a couple playing pool in the corner, and a bartender who barely looked up as you both walked in.

Logan led you to a booth near the back, out of the way, and slid in across from you.

"So," he drawled, resting his arms on the table, "you gonna let me win you a giant teddy bear later?"

You snorted. "You? Win a carnival game? Please."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "You doubtin’ me, sweetheart?"

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips. "I’m just saying… those games take skill. Precision. A soft touch. You’re more of a… smash things and ask questions later kind of guy."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "You got a real smart mouth, you know that?"

"Yeah, and you love it."

He smirked. "Damn right I do."

The bartender came by, and you both ordered drinks. Logan, of course, got whiskey. You opted for something lighter. As soon as the bartender walked away, Logan reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"Been wantin’ to do that all day," he muttered.

Your heart flipped. You curled your fingers around Logan’s, warmth spreading from the simple touch. He never did this at the mansion—not where anyone could see. But here, away from prying eyes, he was different.

"Yeah?" you murmured, teasing, but your voice was softer than you intended.

Logan’s thumb traced lazy circles against your skin. "Yeah." His eyes flicked up, locking onto yours, something unreadable in them. "Kinda hate sneakin’ around all the time."

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the weight behind his words. "I know."

He didn’t push, didn’t say anything else—just held your hand, like that was enough for now. And maybe it was.

The bartender dropped off your drinks, barely sparing either of you a glance. Logan finally let go, but not before giving your fingers one last squeeze.

You picked up your drink, taking a sip. "So, you actually gonna win me that teddy bear later, or were you just talking shit?"

Logan smirked, reaching for his whiskey. "Sweetheart, I ain’t losin’ to a rigged game."

"You sound awfully confident for someone who doesn’t exactly scream ‘hand-eye coordination.’"

Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

"You’re the one dating me."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, but the smirk tugging at his lips said he didn��t mind one bit.

The two of you sat there, drinking, talking, stealing quick touches when no one was looking. It felt easy—like it was supposed to be like this all the time.

You didn’t know how long you stayed, but eventually, Logan leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms across the seat. "Time to make this date look real."

You raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we go to the damn carnival, you let me win somethin’, and we make sure Summers doesn’t think you were out doin’ somethin’ reckless."

You smirked. "Technically, I am."

Logan snorted, throwing some cash on the table before standing up. "C’mon, trouble. Let’s get you a prize."

---

The carnival was packed, neon lights casting everything in a bright, chaotic glow. The scent of fried food, sugar, and asphalt filled the air, mixing with the hum of laughter and the occasional shriek from a nearby ride.

You walked beside Logan, your fingers grazing his every few steps, but neither of you reached out. Not here.

"Alright, hotshot," you said, stopping in front of a shooting game. "Let’s see if you’re actually as good as you claim."

Logan stepped up to the booth, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. "You doubtin’ me?"

You crossed your arms, smirking. "I don’t doubt that you’re good at a lot of things, but precision? Patience? Not exactly your strong suit."

Logan just grunted, dropping some cash onto the counter. The guy running the booth handed him a plastic rifle, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"You gotta hit all five targets," the guy drawled, popping gum in his mouth. "You miss one, you lose."

Logan spun the rifle in his hand like it was nothing, raising an eyebrow at you. "Watch and learn, sweetheart."

You huffed a laugh, but then—

Crack.

The first target dropped.

Then the second.

Then the third, fourth, fifth—so fast the guy running the booth barely had time to register it before the last one clattered down.

Logan set the rifle down with a smirk. "Told ya."

You blinked. "Okay. That was… impressive."

"You're damn right it was." He turned to the booth guy, jerking his head toward the line of stuffed animals. "Pick whichever one she wants."

You looked at the rows of plush toys, pretending to think before pointing at the most obnoxious, oversized teddy bear in sight.

Logan’s smirk faltered. "Really?"

"You said I could pick," you reminded him, grinning.

He muttered something under his breath but took the giant bear when the guy handed it over, tossing it at you. "Happy now?"

You hugged the ridiculous thing to your chest. "Very."

Logan shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You’re gonna be the death of me, doll."

You grinned, looping your arm through his as you walked. "Yeah, but what a way to go."

---

By the time you got back to the mansion, it was late. The house was mostly quiet, save for the faint murmur of the TV in the common room.

Logan parked in the driveway, shutting off the engine. Neither of you moved right away.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "You know we can’t keep this up forever."

Your chest tightened. "I know."

Silence stretched between you for a beat. Then he spoke, "you worth the trouble, sweetheart?" Logan’s voice was softer, rough in a different way.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. "You tell me."

His lips twitched, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached over, curling a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a slow, deliberate kiss.

It was different from earlier—less teasing, less rushed. Just warm, steady, like he was trying to say something without actually saying it.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a second before he exhaled and pulled away completely. "Go on. Before Summers comes lookin’."

You rolled your eyes but grabbed the stupidly large teddy bear and climbed out. As you walked inside, you didn’t have to look back to know Logan was watching.

---

"Jesus, sugar. That’s a big teddy bear," Rogue said, leaning against your doorframe with her arms crossed, smirking.

You flopped onto your bed, the ridiculous oversized bear landing beside you. "Yeah, well, I earned it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you? ‘Cause I got a feelin’ Logan earned it, and you just picked the biggest, most obnoxious thing you could outta spite."

You grinned, not even trying to deny it. "He said I could pick."

Rogue let out a snort and stepped inside, flopping down next to the bear and poking its fluffy face. "So, how was date night with our favorite bad decision?"

"Great, actually," you admitted, hugging a pillow to your chest. "We got drinks, he won me this monstrosity, and Scott still thinks I was eating funnel cake and riding the Ferris wheel all night."

Rogue let out a dramatic sigh. "That boy is so clueless, it’s almost sad." Then she shot you a look. "But you know he’s gonna find out eventually, right?"

Your stomach twisted, but you shrugged. "I know."

She tilted her head. "And?"

"And… we’ll deal with it when we have to."

Rogue studied you for a moment, then smirked. "You’re fallin’ for him."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you grabbed the teddy bear and smacked her in the face with it.

She cackled, shoving it away. "Oh, sugar, you are so screwed."

"Shut up."

"Nah, I love this," she teased. "Big, bad Wolverine gettin’ all soft for little ol’ you. It’s cute."

"He is not—" You stopped yourself, because… yeah. He kind of was. At least with you.

Rogue grinned, smug as hell. "I bet he’s outside your window right now, just sittin’ there, all broody, waitin’ for me to leave so he can sneak in."

You rolled your eyes. "He’s not that predictable."

A faint tap at your window made you both freeze. Rogue's eyes went wide before she burst out laughing, smacking your arm. "No fuckin’ way."

You shot her a glare before pushing off the bed, crossing the room, and pulling the curtain back.

Sure enough, Logan stood outside, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. You cracked the window open just enough to whisper, "Are you serious?"

Logan just smirked. "You gonna let me in, or what?"

Rogue was still laughing behind you. "Oh, sugar, I’m never lettin’ you live this down."

---

“Where’d you get that necklace?” Jean asked, looking over the rim of her coffee mug.

You barely paused as you stirred sugar into your coffee. "Bought it for myself," you said, keeping your tone casual.

Jean hummed, watching you for a second longer before taking a sip. "It’s nice. Simple."

You nodded, fingers brushing over the small silver Earth pendant. "Yeah. Thought so too."

Across the table, Rogue smirked into her cup but said nothing. You could feel her amusement radiating off of her, but you refused to look at her. If you did, you’d probably give yourself away.

Jean, thankfully, didn’t press. She just shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "Well, good for you. You don’t usually wear jewelry."

You forced a small smile. "Guess I’m changing things up."

Rogue let out a quiet snort. You kicked her under the table.

Jean’s gaze flicked between the two of you, like she was debating whether or not to ask what that was about, but before she could, Scott walked in, yawning as he grabbed a cup of coffee.

"You training today?" he asked you, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yeah," you said. "After breakfast."

Scott nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He didn’t seem to notice the way Rogue was still fighting laughter or how Jean kept glancing at your necklace.

You exhaled quietly, focusing on your coffee. Crisis averted. For now.

---

Later that day, you found Logan in the garage, leaning against his bike, arms crossed as he watched you approach.

"You know," you said, stopping in front of him, "Jean noticed the necklace."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You tell her?"

"Nope," you said, rocking back on your heels. "Said I bought it for myself."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Smart girl."

You smirked. "I try."

Logan reached out, hooking a finger under the chain and tugging you closer. "Y’could’ve just told her the truth."

You gave him a look. "Oh, sure. ‘Hey Jean, thanks for noticing! My secret boyfriend who my brother would literally kill bought it for me. Cool, right?’"

Logan smirked. "I’d pay to see the look on Summers’ face if you ever actually said that."

You rolled your eyes. "You just wanna see him lose his shit."

"Maybe," he admitted, voice full of amusement.

You sighed, shaking your head. "You are such a menace."

Logan’s grip on the necklace tightened for a second before he let it go, letting his fingers trail lightly over your collarbone. "You still wearin’ it, though."

Your breath hitched slightly at the touch, but you kept your expression neutral. "Yeah. I like it."

His smirk softened, just a little. "Good."

For a second, you just stood there, his fingers still ghosting over your skin, the garage quiet except for the distant hum of voices from the mansion.

"You gonna let me take you somewhere tonight?" Logan asked, tilting his head slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. "Somewhere like…?"

Logan shrugged. "Just a ride. No missions, no Scott breathin’ down your neck. Just us."

Your stomach flipped. You hadn’t had much alone time with him outside of stolen moments in your room or hidden corners of the mansion.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. Alright."

Logan’s smirk widened. "Good girl."

Your face heated, but you ignored it, turning on your heel before he could say anything else. "I’ll meet you out here at eleven," you called over your shoulder.

"Don’t be late, sweetheart," he said, and you didn’t have to look back to know he was grinning.

---

The night air was cool against your skin as you stepped off the mansion’s back porch, your pulse quickening with every quiet step. You stuck to the shadows, moving with practiced ease—this wasn’t your first time sneaking out. But it was always a gamble. Always a risk.

Still, that didn’t stop the thrill from curling low in your stomach.

Logan was already waiting by his bike, leaning against it with his arms crossed, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He exhaled, watching you with that familiar smirk—half amused, half something darker.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, flicking the cigar away.

“I said eleven," you shot back, coming to a stop in front of him. "It’s eleven."

Logan glanced at his watch like he didn’t believe you, then shrugged. "Close enough."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed the helmet from the handlebars and held it out. You hesitated for half a second before taking it, slipping it on as Logan swung a leg over the bike.

"Hop on, doll."

You did, settling in behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist automatically. He was warm, solid beneath your touch, the scent of leather and faint cigar smoke clinging to him.

"You gonna tell me where we're going?" you asked, voice slightly muffled behind the visor.

Logan reached down, gripping your thigh just enough to make you feel it. "Nope."

Your stomach flipped. Before you could push for an answer, the engine roared to life beneath you, and then you were moving—tearing down the quiet backroads, the wind rushing past, the world blurring into streaks of light and shadow.

You didn’t ask again. You just held on tighter.

---

Logan didn’t stop until you were well outside of town, pulling off onto a secluded dirt path surrounded by thick trees. The headlights cast long shadows against the trunks as he killed the engine. The night settled around you, quiet except for the faint hum of crickets and the cooling tick of the bike.

You pulled off the helmet, shaking out your hair before looking around. "This is either really romantic or the start of a horror movie."

Logan snorted, stepping off the bike. "Guess that depends on your definition of romantic."

You smirked, handing him the helmet as you stood. "So? What’s the plan, tough guy? You bringin’ me out here to bury a body?"

He huffed a laugh. "Nah. Just figured we could use some real privacy for once." He jerked his head toward a break in the trees. "C’mon."

You followed him down a small path, stepping carefully over the uneven ground. After a few minutes, the trees thinned out, revealing a stretch of open sky and a lake shimmering under the moonlight.

Your breath caught for half a second. You hadn't expected this.

Logan glanced at you, catching the look on your face. "Not bad, huh?"

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. "It’s alright, I guess."

He smirked. "Brat."

You grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, you kicked off your shoes and stepped onto the wooden dock that stretched over the water, feeling the worn planks creak under your weight. Logan followed, hands in his pockets as he leaned against one of the wooden posts.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The air was crisp, the reflection of the stars rippling over the water’s surface. It was quiet. Peaceful. Something you didn’t get much of at the mansion.

Then Logan’s voice broke the silence. "You ever think about leavin’?"

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

He kept his eyes on the water. "The mansion. The team. All of it."

You frowned. "Why would I?"

Logan let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "Dunno. Just seems like sometimes you’re tryin’ to be somethin’ you ain’t."

You stared at him, caught off guard. "And what exactly do you think I am?"

Logan’s eyes finally met yours, something unreadable in them. "Someone who don’t belong in a cage. No matter how nice they make it look."

Your stomach twisted. You knew what he meant. The mansion was safe, sure. But it was also rules, expectations, eyes always watching. You’d built a life there. A good one. But was it really yours? Or was it just the one Scott expected you to have?

You swallowed, looking away. "And what about you?"

Logan tilted his head slightly. "What about me?"

"Do you ever think about leaving?" You asked.

A pause. "All the damn time."

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped closer, reaching for his hand. Logan let you take it, his fingers curling around yours automatically.

"You don’t have to stay, you know," you murmured. "If you really wanted to go."

Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, doll. I do."

Your throat tightened. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t staying for the team.

He was staying for you.

For a moment, you just stood there, his hand warm in yours, the lake stretching out endless and quiet beneath the stars.

Then, finally, Logan smirked. "This is gettin’ a little too sentimental. You wanna go for a swim or somethin’?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "It’s freezing."

"So?"

You rolled your eyes. "You go first, tough guy."

Logan didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket, and before you could even process what was happening—

Splash.

You gasped as water sprayed onto the dock, the surface rippling wildly where Logan had disappeared. You stared at the disturbance for half a second before Logan popped back up, slicking his hair back with both hands. "Water’s fine."

"You’re a liar," you laughed.

Logan grinned, then suddenly shot out an arm—grabbing your ankle.

"Logan—!"

Too late.

You yelped as he yanked, throwing you completely off balance. The last thing you saw before you hit the water was his smug, grinning face. The cold was a shock—freezing against your skin, stealing the breath from your lungs as you surfaced, gasping.

"You asshole!" you sputtered, shoving wet hair out of your face.

Logan just laughed, the deep sound echoing across the water. "You deserved it," he said, treading water.

"You’re dead," you threatened, lunging at him.

Logan dodged easily, still grinning. "Gotta catch me first, doll."

Oh, it was on now.

You lunged again, cutting through the water as fast as you could, but Logan was quick—too quick. He moved just out of reach every time, smirking like the smug bastard he was.

"That the best you got?" he taunted, backstroking away like he had all the time in the world.

You narrowed your eyes. "You realize I have powers, right?"

Logan’s smirk widened. "Then use ‘em, sweetheart. Let’s see what you got."

Oh, he was asking for it. You didn’t hesitate. You focused, letting energy pulse through your limbs, giving yourself a boost as you surged forward. Logan’s eyes barely had time to widen before you tackled him, sending both of you under the water.

Bubbles rushed around you, the muffled sound of movement filling your ears as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, dragging him down with you. You knew he could hold his breath longer than you, but you weren’t planning on letting this turn into a real fight.

Instead, you twisted, using the momentum to flip him over so you were the one pinning him, hands braced against his shoulders. Even underwater, his smirk was there—amused, challenging.

You rolled your eyes and pushed off, breaking the surface first.

A second later, Logan popped up in front of you, shaking water from his hair. "Not bad," he admitted, voice rougher than usual from the cold. "Didn’t think you had it in you."

"Yeah, well, you underestimate me a lot," you shot back, treading water.

Logan’s smirk softened just a little. "Never."

Your breath hitched, pulse stuttering for a second, but before you could dwell on it, Logan moved—closing the distance between you in one smooth motion. His hands found your waist under the water, steady, warm despite the chill.

"You’re shivering," he murmured.

You rolled your eyes. "Because you threw me in a freezing lake, dumbass."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, but instead of teasing you again, he just pulled you closer. The warmth of him was instant, the solid weight of his body pressing against yours. His hands slid up, fingers tracing along your ribs, your back. You swallowed, heartbeat thudding as his lips brushed against your temple, then down to the edge of your jaw.

"You wanna get out?" he murmured, voice low.

You nodded, but neither of you moved. Instead, Logan dipped his head, lips ghosting over yours, slow and teasing, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. Like he wanted you to.

But you didn’t. You closed the space, pressing your mouth against his, your fingers slipping into his wet hair as he kissed you back—deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world.

The water rocked around you, your bodies drifting, the night air cool against your skin. It was dangerous, reckless—standing there like this, kissing in the open where anyone could find you.

But you didn’t care.

Not tonight.

Eventually, Logan pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you warmed up."

His smirk was back, but there was something else in his eyes now—something softer, something real.

You exhaled, nodding. "Yeah. Okay."

Logan didn’t let you go as he led you back toward the shore, his grip firm, steady. Like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

a few things - one, reader's powers are energy manipulation. two, i think it's in the next part, but reader has a degree in something nature/environmental related. it's not heavily described though. anyways, enjoy part 2!

❀ part 2 ❀

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine smut

552 notes · View notes

verdancy-hime · 2 days ago

Text

Everyone is like "what if we take more coping mechanisms away from you why don't you go do this this this this this"

And it's like "I started doing porn because trying to have a job was giving me vivid sexual fantasies about being a serial killer and it turned out a lot of men on the iinternet could relate to that and thought other women didn't and then I decided to microdose being a serial killer and take people's money with their consent and give them weird hypno daydreams where I was a vampire princess or a weird eldritch being and I killed them and brought them back to life and then they were my slave and being my slave mostly consisted of paying me to stay away from other people and buy a lot of vibrators and drugs."

No one appreciates how much work I did to just do a fake bit on the internet where I pretended to be the toolbox killer instead of actually becoming the toolbox killer.

You all suck you're like "go outsideeeeeeeereeeeee get a boyfriend have a babbbbby!" No. No I don't think I will. I tried hard to have a boyfriend or a girlfriend when I was younger and it just turned into me dreading every minute around them because they were constantly acting like they hated me and I was the meanest mean person ever and driving me insane or me constantly yelling at them and feeling like shit afterwards and nothing getting better. Like... you go try to date a man who's super religious because you don't want the kind of shit your feminist mom went through and that's even more stupid and manipulative and lame than you thought it would be so you go and date a trans girl and that's just her looking for a daddy because her daddy threw her out and being forgetful and confused and sad and childish and spoiled all the time until you want to rip your hair out and you sleep or listen to headphones all the time to avoid yelling at her and making her cry and she doesn't have a damn job and you go date a bi boy and he's literally the most shockingly machiavellian person you have ever met and he literally hates you except he likes that he feels like he beat your friends and he thought he would get sex parties with your female friends but they're mostly gay and he's super pissed at everything about you except you're a better cook than his grandmother and your apartment is cheap so you stop dating and you try to just hook up with dudes but they keep trying to trick you into catching feels and it turns out people will pay cash money to hear you masturbate and say weird antisocial things and also your job history is even worse than your employment history so why not?

But then people are trying to force you not to do that and claim you're creating nazis or something because if men don't regularly put their penis in something and form a babby their extra semen somehow goes up to their brain and whispers to them that they need to make anyone doing anything cool or fun or free illegal and that everyone should be forced to live a life that makes no one happy for the sake of society.

Idk man.

Yall want me to become a serial killer or what?

no one appreciates that i could be a million times worse

33K notes · View notes

i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 2 days ago

Text

Private lessons

Masterlist Word count: 5.6k Prof!Rafayel x Student!Reader

Summary: Rafayel is your fine arts teacher. You were absent from some classes because you caught the flu and now you're standing in front of his office door, hand raised to knock at the door, but something is stopping you. Maybe it's the way he's been looking at you lately, but either way you need to catch up.

Author's note: I've been stalling to finish this. It ends a bit abruptly because I just ran out of inspiration and otherwise I would've thrown this in the drafts never to be seen again. I hope ya'll like it! Special thanks to @butlereyepatchbunny for proofreading!

Smut, Rafayel trying to be dominant, reader ending up being dominant, weird power dynamic, nude painting, jealousy, emotional manipulation, begging, short talk about vasectomies and STI's, raw sex (wrap it up guys).

Mature content under the cut

"Come in," Professor Rafayel bellows through the door. He sounds annoyed and frustrated. In truth, that doesn't really irk you. An artistic person like him would probably despise office hours. You've heard rumors of him trying to convince the art department director to let him have his office hours in his studio, but he was met with a resounding no.

It makes sense, but people love working in professor Rafayel's studio when they can and professor Rafayel loves bouncing ideas off his students. Seems a perfect solution to keep a stubborn professor happy, but the director doesn't think so.

For a second you almost forget that you have to open the door. That you now have to face your professor. The professor that you've been trying to avoid for days now. It might've been easier if he hadn't greeted you like he did when you finally felt good enough to attend classes again last week.

Professor Rafayel's art lectures are never early in the day, which is a godsend on a day like today. Sure, your head is still pounding from the pressure of the cold you are recovering from, but that's nothing some ibuprofen and paracetamol can't fix.

With Rafayel's lecture only starting at 1:30 pm, you've got enough time to medicate yourself and eat something before heading over there. However, now that you're sitting here trying to focus on the lecture, you feel your mind slipping away. Maybe you should've taken another day off to make sure you were fine.

As professor Rafayel always does, he gives a short assignment to do in class and roams around the room to give pointers. Usually it is something like "We've just discussed this type of art, find some or draw some to show that you understand what makes that type of art that type of art." It's often near the end of class time and some people skip out on it because professor Rafayel really couldn't care less as long as the grades are good.

And, you usually, you stay like the good little student you are and do the assignment. You even often stay after class to discuss it with professor Rafayel if he has time. Now, however, you feel like shit and you're packing up.

That is, until two hands appear on either sides of your desk, caging you in. A soft, sultry voice whispers next to your ear, forcing shivers down your spine: "First you don't show up for days and now you're leaving early? Did I do something?"

There's emotion behind his words, so much of it. You figured he might've noticed your absence, but this seems a bit extreme. "I had the flu," you mutter, cheeks burning, "I'm still not doing great."

"Why didn't you email me? I could've sent you the class notes," he whispers, but there's something more in there. Something possessive. You feel your body shudder ever so slightly as he leans a little closer and you feel his body brushing against you.

Then he suddenly switches up, his hands pulling away from your desk. He repositions himself to sit on the desk next to yours, arms crossed, with an aloof expression on his face. "Well, since you clearly don't feel well yet, you should stay home tomorrow as well. It's nearly the weekend anyway. How about you come by at my office hours on Monday? We'll discuss how to get you back up to speed."

'Oh, it's you,' professor Rafayel hums as he watches you slip into his office, 'how are you doing now?'

You can't say you're not surprised by his casual question and the very normal atmosphere in his office after what he did last Thursday. For a second, you consider you might've been lucid dreaming with the fever you had. However, that wouldn't be probable. You're pretty sure you felt his body press against yours. The memory of it almost makes you blush. 'I'm alright. Much better than last week.'

'Good,' he answers, not even paying attention to you, 'so besides missing lectures, I noticed you have not submitted anything of your physical work for review. Have you not been able to make anything during your sick leave?'

'I tried to, but I had so many coughing fits that I couldn't focus and my head was pounding.' You're not sure why you're over-explaining. Does he make you more nervous now that he's not being overly interested in you? Is that it? This is strange. Before last week, the two of you had a very equal relationship when it came to discussing art. 'I just wasn't able to.'

He nods, leaning back in his chair. Suddenly, he seems much more interested. He crosses his arms and you notice the slightest twitch of a smirk pull on the corners of his lips. His eyes are dark and intriguing. 'My, my, what should we do about that? We wouldn't want you to fall behind,' he taunts you, playing into your fear of failure.

He knows exactly what he's doing as you feel tears start to burn in your eyes. You know he knows. How many times have you discussed your works and the meaning and feelings behind them? How many times have you overshared and told him about your family? Yes, Rafayel knows exactly what he's doing. He's trying to push you off balance, trying to get on top, be the dominant one.

'I might have an offer you'd be interested in,' he mentions with a sly look. You saw how he was watching you get closer and closer to tears. He's been planning this. He's playing with his food. It makes something grow inside you. Something red. Something burning. 'Two of my classes merged and now I've got a few free hours after 4 pm until the end of the semester. I'd be open to some one-on-one sessions.'

The way he makes it sound like he's doing you a favor, like he doesn't want to spend time with you but he'll do it, makes you flush with a strange kind of rage. Here you are, sitting in his office at his request. He has the gall to assume you won't be able to catch up and implies so to play with your feelings. All of that, after countless times of calling you talented, just to get some time alone with you? Unless it's all just a game to him.

Insane.

You might be horny for this man, just like every other student in your class, but you won't be degraded like this. 'No thank you, I think I'll be fine,' you answer as you get up. He looks physically surprised by your words, his whole suave façade drops.

Just as he wants to get up, you put your hands on his desk and lean towards him a little. The way he looks up at you does something for you. His eyes wide, surprised, but very much still paying attention. Almost enjoying the power imbalance you introduce, but you can't be sure. It could just be surprise. 'I am going to be very blunt here, professor, and forgive me if I misunderstood. But if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could've just asked instead of playing with my feelings.'

"Inspiration is a fickle mistress and she does not like her hand forced." You learned that from professor Rafayel and no words ring truer than those right now.

Ever since you left his office last Monday, your mind has been all over the place trying to piece together why your professor behaved that way. Because that's what he is, your professor. He's not a random boy on campus who is trying to get in your pants, he is your teacher. Someone who should behave more dignified than Rafayel has.

It's not like you would mind if he were just a random boy, but that's the whole problem. This whole thing, if it is what you think it is, opens the door to so many potential problems... But it is intriguing and it has been building for a while.

Slowly, but surely, certain occurrences came back to you. However, there are no words in the English language that could rationalize those moments, no matter how hard you try. You can try all you want, but your loins are on fire.

That's when you realized, it started on day one. The first fucking time you saw him. You were so daft, so stupid to not see it. He has been chasing you for almost three years now.

It was subtle. Very. As he should be in his position. He was playing a long con and you're not quite sure if he is aware of it or if he's just letting his emotions run free. He has gone off on rants about free love and similar topics more than once when someone implied something sexist. Rafayel is not shy about sex and sexuality, and you kind of liked that about him as your art is often sexually charged. You like sex and sexuality and the vulnerability that it often comes with.

But now you can't even put your brush against the canvas without your paintings starting to look like him. You've tried to force it, only to abandon those works within minutes because it just didn't feel good. If it did start to feel good, the painting would start to look like him again.

A deep sigh slips from your lips as you drop your arms, defeated. You stare at the portrait you painted. It's not nearly done, but it's his eyes staring back at you, boring into your soul. You've got to do something about this. Either confront him or fuck him, those seem the only feasible options.

You tilt your head to look at the clock in your apartment. 4:30 pm... Would he still be in his studio?

The sliding door to the studio seems much heavier today, but the sight it reveals is truly an artwork on its own.

Rafayel's studio has large windows and tons of greenery outside. Now, around golden hour, strings of yellow and orange light illuminate the space, only interrupted by dust particles floating around. The light perfectly surrounds Rafayel as he sits in the middle of his studio with a canvas on a small, portable easel as he works. Sunlight kisses his skin, almost making it look like there's an outline of gold around him.

'Took you long enough,' he huffs, not looking up at you but provoking you to step inside. And you do, closing the sliding door behind you. 'Lock it.'

'What?'

'Lock it.'

'Why?'

'Lock it or leave, those are your options,' his tone is commanding, nothing like you've ever heard from him before. You feel that same red-hot rage you felt on Monday, it's something defiant inside you, but you know you need to talk to him. If you don't, you might be doomed to paint him until you die.

'Tell me why or I'm switching to professor Thomas' art history class.' Rafayel's jaw clenches. You don't know why the man has such a hatred for Thomas. As far as you know, they get along fine but whenever you drop his name they are suddenly enemies. Could it be that Rafayel is jealous? Or maybe just possessive?

'You know why,' he hints, his eyes flickering up at you. Something sinister is in them, something dark, something sexual. Yes, you know what is happening here today if you let it but you want him to say it. You turn around and put your hand on the door again. You hear something clatter to the floor and suddenly you see Rafayel's hand holding the door closed, his body pressing against you as his other hand gently takes its place on your hip. 'Don't make me say it.'

You turn around to face him: 'Professor Rafayel, you and I both know this is highly inappropriate.' He searches your eyes for any inkling that you do not want this, that you want him to stop, that he got it all wrong. The despair in his face, the strange power dynamic, it turns you on so fucking much.

A cruel plan forms in your mind. Rafayel wants you and you've got five sessions with him until the end of the semester, including today. Five sessions to make him bend, five sessions to drive him to madness, five sessions to make him beg. 'I'm here for extra lessons. What are you here for,' you question innocently as you press your hand against his chest, ever so gently pushing him off. His hand grips your hip tighter, pulling himself closer with a defiant look in his eyes.

'What are you doing,' he grumbles, his annoyance easy to read in his eyes. He seems ready to devour you whole if you would just say yes to him. If you would just agree to this.

'I'm being a good student,' you claim as your hand slides down to his stomach slowly and his eyes widen, 'my professor told me he'd help me catch up.'

Finally, he catches on. He lets go of you and walks back over to his easel. The thing is knocked over and probably what you heard when you tried to head out again. For just a second you get a glimpse of his painting. It is unmistakably you. Not all of you. It's your face leaning on the palm of your hand, but it doesn't go higher than your lips.

'Alright, let's get started,' he grumbles, annoyed. You sit down on the floor across from him and take out your sketchpad. 'You missed a model painting class and a portrait class.'

'So, shall I just ask my roommate to sit for me,' you ask him, recalling he despises your roommate as much as he does Thomas. Why? You live off campus and so your roommate is an old friend. A male friend. Let the games begin! His face instantly turns into a scowl, but his answer takes a second and when he does answer, he looks at you strangely.

'No, I'll sit for you.'

Painting Rafayel's portrait is easy. His face is already burned into your memories, but it's nice to study the small details of his face. Being that up-close and personal with him has been... an experience the say the very least. Unsurprisingly, by session 3 you've got a picture perfect copy of his face in oil paint.

Throughout the sessions, his praise didn't go unnoticed by you. Meanwhile, he was also painting you, claiming it to be good practice for him because you've got a unique bone structure. However, whenever you snuck a glance at his painting, it was never just your face.

Session 1, he continued that painting of your lips while the two of you sat across from each other, cross-legged, knees nearly touching.

Session 2, you had put on a short skirt to tease him and sat down across from him cross-legged again. The skirt barely touched the floor in the back. He had walked around you quite a few times to "comment on your work" but when you glanced at his painting, he had painted you from the side. That included how your skirt barely covered your butt. It was surprisingly suggestive. Sure, that was the intent but he somehow made it so much more lewd. Like you were looking at yourself through his eyes.

Session 3, it was the first truly scorching day of the year. You put on a long, flowy skirt, and the tiniest top/sports bra that you could get away with wearing on the campus. He managed to perfectly remember how you looked when you walked in and lifted your skirt a bit to check if the buckle on your sandals had gotten loose. It looked strangely angelic, even if you tried to portray something more sexual. Sure, he hiked up your skirt a little more in the painting to the part where your leg meets your hip. Yet it still looked very innocent. Almost as if you were a voyeur, as if you weren't meant to see this.

One thing that irked you though, Rafayel would not tell you what kind of model painting you missed out on. You would've asked your classmates, but after the initial model painting most of them preferred to work alone to finish the paintings. Understandable, you would've done the same if you were in their shoes.

Today is session 4 and it is still scorching hot. Not ideal weather to seduce your professor in. You opted to wear some linen pants and a loose-fitting cropped shirt. Nothing all that sexy but with temperatures like these, all you want to do is sit naked in front of the aircon.

However, you are excited. The last few sessions you have manged to get Rafayel so worked up that you left him sitting in the studio with a tent in his pants last time. That honestly made you feel great. It made you feel desired and beautiful. A temptress. As you walk through the school, you wonder how far you can push him this time.

When you turn the corner to head to the studio, stirring with anticipation, you see Rafayel waiting for you in front of the studio. Your feet hesitate for a second when he looks your way. Something's different today. There's something in his eyes and his cheeks are flushed. For a second you want to turn around and leave, but then he waves for you to come closer and you do. Your feet carry you to him.

Rafayel answers your questions before you can ask any, 'We're heading into one of the smaller studios today.' A flicker of electricity pulses through you. You look down. Rafayel took your hand in his and is pulling you along. He's excited, surprisingly so. Does he know you put a few condoms in your bag today because you feel like he grovelled enough?

Soon you're walking through parts of the fine arts wing that you don't even know. It's quieter here, more secluded, more private. There's dust on the windowsills so you don't question that this part of the wing isn't used often.

And suddenly you're standing in a very tiny studio, no bigger than a dorm room. Despite its size, the room is lit beautifully. There's a window high up on the wall. High enough that you can just look outside if you stand on your tiptoes. It creates a spotlight of natural light cascading down on the stool that stands in the middle of the room. The walls are a velvety shade of dark blue, almost as if they would feel soft to the touch.

One easel and another stool are already set up with a canvas. It's in the perfect spot for the lighting and you figure Rafayel set it up himself. Against the wall are two large storage shelving units that hold costly and rare paints and other mediums. Ones that you would have to give up food for to afford. Something tells you this is Rafayel's private stash.

'I've never been in this part of the art wing before,' you mumble as you look around the small room. Before you can turn towards Rafayel, you hear a distinct click of the lock being turned. By now, that doesn't disturb you anymore. The door has been locked for every session before this and you figure it might have something to do with Rafayel's impulsivity if you ever give him the slightest idea that something might happen.

'These used to be senior studios, but most seniors prefer to work at home these days,' Rafayel explains, 'most teachers in the art wing have claimed one. This one is mine.' You were right.

'You have two studios? Isn't that a bit excessive?' You turn towards the stool again, wondering how you can best post Rafayel to make him look as angelic as he is.

'Not for moments like these.'

You turn back to him and the whole world falls away. In front of you stands Rafayel, your art teacher, your mentor, the most beautiful man you've ever seen, without a shirt. His shoes are kicked in the corner, socks somewhere on the ground, as he works on the draw string of his creme linen pants.

His eyes meet yours, the hesitation reflected in them as vivid as the rare colours on his storage shelves. You can tell there's a little fear in his eyes at your hesitation. Fear that he read this all wrong, that he's going to fast, that you were just playing around.

'You could've told me I missed a nude painting class,' you manage to utter as you awe at his body. Whichever God he prays to has to like him very much to have granted him that body with that face. It almost seems like a crime. A man like that must have flaws, right?

'Where is the fun in that,' he teases as he pulls the drawstring. He lets go and the pants slide off his body, revealing that he's not wearing anything underneath. For a second, just a second, you want to jump him. Have your hands roaming his body as your eyes are, but your jaw is on the floor and your body is frozen in place.

Meanwhile, Rafayel smirks at you and takes his spot on the stool in the middle of the room. He looks extremely smug and proud. You guess a man like that wouldn't really be insecure about himself. He looks sculpted by the gods, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. And, God you'd never imagine you'd be thinking this, this man has a beautiful penis. Your mind is already dreaming up what he would look like hard, with that pretty pink tip of his leaking precum.

'How do you want me,' he asks, eyebrow quirking up at the unintentionally suggestive question. Or maybe it is intentional. All this time you thought you were holding all the power, but he is stripped down in front of you and somehow has more control over the situation than you do.

"Focus," you shout in your mind and mentally hit the dirty thoughts out of yourself. But professionalism be damned, you just want to stare at this beautiful man all day. "If only you'd be in a position to capture this very moment right here, now get your mind out of the gutter and paint this beautiful man!"

'Put your foot up a little, yes, beautiful, and turn your shoulders towards me a bit,' you start to direct him. He poses beautifully and you don't doubt he's done this before. He's probably done this so often it is second nature to him. Right? Curiosity gnaws at you as you pick up your charcoal to make a rough sketch. 'Have you modelled for students before?'

'Yes, once.'

'Only once?' He nods. 'Stay still,' you quickly say. He huffs a laugh.

'See,' he offers the moment as proof, 'only once. I was a starving artist and needed money to pay my rent. I saw an advert in the paper and replied. Some of the teachers here recognized me from some magazine interview and the rest is history.'

'That's how you got here? I thought you were a spoiled protege,' you murmur, more to yourself than to him as your rough charcoal outline starts to take shape on the paper.

'Most people think that.' The mood sours and as much as you want to know his whole life story, you are not in a mindset to be appropriate about this right now. You wish you could be, but he doesn't really seem to want to talk about it more either.

'You could've made a killing as a model,' you note, as you start to go in with deeper blacks for the shadows.

'I was gonna say the same about you, cutie,' he teases. You're pulled out of your focus. Cutie? No one has ever called you that before. You've never considered yourself that before.

'Cutie?' He just winks at you. A flush spreads on your cheeks as you try to get back to the work at hand. Rafayel's eyes are glued on you as you take out your eraser to put in some shadows. A long silence falls between the two of you. You wish you could give the silence a name, call it awkward or weird but that's not it. Discomfort is not what you feel, though you wish you would. Instead you just feel an increasing fire building in your chest.

And Rafayel notices.

'You know, it's awfully hot in here. I can't image you're comfortable in all those clothes.' A wicked grin plays on his lips. He tries to hide it but he can't. Not now that he's so close to getting what he wants. You can't blame the guy for trying.

With a pretend exasperated sigh, you pull your top over your head and throw it at him. He catches it with ease, 'Rude,' he huffs, but he is taking a good long look at your newly exposed skin.

And then you see something twitch between his legs. Now you've got two options and one is clearly better than the other.

Option 1, you fuck him right here right now.

Option 2, you fuck him next session. Why next session? It is quite literally the last class of the year. If things get awkward, you won't have to face him until next fall. And if things go right, you've got a whole summer to enjoy them. Plus, more teasing.

You would've picked option two any day. It seems so much more fun. If only it weren't for the fact that you are absolutely feral right now. Suddenly, your shoes are kicked off and joined with Rafayel's in a corner, and your pants are in a pool at your feet as you sit back down on your stool.

For probably the first time in his life, Rafayel is quietly watching. The way he looks at you truly surprises you. All these weeks you've been trying to make sure you look like a sexual object to make sure he understands that this is just sex. Instead, he looks at you like you're a masterpiece. Like every stretch mark, every mole, every dip, every discolouration, every scar, every mark is perfect. All your imperfections, so perfect in his eyes. It makes you feel a little shy until you see something poking up from between his legs.

'You're right. This is much better,' you agree with his previous statement, trying to sound aloof like he usually does after some devious act. He's in absolute awe, looking frozen by your beauty. Rafayel's lips move but, even in the quiet room, you can't hear a single word he's saying. 'What was that?'

'You should finish your drawing.'

'I've lost my focus,' you retort as your hands travel to the edge of your sports bra. Rafayel's eyes are trained on your fingers as you start lifting up the fabric.

'We should do something about that.'

'Like what?' You pull your bra over your head with one swift movement and throw it at him like you had your shirt. That seems enough of an invitation for him. The wicked grin he wore just a minute ago reappears as he gets up from his stool and stalks over to you.

'I have a few things in mind.'

Then, his lips are on yours. Hungry, deprived, messy. Teeth clank against each other as tongues try to discover as much as they can in as little time as possible. Mere seconds pass before you're both breathless and he pulls away to look at you. A string of saliva connects you as both of you scan each other's eyes. Looking for regret, for a reason to stop or keep going.

'Well,' you coax. He breathes out a laugh and starts trailing kisses down your neck. At your collarbones, he leaves a few love bites and moves further down until he's on his knees between your legs, big eyes looking up at you.

Just as you try to hook your fingers on your underwear to pull it down, Rafayel captures both of your wrists and holds them in one hand. His eyes bore into yours expectantly and when you give the slightest nod, he dives right in licking a thick stripe over top of your underwear. You groan and want to reach out for his hair, but your wrists are still captured.

With his free hand, he pulls your panties to the side. 'That's beautiful, make that sound for me again,' he begs before diving in again. It's not surprising that he's incredibly skilled, tethering you to the edge within seconds. But that could also be all the edging you put yourself through in preparation for this day.

'Raf, please, I-'

'You're gonna come already, pretty girl?' His voice is like a purr as he lets go of your wrists to grab your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the stool. Your hand instantly slides into his hair, grabbing a good fist full to ground yourself. 'Give me everything.' It's embarrassing how hard and fast you cum. Truly, you feel like a two-pump chump and you don't even have a dick to pump.

'Shit, Raf, oh my god,' you moan out as he removes his mouth from you. He looks up at you and when you look down at him, he presses a soft kiss to your clit, sending electricity through your body. It's absolutely lewd and dirty. 'If you don't fuck me right now, I will scream.'

Rafayel chuckles as he stands up, pressing kisses to your skin as he rises, 'I thought this was all about you being in control.' His voice makes you shiver. So he did know what you were doing and was playing along.

'I thought so too, but we'll have more than enough time to explore that some other time,' you groan as he latches his lips onto your neck, kissing and biting your sensitive skin, 'I've got condoms in my bag.'

'Don't need 'em,' Rafayel hums in your ear, his hands on your hips, kneading your skin. His thick length rubbing against your stomach, spreading beads of precum on your skin.

'Unless you had a vasectomy and are clean, we do need them,' you argue between moans whilst your hands explore his chest, dipping down every once in a while to tease his v-line.

'Yes, to both of those,' he clarifies, 'but it's your choice.'

For a second, just a second, your hands still and you seriously consider the pros and cons for as far as your fried mind lets you. Rafayel looks down at you with a smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. The whole action is so sweet, so tender, that it completely shuts your brain off. 'Fuck it,' you sigh and pull him closer.

His hands slip under your thighs, picking you up from the stool like you weigh no more than a tube of oil paint. With a swift turn, he presses you up against the wall, lips attacking yours violently. Your bottom lip slips between his teeth as he bites down "gently." The hunger in his kisses makes you think he's close to dying. His hands are everywhere on your body, overwhelming your senses.

His hand moves between your bodies and guides his dick inside you. At first only the head, and then everything all at once. Your fingers dig into his back as you curse his ancestors for giving him all the good genes. 'Shit, you're taking me so well,' he groans, head dipping to your neck to leave another bruising kiss there.

He sets a gruelling pace, stealing all the air out of your lungs as you gasp and whimper. Rafayel's hand is still between your bodies, teasing your clit with his thumb whilst holding you up with one arm. Your back hurts, moving against the wall. Sadly, the velvety paint doesn't take away the sandpaper-like texture of the walls.

'Raf, ah, the wall,' you whine, 'it hurts.' Truly, you don't want him to move. The orgasm approaching you doesn't want you in any other position than the one you are in right now.

'I know baby, just a little longer,' he groans, biting down on your skin once more. He keeps pounding into you relentlessly while you try to stay still to minimize the impact, but your brain is fried and a slut for pleasure. With his hands on your clit and his cock rubbing inside your gummy walls, you can feel yourself lose control.

'Raf, I'm-' He shushes you gently. 'I know, I know, let go baby. Come on,' he beckons, keeping his fingers and hips moving at a steady pace. Your walls flutter at his words. 'There you go, give it to me.'

'Shit, Raf, cu-cumming,' you stutter as his teeth sink into your skin again. His hips falter as he snaps them up inside you and keeps them there. You feel his hot cum coat you from the inside as your walls start to spasm, your nails digging into his back roughly, legs pulling him impossibly close.

His hips snap against you a few more times. Sloppy, uncoordinated, passionate. Your brain is a mess and so are you. In truth, you could go again. But as your breathing steadies and the fog in your brain clears up, you suddenly realised you just fucked your professor in the school.

'This is so wrong,' you mumble with a laugh. Rafayel's teeth let go of your skin and he looks down at you as he puts lets you down. You feel like Bambi, the way your legs are shaking.

'What is?'

You gesture around you vaguely, 'All of this.'

LADS general taglist

@brekkers-whore

@mcdepressed290

@fvcknwww

@pozuki

@butlereyepatchbunny

260 notes · View notes

natalchartnurtures · 2 days ago

Text

Pick-A-Cat GIF: Why Do People Stare At You?

Let's expose the people who stare at you *evil laughs * hehe

Paid readings now available for everybody!

Intention set for the reading: "I want this to be a feel good pick a card to uplift anybody that comes across it. I want their lower three chakras to get a healing boost after reading this pick a card. I want the messages in here to be clear honest and oh so fun to read.

Thank you so much spirit team for helping me do this and help my collective. I lysm <3

Let's begin!"

⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡

Pile 1:

Ok. You a domestic queen/king/non-binary royal. Even if you don't identify as one.

Why you ask? Because sweetie, there's something DEEPly satisfying about watching you go about your mundane day. Doing your lil mundane chores and things. You give off a cozy Bilbo Baggins typa vibe it's almost as if you seem so content being in your lil bubble and living your life that it begs for the attention of people who struggle with inner peace. This is why a lot of people who stare at you, stare at you. They wanna know your secret formula to what they're calling inner peace, cuz you look like somebody who's sooooo CONTENT with their own life and their own shi- and their own company. Keep in mind that this doesn't necessarily mean your life is inherently good all the time like you could have everything going wrong in your life and still handle it like a damn Pro and come out on the other side feeling better than before. You alchemize. Consciously or not, you do. And you do it naturally. Let me tell you something, this alchemical-bouncing-back-from-anything mentality IS your source of infinite inner peace. People who stare at you actually pick up on this nature of yours on a very subconscious level without even realizing and boy.. do they desperately wanna know your "secret" which is basically your alchemy. Lmao. So good luck to anybody who tries to understand you, they're gonna have a tough time tryna understand alchemy as a muggle

A lil rant: NO shade to anybody who's not on the spiritual journey but hey I gotta call it out EXACTLY how it is. Your wisdom was hard 👏🏾 earned 👏🏾 so it's gonna take MORE than just overnight to understand you and your alchemical nature. Like am I wrong?

End Of Rant

I think you get it by now. Your vibe is why people stare at you. It's like you ✨️bewitch✨️ people with your ability to "never get stressed" (at least on face value) no matter what life seems to throw at you. This tells me that most people who stare at you are people who see you in public spaces fairly regularly (like a class or a park near where you live etc) and they don't know you very well?

You have a lotta strangers taking respite in your beauty. Staring at you could be like an escape almost.. like taking a sip from that well of infinite inner peace .. gosh you have a very beautiful aura pile 1, hehe and I love and adore that.

It seems to me like you're angelic.. a white aura or light blue one almost.. you exude very high vibrational energy which makes sense cuz a lot of high vibe people get stares for simply existing! Cuz they move differently through life.

Pile 1, you take the proverbial road less taken- the path of spiritual alchemy and face your darkness and this allows you to MOVE DIFFERENTLY and respond different to life than most people. This. THIS is why people stare at you. My sweet, <insert your name> 😊

Any physical/personality traits that people admire:

👉🏾 You may look very cute in your overall appearance which makes you VERY endearing to look at haha. You're cute like a hobbit is. Maybe your shorter than average? Love my fellow Short Queens Tehe ✨️

👉🏾 Even tho you seem very cute, you have eyes of a SAGE of like fucking YODA or something cuz goddamn they deep af. People are MESMERIZED by this duality they sense in you. Love to see it.

👉🏾 You have an air of authenticity to you. You care if you really care, don't if you really don't. No BS typa first impressions when people look at you.

👉🏾 You might strong looking g features that's very beautiful. Like strong looking legs, or strong looking hands, or strong facial features too? Your beauty is kinda Tate McRae's if I'm being honest.. that's what I'm picking up on.. it feels so lovely to sit in ><

And with that were done with your reading for today!

Thank you so very much for reading!

I love you soooo much 🫶🏾🫂

Have yourself a nice rest of your day, now and see yaaaaa <3

⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡

Pile 2:

Whoa when I was starting your reading I accidently asked spirit "What makes my pile number 2s attractive?" instead of "What makes people stare at my pile 2s?"

So you have your answer right there.

People stare cuz you is attractive ok? 💅🏾 I'm getting a strong vibe that you already know this but kinda don't care? Cuz like there's more to you than meets the eye (kinda like in the case of Marilyn Monroe) and you seem to know this too so you're like "yea ik I'm cute, whatever" haha I love itttt sooo much. You a lil miss diva ✨️

Have you ever heard of Brown Magic by Twinjabi? It's BLASTING in my ears as I'm channeling for you right NOW lol this is, again, pointing to me how people find you really attractive.

~Oh and keep in mind, you don't have to be a brown girl to relate to the song :p ~

It's ridiculous how many pages you got all at once. This is telling me that you have this child-like vibe to you. You seem carefree and ~oh so~ positive in the way you look at things, at life. Your energy seems very light just like a child. You embody your inner child really well and this CATCHES people's attention like it's nobody's bussiness. You could really do a lot of work around healing your inner child and your connection to her/him which is helping you sustain your natural curiosity, wonder for life and that pure essence.. Alot of people who stare at you do so cuz they've most probably lost touch with their own inner children. They look to you as a source of light that they struggle to connect with themselves.

And you know what that means-

You trigger people ALOT.

You get stares from some people who are jealous of you and want what you have (your connection to your inner child and GodSource) but WITHOUT putting in the work necessary like excuse me?! Back off. My dear sweet <insert your name> doesn't need your stank ass energy rn.

This. This right here is why you also have a very strong field of divine protection around you. And because you're so protected, you have this untouchable reputation which is ironically why people like to stare at you. They feel like staring at you is the only way they can be close to you. Gosh.

You are naturally a very open and welcoming person but spirit makes sure your safe WHILE being so open and trusting of life and people which is why very few (best of the pack) people are allowed into your "circle" so to speak. Love that for you 😌✨️

You seem to have a very strong root chakra, pile 2. People stare at you cuz you give off "rich girl/guy vibe" (don't matter if you are actually financially comfortable or not) it's just. your. VIBE. It's very abundant because of that open and functioning root chakra! So whatever work you've been doing just know that's it's PAYING OFF really nicely heheheheh (good job pile 2! Root chakra work ain't easy)

Any physical/personality traits that people admire:

👉🏾 Your. HAIR.

👉🏾 If you wear red you may feel like people can't take thier eyes off you BECAUSE THEY ACTUALLY CAN NOT. You rock red like nobody's bussiness tehe ❤️

👉🏾 Not just red, any kind of dark feminine aesthetic like black cat makeup, edgy/alternate aesthetics or darker clothes etc brings out your beauty and people who stare at you can't get enough of that lmao

👉🏾 You have a earthy vibe which makes you feel very pleasing to look at (in a luxurious way)

👉🏾 People might find it hard to recognize your ethnicity or your accent cuz you give ethnically ambiguous in the best, most attractive of ways ✨️

And with that were done with your reading for today!

Thank you so very much for reading!

I love you soooo much 🫶🏾🫂

Have yourself a nice rest of your day, now and see yaaaaa <3

⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡

Pile 3:

You have the 9 of pentaches and the empress out as your first two cards. Need I say more?

You are STUNNING to look at. You wear amazing clothes. You're in your divine feminine energy, hell, you COMMAND energy like an EMPRESS does.

The power you hold is exactly why people stare at you.

They can't help but stare at you. Bro, your energy BECKONS for attention even if you don't want it.

I'm getting a feeling that you like to stay low key and just chill like because I'm getting a very Miss Independent vibe from you which is well deserved because you know how to get ish DONE 💅🏾 you're responsible like that. But it's this I'm-in-my-bubble-don't-BOTHER-me typa energy is why people I heard- are obsessed with you. People stare out of obsession.

They wanna observe every move you make cuz it's just that mesmerizing. Some people who stare at you may have have crushes on you or secretly admire you (platonic/romantic)

There's a deep respect that the people who stare at you, have for you. It's like they look to you for some kinda inspiration, depending on who is staring.

I'm also getting that you may move like deer, graceful. You may love to vibe out to your own energy.

You also know who to let in and who to keep away. You can SMELL bullshit from a mile away and keep that the fuck out.

This is some bad bitch energy, pile 3! I'm so pumped rn sitting in your energy!

Wow ok I'm getting a very specific message now. People stare at you so they can learn more about you? They wanna know what makes you tick (maybe there's somebody in your surrounding who wants to shoot theur shot with you?) Lol that's kinda cute.

But yea you have this free sprinted, wild feminine energy. You'll do what you want, when you want. You're the definition of never let them know your next move and BOY do I love that for you <3

You are a very interesting person. Cuz you're you. You're not afraid of expressing exactly how you feel and this makes you are really enjoyable to be around and so people stare at you cuz they enjoy how you come across- unabashed in your self expression and unapologetic in your authenticity!

Ahhhhhhh this some Queen Shi-

I'm so honoured to be reading for you rn!

You must also have your boundary game strong cuz I'm getting that you can easily cut people off if they don't come correct and people enjoy how authentic you are.

You're giving me MAD Tyla energy rn man. You could maybe even look her? Idk but whatever you look like trust me. People love to stare.

Hehe 🤭

People enjoy watching you take action. Lemme explain. If you're in school people love to stare at you while you're working on a project or something or just in class, taking notes n stuff. You have a way about you that's so addicting, man, people who's stare at you don't wanna stop 👀💀 like hello stop burning holes on my body from the intense staring? Excuse me like huh?

If you're at work, some of your colleges could stare at you out of admiration or simply cuz they have a crush on you (or your work ethic?) Or how you dress 🙃

Whatever it is you tend to pour your authenticity into everything you do. Small, big. Doesn't mattter. You do life in YOUR own (divine) way and that's awesome!

You the shit pile 3, I hope you know that.

Any physical/personality traits that people admire:

👉🏾 Your clothes!

👉🏾 You! Yes you read that right, you in your entirety, in your full essence is what people admire. It's your physical beauty. It's your intelligence. It's your taste in music and movies. Your hobbies. Your authenticity. Everything about you, girlie, is fantastic.

👉🏾 Your independence

👉🏾 Your courage to choose joy over fear

👉🏾 Your wisdom

👉🏾 Your ability to enjoy being alone

👉🏾 Your sense of dedication and devotion (to whatever you choose to give it to)

And with that were done with your reading for today!

Thank you so very much for reading!

I love you soooo much 🫶🏾🫂

Have yourself a nice rest of your day, now and see yaaaaa <3

⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡

292 notes · View notes

unpopularly-opinionated · 2 days ago

Text

With this last election specifically (or even 2016's election), an element of this that I feel is important to note is that even if you're not openly shitting on a demographic, that doesn't mean you're supporting that demographic either, especially with regards to politics. And it shouldn't need explaining why it's vitally important in politics to make sure every demographic thinks you're supporting them.

For better or for worse (it's only for worse, let's be honest), politics is just a huge popularity contest, which means yeah, you're going to have to get up there and lie, and bullshit, and give the greatest fucking performance of your life if you want to stand a chance at winning. This is why it's all but impossible to run a campaign primarily on things like LGBT rights, or abortion rights, or any *insert minority issue here* because frankly put: people are dumb.

Okay, maybe that was hyperbolic, but people do have different access points to the news, and short attention spans/busy lives to lead instead of paying absurdly close attention to politics. The point I'm trying to make is this: let's say you see a clip of a candidate showing their support for gay marriage. That's it. That's the sound byte, clip, headline, article, whatever it is you used to consume media at that specific moment. Now, for obvious reasons, this differs from person to person, but some people might be asking themselves: "Well do they support trans people too?" or some might ask: "Do they support abortion?" or "Well what about straight people? Are we being left out?" and it's very important that you realize that regardless of whatever your personal feelings on the validity of each of those questions (or others) might be, they're all valid to the person asking them.

Not everyone has time, energy, or capability to research a candidate's every last viewpoint. It also doesn't help that a lot of candidates are intentionally really fucking vague on a lot of the more hot button issues. This is a part of why a lot of people wind up being single-issue voters, because they quite literally only know a candidate's single viewpoint.

So when you run a candidacy purely on how you're going to help minorities like women, immigrants, gays, trans, etc. against a guy who runs his candidacy on helping the majority alternative to each of those demographics...you're fighting an uphill battle.

And I can't stress enough that this isn't me saying that you shouldn't stand for minority issues. As a minority myself, if everyone just looked at politics from a strictly logical perspective, I would be fucked lol. I mean thankfully I'd manage, but not nearly as well as I have since 2008. But the problem is, even if they're the ones who need the "least" amount of help, you still need to factor the majority into what you're fighting for. Even if it's all horseshit, you need to throw them a bone.

TL;DR: Love it or hate it, but those "straight", "white", "cis", "men" (intentionally kept separate as each is a separate demographic) make up the majority and even if they need the "least" amount of help, you still need to, at the very least, pretend that you intend to help them.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

95K notes · View notes

taegimood · 2 days ago

Text

— nudes?! (k.th) ♡

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.4k warnings: mention/description of reader's nudes, mention of reader in lingerie, implication of sexy time at the end, tyun gets hard and is v clear abt what he wants, they’re both horny asf synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

masterlist

──────────────────────

taehyun considers you one of the bros.

right up there along with his 4 other crazy best friends, you fit right in, no sideways feelings to worry about and endless wingman opportunities to gain — hell, he even forgets sometimes that you've got a pair of boobs under there somewhere.

and all of this, of course, is completely and absolutely:

not true.

it's exactly what you seem to think in that pretty little head of yours, though, as taehyun often observes; it's quite cute actually, he thinks.

"out of all the guys i could like, why does it have to be the one guy in my life who would draft me onto his football team if he had one?" he'd overheard you complaining to yeonjun one day.

(sorry, but trust me, sweetheart - you wouldn't even make it past tryouts, he'd thought afterwards upon fighting back a laugh and an endeared little grin.)

oh, if only you knew.

if only you knew the steady breaths he has to take whenever you stand so temptingly close to him; or how many filthy images he has to shake out of his mind when he's helping you with your workouts; or that annoying little shadow called jealousy that he has to push down when you smile so sweetly at a man that isn't him.

taehyun is a man of self control, and a man who would do anything for the people that he loves — which means that no matter how much he'd enjoy changing your mind about what exactly you assume he perceives you as, he knows for the sake of your friendship that he can't.

and so he doesn't.

but oh, you wish that he would.

taehyun is quite good at keeping his feelings in check, to the point where you're convinced at this point that if you were to strut naked across the room in front of him, he wouldn't even pay you any mind;

pft, you scoff at your own silly thought, as if something so ridiculous would ever happen. (…well....)

today you've decided that you're getting real tired of your own pining and yearning and eyes that shoot hearts like confetti every time your best friend walks into the room —

you pout at the sight of yourself reflected on the open camera screen of your phone as the self-timer counts down yet again. this has become quite the routine of yours.

body bare save for the lacy lingerie that doesn’t cover much of anything as you perch at the edge of your bed, posing so prettily, so sensually, just the way you imagine taehyun would like; just more photos to add to the naughty little album in your camera roll that you wish you could send to him but know that you never will.

there was a time where you used to try testing the waters a bit, some flirting here, a fleeting touch or two there. but you'd quickly learned how pointless it was. after all, a brick wall is never gonna flirt back.

you sigh. it's time to get going anyway; speak of the devil, he'll be here to pick you up in 20 minutes.

taehyun can see in his peripheral the way you keep glancing at him from the passenger seat of his car.

as usual, he maintains an even expression. "excited to see me or something?"

his lips quirk as you jump in your seat a little, quickly looking forwards and crossing your arms as you grumble, "you wish. i just saw you like two days ago."

he merely hums in acknowledgment, which gets you even more grumbly — ("no fair that i can never get a reaction out of you! why is it always me?!" you'd wailed in defeat one time after a failed attempt to get him back, your cheeks flushed pink and pretty).

taehyun smiles.

when he soon pulls up outside your friend's apartment building that you’d needed to drop something off at first on the way to yeonjun’s, he decides to be nice as he asks,

"where was that new cat café you wanted to go to? we can stop there before meeting the guys."

bingo. the smile that lights up your face is exactly what he was looking for as your previous pout melts away and you gasp, "really?! okay wait, i took a screenshot of their instagram page the other day, you can check and put the address in! i'll be super super quick!"

he bites back a laugh as you shove your phone into his hands and excitedly rush out of the car.

"5 minutes tops or i'm going without you!" he calls out the window, to which you shriek and scurry away even faster.

he grins to himself, shaking his head as you disappear into the building and he turns to click open your camera roll.

"alright, cat café, where are............ you."

taehyun feels as if a lightning rod has just shot straight through his entire body.

his muscles tense. all his breath escapes him in a rush.

you...

the sight of you is what greets him through the screen...

you,

completely naked.

it's like his skin is consumed by fire as his eyes roam across the rows of pictures in the album you'd left open; most taken on your bed, some in the shower at the gym that you both go to together, some where you’re donned in sets of delicious lingerie — his eyes widening and pants tightening when he even spots one from his own room, your skirt hiked up in the reflection of his full-length mirror as your panties dangle cheekily from one finger, leaving the delicious curve of your ass on full display.

when did she even take that??

he scrolls, and he's barely hanging on by a thread as his best friend who's supposed to stay his best friend poses so irresistibly pretty from the screen; his cock is so hard that it's painful as your big innocent eyes look up at him in complete contrast to the lewd position that you'd put yourself in.

god, the positions he wants to put you in...

alright, reel it in, kang taehyun. this can't go anywhere. you have to take it to the grave. you’ve gotta think about the friendship. you’ll just pretend you didn't see it. you’ll act aloof like you always do.

but every single ounce of self control that taehyun has spent so long holding together finally crashes down around him like a breaking dam when his gaze lands on the name of the album at the top of the screen.

— t ♡

his cock jumps.

fucking hell, these are for me.

when you skip your way back to the car minutes later, you don't notice at first how firmly he's gripping the steering wheel or the fact that he isn’t even looking at you, remaining staring straight ahead as you climb back into the passenger side.

you don't notice — that is, until your phone catches your eye, set neatly on the middle console with your worst nightmare staring right back up at you from the screen.

it feels as though a bucket of ice water has crash landed down on your head (both the water and the bucket) as you realize what happened.

but you barely even have the time to panic or react or beg for mercy, or perhaps for a lobotomy on you both, before taehyun is asking you:

"back seat or my place?"

his voice is so calm that you almost don't process his words. your thoughts buffer as you pause.

"wh... what?" you breathe.

that's when he finally turns his head to look at you, and the intensity of the hunger swimming in his stare is enough to leave you even more winded than you already were before as a familiar feeling stirs between your legs and your thighs clamp together of their own accord.

"back seat," he repeats slowly, "or my place?"

you swallow hard.

this.. t-this is... he means.…

your head is reeling, and dumbly you stammer back, "w-what about the guys..?" as if the plans with your friends really matter anymore in a moment like this.

fuck the guys. fuck the cat café. taehyun has already decided: he’s done holding back from what he wants, and what he wants is to make you his.

you blink at him wide-eyed as he leans towards you slightly in his seat, his voice low and assertive as he replies,

"we're not going."

he taps your phone as if to draw your attention back to it. as if it should be obvious.

"so, you choose." your eyes fly back up to his —

"where do you want me to fuck you?"

your lower belly explodes with heat as an electric shiver rolls down your spine, and you swear that this is the best day of your entire fucking life as you see the promise that flickers in his eyes.

maybe you won't be finding yourself on the football team after all.

──────────────────────

— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

378 notes · View notes

killishin · 3 days ago

Text

— ♡ right person at the right time.

PART 02.

pairing: jason todd x reader

category: lots of fluff, angst, he fell first she fell harder kinda trope, sfw, thinking of making this a slow burn but we'll see.

content warning: afab, mention of death (reader's mother), violence here and there, blood.

summary: reader's just a normal citizen of Gotham, scrambling to making ends meet. after a fateful encounter, when he saw the reader kick ass and save a life- he can't get them off his mind. and fate just keeps pulling them together forcing him to do something about it.

a/n: right now i wanna make this as sweet and lighthearted as possible, but i have a soft side for angst :) updates can become slow since my exams are coming up.

wc: 4.8k

masterlist. fic masterlist. previous. next.

dividers by @cafekitsune

"you've gotta be kidding me.." jason muttered under his breath as he looked at you, infront of the counter, desperately finding your purse because your card just declined.

normally he didn't really come to cafés, he'd much rather either sleep in or anything but places that involved people. jason wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but he hates the way he towers over people. being red hood, its advantageous, helps get shit done without even lifting a finger— thats where intimidation helps. there he's proud to be built like this. but as just jason, he sees the apprehensive looks, the judgy middle aged aunties suspicious looks all because he's a big guy who looks rough around the edges. it irks him truly, his body subconsciously tries to shrink as if that would do much.

unfortunately, dick was in a mood for brotherly bonding, as he worded it, and somehow getting a coffee together is bonding. and to make matters worse (or better?) he sees you, someone he has just spent weeks scrubbing off his mind. he succeeded too! (barely), yet now its down the drain as his eyes stayed glued to you while his hand twitched— to do something. save you this time, not from danger but he has a feeling embarrassment is somehow worse for you than almost getting shot.

dick comes back from the washroom, his brows furrowed as he looks at you at the counter, "i can just sense the embarrassment—" and then he pauses because what the hell is his brother doing?

jason steps forward, passing the annoyed people glaring daggers at you and gave the staff a nod, "I'll pay for her." he said politely, handing her the card. he was really trying his goddamn best not to look at you.

you stopped and raised your head to look at your saviour but realised that maybe the kind man was actually irritated enough that he'd rather pay for you than wait. horror and embarrassment seeped in as you took back your card from the staff.

"i am so so sorry for the hold up i caused— i- i honestly don't know why this was—" you begin to hurriedly apologise and he waves a hand, giving a smile that he hopes is at least polite.

"its alright. you don't need to apologise."

"no its not. do you come here often?" you requested and his eyes widened, tip of the ears going red as his brain practically shut down.

"oh wait no—" your eyes widened in horror as you shook your head, "no i meant– to pay you back. i would like to buy you a coffee someday as a payback." you explained, your hands becoming more animated.

upon realisation, his heart slowed down and he huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "no that's not necessary." but then he paused as he observed you with a small amused smile, "but i don't think you're going to back down so okay."

that pulls out a sheepish smile from you, " so uh when are you free? next weekend uh..?" you asked politely, taking your coffee and immediately step out of the line, trying your best to ignore the loud sighs.

he doesn't what he's feeling. this wasn't how it was supposed to be. he was set on forgetting you— and he almost did, yet now here he is, planning a date.

no its not a date wtf—

"jason." he replied, "and im sorry but i really don't know if I'd be free on the weekend." he can't say why of course, he could have just lied and then ghosted you. that would have been for the best... yet he's aiming for something else.

"oh." your smile fell a bit before you looked up at him again, "is it alright to exchange numbers then? you could text me when you're free." you suggested and hoped he doesn't see you as a creep.

...that's exactly what he was aiming for.

"you really don't need to pay me back but.." he huffs out a smile as he scratches the back of his head, "i guess you won't take that as an answer so gimme your phone."

you take that time to really look at the stranger, he's really tall and built like a truck. you supposed most men in that size were intimidating as fuck but this man is anything but. you would swoon over him, you are, but its practically overshadowed by the persistent embarrassment.

he looked back up at you as he handed you your phone back and you quickly averted your eyes down at your phone. "jason." you murmured before looking up at him, smiling warmly, "thanks a lot jason, i'll hope to pay you back for the coffee soon, i promise."

"no rush, its okay. I'll text you when im free for that coffee." he nodded back at you and stared at your back as you found the literal corner of the cafe. you were going to stay but you were also too tired to leave just yet— so you shrunk yourself as much as you could, opening your laptop while sipping on your coffee. you could feel the stares— even his for that matter, but it wasn't as heavy and uncomfortable as others. like the show's over guys mind your own buisness?

you pushed the feel of discomfort out of you and focused on something better— good. bluish green. his eyes were kinda green, kinda blue you couldn't really see well, not only was he very tall but you were far too embarrassed to look at that handsome gentleman's eyes. but even the slightest glimpse of it stuck to the very nerves of your brain.

and so when you steeled yourself, taking a deep breath and encouraging yourself through yet another potential embarrassment, you stole a glance at him. right as you did, he quickly averted his gaze— his whole head actually as he started walking back to his spot.

you quickly looked back too, missing the way his jaw clenched— hands twitched, clenching and unclenching.

when he came back in line to stand beside dick he rolled his eyes, biting back a groan, "don't even—"

"its alright. you don't need to apologise." dick immediately mimicked with a cheshire smile, poking Jason's side while the other glared back at him. "i was just helping. thats all."

"yeah right." he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "sure you were. cus you're such a gentleman."

"no she was holding the line. and i need to get this stupid bonding time over with— thats why i helped." jason retorted defensively causing dick to gasp, feigning offense.

"did you just call our time stupid?!"

"i am never hanging out with you."

"heartbreak!"

"i am gonna strangle you—"

"hey pa." you said softly, the dim light of your monitor illuminating the paper cup that is in your hand, the one you're staring at. it wasn't the same from that day of course, but now whenever you buy coffee from a cafe your mind can't help but go back to him.

you were doing a personal project currently, amp up your skills but mostly to have fun. animating has been something your dad introduced you to when you were just a teen, and you turned into your livelihood.

"how's everything going? are you doing okay at work?" your dad asked, your lips twitching in amusement as you could sense the concern raging in his mind.

"its good dad. im doing fine." your thumb rubs at the seam of the cup, your mind partially elsewhere, the stranger— jason, to be specific.

"you're lying aren't you?" your dad sighed, "are you struggling with expenses? i can help you know— if you're forcing yourself in that job all because of the expenses—"

"calm down dad." you laugh quietly as you gently throw the cup in the bin beside your table, and then looking at your monitor, eyeing your current project. "its honestly not that bad. anyways, how's alyssa?"

"since when do you care about her?" your father snorted, his voice suddenly quiet and hushed, didn't want the missus hearing any of that.

"i was just being nice!" you scoffed out, but he is right, you were just making small talk. "she's alright. less moody and smiles more, so definitely better." he paused, as if debating, "we went on a date yesterday."

your father was an introvert like you, or well you got it from him maybe. he's always preferred to stay indoors, your mother was the wild one. she respected dad's boundaries but with her, your dad didn't mind going out of his comfort zone.

so you're glad he's becoming the old him again, even if its with alyssa.

your eyes lit up a bit, even though alyssa's the cause, you like that little giddiness in his voice. "that's wonderful! where'd you go?"

"nothing just exploring the town. oh yes! we went into a bar and danced a bit—"

"you danced?!"

"yeah why don't you shout and tell your neighbours too while you're at it?" your dad scolded you sarcastically and you grinned while you did your work.

"..yeah we did." he sighed and you could hear the smile on his face, "i wish you were here, to see that side of her. you would like her i know."

"hm its okay. you like her, that's enough." you doubt you'd ever like her as much your dad wanted you to but he doesn't need to know that.

after talking for a while you hung up and yawned as you leaned back in your squeaking chair, causing you to grimace.

your stared mindlessly at the screen before flashes of his face came to your mind. you smiled to yourself as you thought back to that encounter, you still don't go to that cafe. it was your favourite one and it kills you that you can't go– but you still feel self conscious whenever you go there or at least try to.

you had tried finding that man on socials, thinking he'd have a hell ton of following if he does indeed post. but came up with nothing, and you just assumed he didn't use much social. you had thought about texting him but it felt rather awkward to, since its been almost a week he hasn't responded to your 'hi', assuming he forgot about it or well, ignored it.

but really, what would you even say? your confidence isn't that high either that you could maybe 'rizz' him through texts, so to your dismay, you left it at that. just a memory that shows humanity ain't dead yet.

you got up while scratching your stomach, you should be sleeping but its a weekend and unfortunately for your body, you're yet to care about your messed up sleep schedule.

entering your kitchen you open your fridge, not bothering to switch on the lights. you rummage through a bit, fridge, cabinets— before simply settling on some noodles.

you took out a saucepan, about to switch on the light—

THUMP!

your body froze, blood running cold. that definitely came from your balcony. you know it did. sweat immediately formed on your forehead as you gripped the handle of the saucepan. there's no mistaking it— you're not gonna be one of the dumb ones from those horror movies. you keep your body absolutely steady and still as you take out a kitchen knife slowly, slowly—

"ugh— CLANK!"

that is definitely someone in your balcony. you almost let out a whimper, biting your lips hard. you start praying internally as you hold back tears. with a silent, deep breath you slowly turn around and flinch when you see the silhouette of someone. you still can't make it out accurately, you don't quite have a proper line of sight of your balcony but its closer to you than your room is, un-fucking-fortunately.

you slowly inch out of your kitchen, knife in one hand and saucepan in another. you almost felt like rapunzel and you would have laughed at yourself had it not been a really dire situation. because chances are, whoever that is, definitely isn't your flynn rider.

your hands were clammy, sweating furiously as you start to slowly inch to your room. you just need to get in, get your phone and call the police and hope for once the GCPD is on time.

but then you pause—

"fuck... she.. not hear me."

you know that modulated voice. your memory isn't exactly the best, which is concerning because you aren't old and senile yet, but you know that voice. it hasn't exactly been that long since you saved that girl and met red hood— you could never forget that voice.

and curiosity gets the better of you as your legs change trajectory, inching to the balcony instead of your room. the sliding door to your balcony was partially ajar and you cursed at your lack of self preservation.

his voice was coming out in huffs and sighs, little grunts and broken words— he sounded almost pained.

as you finally reached the edge, you risked a peak but flinched back when you heard shuffling, eyeing the shadow of him trying to get up. you were half sure— but you could never be too cautious, if its not him, you could be in a shit load of trouble.

it was getting increasingly hard to hold your breath, the shaky breath you took that sounded like wild winds to your ears.

finally, you gripped the knife and pan hard, preparing yourself for the now or never moment. you swung your pan and lifted your knife as your battle cry (which really just sounded like a dying cry) tore through the silence. you squeezed your eyes shut as you got but a glimpse of the huge man and just, attacked. swung like your life depended on it.

"wha— HEY! WOAH— fuck you almost stabbed me in the eye!" he gasped out, his hands wrapping around your wrists staring at the pan and the knife.

"huh—" you peaked your eyes opened, and there under the moonlight that illuminated him barely enough, you recognised that red helmet. your body immediately relaxed as you let out a heavy sigh. "thank god its not some thief." the pan and knife in your hands went lax and he almost flinched.

a mere citizen with a pan and a knife scared the crap outta red hood. the things that would do to his reputation if it got out.

but what really confused him is how you...relaxed. it was understandable when you weren't affected by his intimidating presence back in the alley, since you were clearly in a state of panic. but even now, it almost feels like you know him, the way your body relaxes like it trusts the vigilante.

he doesn't know what it is but it heals something in his scarred heart.

"what— what are you even doing in my balcony?" she questioned as her brows furrowed again, "so much for not stalking huh?"

and as if on cue his body snapped out of the trance you pulled him in, he winced when he felt that sharp ache on his sides. things always go sideways, but sometimes it goes a little too sideways. his body cowered a bit and your eyes followed down, brows furrowed in confusion as you try to discern anything in the darkness, and why he's pressing his hand on his side.

"sorry about this— I'll leave—"

"wait is that blood?" you whispered quietly, gulping down a gasp as your fingers brushed against the dark red liquid that was partially dried up on his side. "oh god you are bleeding."

"easy." he hissed as your fingers pressed a little too firm on the wound, his hand shooting out to grab yours, slowly pulling it away.

"oops." you muttered awkwardly as you took your hand out of his grip and took a step back to properly assess the wound, "you're really bleeding. that's a lot of blood."

"oh is that right?" he scoffed as he leaned against the railing, supporting his weight on the arm, "thanks i didn't even know." he exclaimed sarcastically and looked around. he really needed to leave, he was sure you were beginning to see him as a creep.

you sighed and stopped yourself from giving him a deadpanned stare before stepping back inside your apartment, sliding the door away for him to enter. he paused and you saw his head tilting down before looking back at you, as if he cannot comprehend what you're suggesting.

"what?"

"what 'what'? you're bleeding on my balcony!" you waved him in, holding both the knife and pan in your hand, "I'll at least fix that up. im no nurse but i do know the basic."

"oh no no i can manage just fine." he waved you off and turned around making you click your tongue in exasperation. you beat the knife against the back of the pan, making a loud CLANG! sound, and he flinched before turning around.

"you look less like red hood and more like a senile man with a spine problem and a red tin bucket stuck on his head. come in." you said, or rather scolded, pointing towards your couch with the knife.

he is red hood. he has seen enough bloodshed, a shit ton of guns and their types, knives, daggers— you name it. and yet the sight of you holding a kitchen knife, yes, for some reason that straightened him up.

"look you really don't need to—"

"i am not pitying you okay? i am just—" you paused as you exhaled in frustration, pushing your hair back with the back of your hand, "just think of it as returning a favour okay? you helped me back then. saved me from a shit ton of panic and wrong decisions— and from the gcpd. so let me help you back."

he stood there for a moment, staring at you in contemplation. he clenched his jaw and cursed his past self for even entertaining you that time, for staying long enough to get 'intrigued'. he knows he shouldn't step in, shouldn't let you help. you are a normal person, with a normal life and nothing ever good comes out from associating with a vigilante— especially the red hood. he wants to berate you for not being rational enough but he cannot, for he is quite the same at the moment. he knows the right decision but the devil on his shoulder murmurs, weakening his resolve.

besides, he really is hurt.

"and I'll also forget that you practically stalked me." you added, your lips twitching in slight amusement.

finally, releasing a heavy sigh he stepped in, dragged his feet inside and plopped down of the couch. "i did not stalk you. don't flatter yourself." he immediately felt bad though in case he got blood on the couch.

you smiled to yourself before hurrying to the cabinet in your bathroom.

he looked out of place in your apartment, it was cozy and though it looked worn down in a lot of places. it looked homely. a certain warmth in it that eased him slightly. he looked to your direction before down at his wound.

seriously why did he even come here? he was on the run and automatically his legs carried him in this direction before remembering you lived close. and he took shelter. he's never this idiotic and he could practically hear bruce berating him for yet another wrong decision. dragging a normal person in his life.

"okay— shit that is really a lot of blood." you murmured as you switched on the light, kit in your hands while the pan and knife rested on the coffee table.

you sat beside him, damp cloth in hand to clean the blood off him first. you held the cloth and turned to him, for a moment just stared at him, unsure of how to tell him to lift up his clothes which was pretty layered you could tell.

"what?" he grunted as his eyes narrowed at your awkward staring and you pointed down at abdomen, "uh— lift that up. please?"

now that things are a bit calm, you're starting to really process things. gauge the situation, which is ridiculous. you literally have the red hood bleeding on your couch, and under the warmth of your light, your rather normal yet homey apartment did nothing to ward off the intimidating aura that surrounded him. your apartment feels small because of him. you don't even know how you noticed none of that when you first met him. it doesn't deter you, no its too late for that, but it certainly adds that need to be cautious around him— it makes you suddenly conscious about your actions.

he notices the slight change in demeanor, the stiffening of limbs, stolen glances that really looked like they were trying to analyse how much of a threat he is. he is used to this kind of looks, the apprehension and a part of him is glad that you finally have some sense of preservation to be wary of a literal stranger/ vigilante in your home.... but another part maybe had hoped that you wouldn't be.

he had hoped that you wouldn't see him as the 'thug of a vigilante' like everyone does, he doesn't know why. he just met you, and yet he had developed expectations of you.

he bit the inside of his cheek, glad his helmet could conceal the irritated scowl on his face before he slowly peeled off his shirt and vest to reveal the cut. it was deep— would need stitches.

but besides the cut, and you feel very guilty for thinking this when he's hurt, but he is chiseled like a greek god. toned muscles and abs, a sliver of skin and it already has you wanting to trace them. out of appreciation, of course.

"that would need stitches I think." you remarked quietly, looking a bit green and he lets out a snort. "told you you shouldn't."

you sighed before you began slowly dabbing at the area around the wound, cleaning the blood and small debris off. "i can at least just— bandage it. you can get it stitched later. im sure you have someone to do it."

the sight of blood does nauseate you a bit, your brows and lips a bit furrowed as you focused on getting it cleaned as fast as possible.

"i knew how to do them once." you began, biting your lips often while concentrating, "my mother taught me that. but now im so out of practice i dont wanna make it worse." you murmured and he stared down at you in thought.

"you do know you don't actually owe me shit? i mean you did the heavy work in that alley." he said quietly and for a moment it felt as if that modulated voice carried more emotion than it should, "you didn't need to do this."

he sounded guarded, grumpy even. you chuckled under your breath before shaking your head, "i do actually. if you didn't come there i don't know what i would have done. if i simply ran from there the paranoia would have eaten me alive. but knowing i left it with you, a vigilante who knows what to do, i was at ease. less shaken."

you look up and smirk, "and if that still sounds bullshit to you then consider this an act of goodwill from a friend." you moved away to dip the cloth again in water.

"oh we're friends now?" he scoffed out, actually surprised you'd say that. you scrunched your nose as you pretended to be confused, "i mean we had a pretty good conversation. that has to count." you retorted amusingly, totally not serious.

"a conversation where you were panicking about the guy you knocked out." he pointed out and the mirth in his voice amplified enough to annoy you, "not to mention hurling blames on innocent me."

you paused and scoffed, looking up at him a defensively, "i was not in the right mind alright? and you were late." you scowled and began dabbing away a little too quickly. "i was nice later on."

he resisted the urge to laugh, you were still stuck on that. "oh and by the way—" he paused to adjust himself on the couch, leaning back, "i am not stalking you."

your eyes lit up for a moment, as if glad he reminded you that, "oh so you just happened to stumble on my humble abode hm?" you narrowed your eyes at him, "red, if you found me hot you coulda just said that." you murmured smugly, lips pulled into a cheeky smile as you moved away, fetching the ointments to apply.

he scoffed at that, scoffing way too loud to maybe drown out the way his heart drummed when you smiled like that. "trust me, if i found you hot you'd know." he said sarcastically and you gave him a mock stink eye before applying the ointment.

if only you knew that he did find you hot. very hot.

"your apartment happened to lie on my way." he added with a shrug, his muscles tensing and contracting when the ointment stings the open wound. you do your best to not stare at anywhere else but the wound, really you are trying your best.

"of course and your legs just happened to fall on my balcony hm?" you murmured teasingly as you covered it up with a bandage.

"...yes it did." he replied quietly and curtly, and you just hummed a smile before standing up. "so that's done. let me clean up I'll get you a glass of water." you said as you began picking up the bowl and cloth. "you want to eat something? the blood loss might have made you a bit woozy."

you pause. he paused. you just know he's giving you the most blank deadpanned stare under that mask.

"you do know i have a—"

"yeah i know i know— i just forgot about the helmet." you grumbled quietly in embarrassment before walking away.

he watches you walk back and forth between the bathroom, washing your hands and rearranging the things back. he notices you're meticulate. he sweeps his gaze around the apartment, nothing is amiss, everything in its place as it should be except a few strays lying around. another observation down his mental diary about you, you're organised. mostly.

and then he remembers the interesting set of weapons you had and he lets out a snort which gets your attention as you were walking to the kitchen. "what?"

he's peeling his clothes back down when he shakes his head in response. "nothing."

"tch— what, red?"

"....a pan."

you groaned quietly as you rushed into the kitchen, "were you seriously gonna pull a rapunzel on me?" he called out sarcastically making you let out a involuntary laugh.

"no i just—" you pause as you laugh, drinking from the glass while you stayed standing, "i was about to make some noodles. and then i heard that loud thump sound so i just— i had it in hand!" you explained haphazardly as you rolled your eyes.

"still. a pan?"

"its better than nothing— oh quit it." you rolled your eyes as you put the glass down before you crossed your arms, raising a brow at him.

"how the hell are you gonna leave though? the front door?" he got up with a slight wince as he head back to the balcony.

"wait you're seriously gonna parkour back to your house? the bandage might open up!" you gawked at him as you followed behind, "so much effort and all down the drain."

"so that's what you're worried bout huh?" he scoffed sarcastically as he turned to looked down at you and you shrugged, "i mean im proud of my work. i don't wanna see it get ruined."

"you're heartless."

"i'll take that as a compliment."

you heard a muffled laugh coming from him, your eyes lingering on him for a few moments as your hands fidgeted with each other behind your back.

"uh take care!" you called out suddenly, worried about the vigilante maybe, while he fought to keep his heart from getting ahead of itself.

"don't worry this will be the last time i bother you."

"just don't get hurt, red."

"....."

"last time, huh?"

two weeks later, and you found red in your balcony again, this time with another wound in the opposite side, just as deep as last time. it makes you wonder if the vigilante has really come to trust you, even just a shred, to come to you when he's hurt. it warms your heart.

"i was gonna sing rapunzel let down your hair—"

"i will push you off my balcony."

reblogs are appreciated! :D

#jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood fluff #red hood angst #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x you #red hood x y/n

176 notes · View notes

sunflowersonatas · 3 days ago

Text

walk me home?— campus part 2

james potter x shy!f!reader / college au / fluff / first date

summary: James has escalated his pursuit of you, including waiting outside your classes every day this week and cornering you for coffee. You're not too bothered.

a/n: i just have to preface this by telling everyone: sadly this is not the american college experience at all. i did a coffee date w some dude on campus before and it was insanely awkward idk why people say it's a good idea i felt trapped like fight or flight. not with james hehehe <3 enjoyy!! love, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1453

Somehow—against all odds, logic, and personal preference—you've acquired a persistent shadow. A tall, perpetually disheveled, insufferably charming shadow who, in just one week, has embedded himself so thoroughly into your routine that you're starting to suspect he’s memorized your class schedule.

You're barely a few steps out of class when James Potter materializes beside you, falling into step as if he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

"James," you say, shaking your head, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"What? Not even a hello?" he asks, feigning offense, hand pressed dramatically to his chest.

You lower your gaze slightly, feeling the warmth creep up your neck already. "Hello, James."

His grin stretches wider, as though you've just given him a rare prize. "See? That wasn’t so difficult. Now, let’s talk business."

You glance at him warily. "Business?"

James gestures broadly. "Your schedule is looking suspiciously empty. It’s Friday. No more classes. Which means, by my calculations, you have exactly zero valid reasons not to come get coffee with me."

You open your mouth to argue, but James is already steamrolling ahead. "Now, before you refuse—consider the benefits. Free caffeine. Excellent company. Life-changing conversation."

You shift on your feet, suppressing the small smile threatening to form. "Life-changing?"

James nods solemnly. "I have testimonials."

You exhale a quiet laugh, looking away. His eyes gleam at the sight of your amusement.

"There it is," he murmurs, triumphant. "You like me."

Your head snaps up. "I do not."

"Oh, but you do," he counters smoothly, tilting his head. "You're trying so hard not to smile. It’s adorable."

You fold your arms, stubbornly attempting composure. "I haven’t agreed to anything."

James raises his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn’t dream of forcing you, love. Just… strongly encouraging."

You glance at him, then at the path ahead, then back at him. He’s waiting, hopeful, expectant.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t mind as much as you did last week. It’s a strange feeling, letting someone like James Potter weave himself so effortlessly into your routine. He’s overwhelming, yes, but he’s also… fun. And it’s been a while since you let yourself have fun.

"Fine," you sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "One coffee."

James beams. "Ah, sweet victory. Off we go, then."

The coffee shop hums with soft chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine blending with the murmur of conversation. The air smells of roasted coffee beans and warm vanilla, and the lighting is just dim enough to feel cozy. James, unsurprisingly, does not do things halfway.

Before you can even reach for your wallet, he’s already ordering—for you.

And not just anything. Your order. Exactly right.

Your lips part slightly in surprise. "How did you—?"

James waves a hand. "Lucky guess."

You narrow your eyes at him, but there's no real suspicion—just a quiet, fluttery sensation unfurling in your chest, something light and impossible to ignore, like the first pull of a current beneath still water.

James grins, clearly pleased with himself, handing the barista some cash before you can protest. "See? This is why you keep me around. I'm thoughtful."

"You're relentless."

"That's a secondary bonus."

You both settle into a small corner table, the wooden surface slightly worn beneath your fingers. James stretches his arms behind his head, impossibly at ease, like he belongs here, like he belongs anywhere. Then, with a wicked grin that does very little to put you at ease, he leans forward, eyes gleaming.

"All right, now’s the perfect time to tell me your entire life story. All your deepest fears, secrets, insecurities. Lay ‘em on me."

You let out a quiet laugh, stirring your drink. "That’s a lot of pressure for coffee conversation."

James nods, unbothered. "I believe in efficiency."

You shake your head, the smile still playing at your lips. "I think I’ll stick to the basics."

"Fine, fine. I'll lower my expectations." He rests his chin on his hand, watching you with an exaggerated intensity. "Start with your major."

You tell him what you study.

James blinks. Then, as if processing, his mouth falls slightly open. "Wow." His tone isn’t teasing—it’s genuine, almost reverent, like he’s truly impressed.

You frown slightly. "What?"

"You're, like, way smarter than me."

You let out a short, surprised laugh. "I doubt that."

James shakes his head, pointing at you as if making a grand declaration. "No, no, no. See, I do… numbers and spreadsheets and networking. But you? You actually know things. Like, real, impressive things. I'm a fool in comparison."

You feel the warmth creep up your neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I think you're being dramatic."

"I think you're underestimating how impressed I am right now."

You roll your eyes, but it's hopeless—James is grinning at you like he's already won. And, honestly? You can’t remember a conversation ever flowing this easily, a date—if you can call it that—ever feeling this natural. You don’t really mind at all.

James leans in slightly, studying you, then smirks like he’s thought of something brilliant. "You know, I think this is fate. You feel these sparks too, right? Might as well start brainstorming names for our firstborn."

You nearly choke on your drink. "Excuse me?"

James tilts his head, completely unfazed. "I’m just saying—planning ahead is key to a successful partnership. What do you think? Something classic? Or are we going bold?"

You stare at him for a beat, then, with a completely straight face, say, "Oh, I’ve actually thought about this. Three kids. Probably two boys first, then a girl."

It’s James’ turn to blink. "You’re joking."

You stir the ice around your drink, unbothered. "I don’t joke about the important things."

James runs a hand through his hair, looking utterly delighted. "I knew I was right about you."

You huff, shaking your head, but there’s no hiding the way your smile lingers. James watches you, a little too closely, his expression flickering just for a second—like he’s caught on something more important than just teasing you.

He huffs a laugh, drumming his fingers against the table as you take the last sip of your coffee and stand. You hesitate for just a second, your heart kicking up a beat, knowing full well what you’re about to do. But you’re enjoying this—enjoying him—far too much to stop yourself now.

Without overthinking it, you extend your hand toward him, tilting your head with an easy smile—one that feels just a little too bold but not unwelcome. "Walk me home?" you ask sweetly; the sugar rush nearly stops his heart.

James blinks, caught off guard for the briefest moment, before his entire face lights up. His grin is immediate, wide, and entirely unfiltered—like you’ve just handed him the world on a silver platter. "Oh, absolutely. Best offer I’ve had all day."

His fingers wrap around yours, warm and steady, as he rises to his feet, still beaming like an idiot.

You roll your eyes but don’t pull away as he falls into step beside you, his usual effortless confidence radiating off of him. The walk back is unhurried, the conversation dipping into easy, meaningless things—complaints about professors, half-hearted debates over the best late-night food spots, James’ ongoing theory that the campus squirrels are running some kind of underground empire.

When you finally reach your building, he rocks back on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

"So," he muses, eyes glinting mischievously, "any chance I can charm you into another date?"

You arch a brow. "Since when was this a date?"

James gasps, pressing a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. "Hey—unfair. You let me buy you coffee, we had riveting conversation, and I made you laugh at least four times."

"Three times," you correct, though you both know it was more.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Should’ve been four. I’ll have to try harder next time."

You scoff, but it’s half-hearted, the corners of your lips twitching upward. "You never actually declared it to be a date."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping into something smoother, something undeniably teasing. "I can declare the next one, if you’d like. Make it official."

Your stomach flutters, traitorous. "I’ll think about it."

James beams like that’s a victory. "I’ll take it."

He steps back, tossing you a wink as he starts down the path. "Don't miss me too much, love."

You linger at the door for just a second too long, watching him go before finally slipping inside—warm in a way that has nothing to do with the coffee.

And maybe, just maybe, already looking forward to the next time he tries to charm you into another one.

☀️🌻 masterlist

179 notes · View notes

ilovedthestars · 12 hours ago

Text

I've gotten multiple responses to this post that are basically along the lines of, "I mostly agree with this, but calling close platonic relationships 'queer' still feels weird to me. That's not what 'queer' usually means and I don't know if I'd use it to describe relationships like this."

And like. I appreciate that people are listening to my point and being receptive to it, even if it feels a little Out There to them! I genuinely appreciate the folks who aren't sure they get this but are hearing me out.

But I also keep wanting to be like. Yeah, that's my point!

We don't use 'queer' to describe platonic relationships but I think we should. (Or at least, should be able to, when it fits the circumstances!) I know, and I acknowledge directly in the post, that this is not a widely accepted usage of the term. I am arguing for an expansion of the term.

I can only make guesses as to what people with this kind of reluctance are feeling, but my best guess is that they're used to "queer" (or at least "queer relationship") being used mostly in reference to gay/lesbian/same-gender love and attraction. A lot of people mostly associate the word "queer" with gay romance. And while that's a big subset of queer experiences, honestly, I think it's a shame that it's often the only type of queer experience that gets talked about.

Queer is an umbrella term for a reason! Is there any reason "queer relationships" shouldn't include, say, friendships between queer/trans people? Or romantic/sexual relationships that could be considered straight, but include one or more trans people? Or, as I make the argument above, relationships that are breaking down the normative ideas of what kinds of relationships a person is "allowed" to have, regardless of whether the people involved are themselves queer?

Maybe that last one is a leap for some people, and you think that a relationship can't be queer if the people in it don't identify with any of the LGBTQ+ labels. I understand that reservation, but honestly, I think that there's so much social pressure against non-normative relationships that people who break them should get to be considered queer / in a queer relationship if they want, and that we should get to apply queer interpretations to characters in that kind of relationship as well.

(Also, like, a lot of people in non-normative relationships are in fact queer, especially aromantic and asexual. But if we aspecs can have fun with our queer friendships and queerplatonic relationships, I don't see why anyone else shouldn't be able to!)

Anyway, all that to say that if this is pushing your definition of queer a little bit, good! That's what I was trying to do! And I hope people come away from this a little more open to the idea.

If you still aren't really convinced, that's okay. If it doesn't change what you personally use the word "queer" for, I hope you still get something else out of this post—like learning about amatonormativity and starting to see it around you, or considering friendships in media through a queer / anti-amatonormative lens of analysis when it feels relevant. (Or just being more chill about aro and ace people in fandoms who don't ship your ships. Please. We would really appreciate it.)

And I just want to say, while I'm here: Thank you for the incredible response to this post. It's just over 10k notes as I'm posting this and I'm so happy that so many people are interested in this topic & my thoughts on it (and so grateful that the response has been 99.99% positive so far). To all the aspec folks who have told me I've put something into words that you never could—thank you, I'm truly honored and I love you all 💜💚. To all the people who have told me I've opened their eyes to something new—thank you for being curious and willing to learn! And to all the people who still don't get it but are here anyway—thank you for listening to what I had to say. I'm glad you're here.

I wish it wasn’t a hot take that a story in which two characters of any gender prioritize their purely platonic relationship over any other romantic or sexual interests they might have is a textually queer story

#stars has thoughts #aro thoughts #queer #i want make it super clear that the VAST majority of responses to this post have been wholehearted agreement #and that makes me so happy!#i am always a little worried about an aspec post blowing up and running into Discourse #but (knock on wood) this one has made it to 10k with only like 1.5 bad takes #there are so many aspec folks in the notes who GET IT. i SEE you i HEAR you we are shaking hands!!#but there's also a lot of people being like 'hey i've never heard of amatonormativity before but this makes so much sense. thanks!'#and i truly love those people so much for being open to it #i'm really proud of this post and really glad I took the time to extend an olive branch to people outside of my aspec corner of tumblr #and really explain what I meant to someone who is not familiar with this at all #because it worked! and people are listening!#so i wanted to make another attempt to reach the few people who still don't quite seem to get it #if you read thru this whole thing I appreciate you a lot

11K notes · View notes

rjunhuang · 2 days ago

Text

how the harry potter boys would react to you hooking up with someone else.

featuring: harry potter, ron weasley, draco malfoy, fred weasley, george weasley.

warnings: lowercase intended. gender neutral reader. informal writing?? they're a bit toxic.

note: can you believe i wrote this in 2023? it was an unfinished draft featuring more characters. i might make a part two w them included. also i do NOT like draco lol so i'm a little biased when i write him. honestly send in some requests on what other prompts you'd like to see w them

divider by enchanthings | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3

harry! he'd highkey be so salty about it. at first, he's just completely off put and hurt by the thought of you going out with someone else. HE THOUGHT Y'ALL HAD SOMETHING GOING ON </3

his literal initial reaction would be, "oh.. montague, huh.. hm uh.." before walking away from the conversation all together.

if you're a dumbass, you'd assumed he's just incredibly awkward when it came to hearing about other people's relationships, but supportive nonetheless. oh, you're wrong though. he walked off because he had no idea whether to be angry at himself for not pulling any sooner or at you for choosing someone slimey as graham montague to swap spit with or maybe just montague himself.

the longer this fling lasted, the more comfortable harry would be about expressing his distaste on the whole relationship. he'd given you lectures about how you shouldn't like those type of slytherins. you'd probably lost track on how many times he had indirectly called montague ugly.

he would visibly show attitude whenever montague interrupted a conversation between you two. eye rolled and scowled like crazy, but he doesn't want to step the line as he's just seen as a friend by you —

"hey, mate, can't you see i'm trying to have a chat with her?"

he'd have dreams about hexing the shit out of graham though. maybe he'd slyly done it in the middle of class when no one's looking too.

if you accuse harry of doing so, he'd simply just shrug, "don't look at me." but would add a silent, "he had it coming though."

it's like a silent warfare between him and montague soon enough. both of them would be throwing attitude around when you're lowkey oblivious to it all. harry won, obviously, and this would be the breaking point - montague had enough of dealing with harry so he'd just ended things with you. of course, harry's going to comfort you if you do get sad about it —

"i just don't know why he'd do this out of nowhere." you sulk under the hold of harry, both sitting on an empty hallway's staircase. harry has his arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulder. "yeah, wonder why.."

he'd had a massive ego boost knowing he was the reason graham montague won't go near you anymore. literally would have to hide his smirk the entire time when comforting you. but he wouldn't be harry potter if he wasn't ending it with a snarky comment. he's not sure whether you'd slap or kiss him for it, but he surely wouldn't mind it being both.

once you and harry finally ended up together, the thought of montague wouldn't even cross his mind. he wouldn't care less about some random troll-looking fool. probably didn't even notice the dirty looks from montague because his eyes are on you. you had his undivided attention.

ron! he'd thought it's some sick, twisted joke. you'd told him the news that you're hooking up with cormac and just watched ron's face morph from being mortified to plain old disgusted. regarding situations like these, i think ron is a bit emotionally immature so he definitely wouldn't react well.

it had been saturday morning and almost everyone fifth year and above were recovering from a wild friday night common room party. that was the first night you hooked up with mclaggen and this morning, on the way to the great hall, he had pulled you aside to suggest making it a common occurrence — "some fun, no need for any strings attached." were his words. you had brought this up in the table during breakfast when hermione pointed out your flushed expression. the news leaves everyone shocked, but most especially ron. hermione had opened her mouth to begin reasoning with you, "i don't thin—" "THAT'S DISGUSTING!" ron wouldn't even beat around the bush, cutting off hermione. his mouth would be full with scrambled eggs and toast since he had stopped bothering to chew the moment you mentioned the word 'hooked up'. you'd mutter back a petty, "bold coming from the git with his mouth full." obviously hurt by his words.

it only worsened from that point onwards. the beautiful friendship you had with ron would crumble in a matter of time. it's constant fights with you two, ron's almost waiting for a reason to scowl or scoff whenever you're around. good luck even mentioning cormac in front of him, he'd just burst. the jealousy was so undeniably obvious yet you'd be so caught up in the anger of all of it to even realise. had it been someone less athletic than cormac, ron would've jumped him the moment he found out.

he'd be a petty little bitch but all the dramatics are to hide his insecurity. of course you'd chosen the conventionally attractive hunk over him. he'd be pretty rough on himself because of it; it's pure heartbreak for him. he'd never admit it but he's cried once or twice after storming off from a fight with you.

the end of your friendship with him would be in a final argument. merlin knows how it started, you never do. but almost a month into your fling with mclaggen, you've grown tired of ron's immaturity. so this time, you ask him.

"why are you even so pressed about this?!" you'd shout to ron. to which he'd counter with, "because he's a dim-witted fool who's only going to hurt you!" the frustration was unbearable as you lick your dry lips, raking a hand through your messy locks. ron is standing opposite to you, chest heaving from the intensity of the situation, yet he shamelessly takes a glance at your lips. "then if you're such an expert at this, tell me who i deserve to be wit—" ron must have a knack for interrupting others because he pulls you into a kiss, frowning as he does so. it's his final desperation for you to just hear him out. and you do, you kiss back and you're hit with the original passion you've always felt for him that these fights had blinded from you.

it's the end of your friendship and the beginning of a romance.

draco! draco's love language is definitely cliche bullying. without a doubt, he doesn't know how to show affection to anyone at all so you two would definitely be enemies of some sort. i think he'd lowkey be oblivious to the fact that he's straight up mean to you but you've literally had enough of it. you'd had a crush on him since your first year together probably and eventually you caught his eye as well — except for all the wrong reasons. he grew a knack for constantly belittling you in some kind of way even remotely possible to him. though, in his eyes, he always saw it as flirting and you being into all of it. you accepted the attention for what it was and grew to expect his taunts during classes. shamelessly, you did enjoy the fights the two of you shared. however, 'banter' could only last for so long and you eventually grew insecure of the words spat from malfoy. your friends encouraged you to move on and you finally decided to take their word. you supposed you had a type for slytherins, seeing how harper soon enough came into your life. he was a good distraction from malfoy to the point that even the (apparently natural) platinum blond took notice of your distancing. you stopped countering draco's remarks with snarky quips nor did you even bother to spare a glance at him anymore. draco hated the feeling he failed to recognise as heartbreak. he was so caught up in this feeling that he ordered crabbe and goyle to snoop around and find out what changed about your life. it didn't take much investigating to discover the budding romance between you and harper. draco was far more distraught than he thought he'd ever been about the news - but what malfoy's goons failed to communicate was that you and harper were barely anything serious.

despite that, draco was consumed by emotion. his immediate reaction after his minions left his dorm room was to owl his father with a letter demanding to expel harper from hogwarts. lucius' response, though, was an eerily formal letter telling his pissbaby of a son to never waste his time with such nonsense again. in other words, his father had completely shrugged him off. thus, draco hopped onto the plan b — which was to gang up on harper with his goons. draco liked to claim no one is on his level enough to be his friend, however, he had grown to like harper before this situation arose. they both shared interests in quidditch and shaming others of their blood status.

soon enough, he had been on harper's case, constantly mocking the other slytherin boy whenever draco found the chance. it was no secret draco had a superiority complex over the fact that harper was the reserve seeker on the slytherin quidditch team whilst draco himself was the main seeker — so this became draco's number one target towards harper.

"your girl couldn't get the real thing so she opted for the knock off instead, yeah?" draco would sneer, adrenaline pumping from the audience that had surrounded him as he insults harper. he tosses a few kicks at the fallen over boy before crabbe and goyle take over with more aggressive ones. he'd snicker at the sight of the dishevelled harper, adding one more comment before walking away, "don't worry, she'll be running back to me soon enough."

fred! if you think fred weasley's demeanor would even remotely falter at the news of you hooking up with someone else, you are wrong. even the fact that the special guy was viktor fricking krum wouldn't be able to stop the ginger from continuing to shamelessly flirt with you. fred's mindset was the literal definition of 'never back down, never give up'. he was not going to let you go simply because krum was snogging you on the sides.

it's lunchtime on a wednesday where majority of hogwarts is present in the great hall, along with the selected students of beauxbatons and durmstrang. you were seated next hermione granger at her designated house table, discussing the slight change in the structures of the upcoming exams. so deep in your conversation with the girl, you had somehow failed to notice the presence of the infamous weasley twins with lee jordan right by their side — obviously. fred is the one to interact with you the most whilst the other two gryffindor boys do their own thing. the older twin's hand is pressed down on the table, leaning his whole body weight against it as he hovers over you. you notice a peculiar shadow cast beside you and turn your right, immediately being greeted with a wickedly grinning weasley. you can't help but notice the veins and slight muscle peeking through his rolled up sleeve from his dominant arm being supported by his weight. hermione, having read the room, turns around, joining a conversation with neville longbottom and ron weasley. "hey, love." fred spoke up, almost purposively being loud enough for others around to take a quick glance. you tense up at the publicly proclaimed nickname, and though you have heard it leave his mouth several times before, this time there is a bulgarian national quidditch player who might just overhear. it doesn't take more than a second for you to spot viktor, who's looking right to your direction, obviously having heard and seen fred. the muscle in krum's tense jaw twitches as he sharply watches the two of you, while on the other hand, fred's gaze on you hasn't budged. in fact, he lifts his left arm up, fixing the position of your head to face him with the grasp on your jaw. "eyes up here, angel." he instructs before going on a tangent about how professor sprout had seperated him and george during class.

to say viktor krum wasn't pleased with fred's public display of affection towards you would be an understatement. apparently in durmstrang, they do things a little differently — such as rounding up your friends and beating up whoever crosses them, rather than the usual duels at hogwarts. so the sight of a bloodied fred entering your dorm had you leaping to your feet to question and aid him. despite the cuts around his face, fred's cocky smile never left his face. clearly he didn't get krum's message, seeing how he took every opportunity to hold your waist as you wiped the cuts clean off his face. krum truly wasn't getting to him. merlin, he seriously enjoyed pissing the guy off.

or so you thought until you caught onto fred's sudden interest in constantly pranking krum and the durmstrang boys. at first you assumed this could be revenge for ganging up on fred, but then you watched the weasley during one of his quidditch practises. beaters already had such an aggressive role — yet in your handful of years knowing fred, you'd never seen him play this aggressive. it was honestly impressive really, how he managed to keep a cool demeanor until he, well, couldn't.

george! george never could understand what had gotten into you to start hooking up with adrian fucking pucey. seriously, all george could think about was how closely pucey resembled to the troll his younger brother and friends fought during their second year. despite his thoughts, he never uttered a single word out loud. he was far from supportive of the relationship but he did his best to stay respectful — maybe you were in an 'i can fix him' phase. though george had no idea how anyone could remove the definite troll genes from the slytherin.

so sure, george kept his mouth shut and a respective distance from the whole relationship ... wrong. oh, come on, there's always a twist with the weasley twins. see, whilst publicly he was an angel .. behind closed doors and alone with you was a whole other wizard. the guy knew if he were to harass pucey with his pranks and stand against him, you would only push the ginger away. he didn't even want to risk such a thing. yet, he still wanted to be close enough to remind you of how much he cared. solitary moments with you begun gentle — he didn't want to cross any line, but still needed to have some sort of idea of where exactly that line was. it wasn't out of the ordinary for just the two of you to hang out — you were best friends after all. however, the more days spent with you, the more flirtatious george grew to be around you.

what starts with light touches on your elbow, soon grows into the two of you laying on the common room couch together, your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you as he talks sweet nothings with you. it was the same old george before you met pucey — how can you ever walk away from this? almost having read the room, george's gaze flickers onto your lips, the talk from him slowly dying out despite the fact that he hadn't even completed his sentence yet. your brain grows fuzzy at the sight of george slowly leaning in, your own gaze fixated on his lips. it was unfortunate that adrian had to step into your common room during that tender moment, clearly in search of you. knowing him, he was in need of some snogging right now. the darkening look in his eyes as he spots the two of you clearly highlights his distaste towards the whole scene. he had practically marched over to the couch, grabbing george by the collar as he slams him onto the nearest wall. you have to admit, the height difference of the five foot nine pucey compared to george's six foot three makes the whole interaction look a lot more silly. "fuck you doin' with my girl, weasley?" snarls adrian, his irish accent thick with rage. yet george seems less than phased, his arms raised as a smirk grows onto his face. "if she was your girl, mate, she would have pulled away." george calmly adds, glancing at you behind pucey with the most flirtatious eyes known to wizard kind. you can't help but feel stunned at the look, almost melting. "want to be the judge of this, darling?"

179 notes · View notes