#he deserves to get beaten up sometimes

[cobra-salt]

There's a point about having flawed characters or grey areas, and a show not always having to spoonfeed the viewers and tell them "Bad Character's view is BAD". And that writers' views do not necessarily = character views.

But with Cobra Kai and their love of "BOTH SIDES BAD??? UMMM" and the absolute mental gymnastics there can be with painting both characters in a situation as equally wrong so there's no easy answer for the masses, and those situations where such actions happen? It does make you wonder after a while how much is just in the writing and how much is the "Johnny is a cool alpha male who doesn't need actual deep self-reflection to grow, others have to adapt to him" part of the showrunners' philosophy.

[malkaviian]

expanding on the "luca was bullied" thing, because i knew i was going to give this guy some trauma eventually

[uzurimisery]

bitter frost, honey i'm coming home. / logan howlett x reader / nsfw

warnings: MDNI, angst, p in v, mention of vomit, makeup sex, death (not character), thoughts of suicidal ideation, sappy emotional sex, old man cums quick, Logan yells at reader, smoking, knotting (not a/b/o)

wc: 9k

A/N: I do not know brevity. This was only meant to be 4k max

It’s cold on the ranch now. The first frost came barrelling through, ice crystals hanging on the barbed wire fences and freezing over the troughs out in the pasture. Days on the ranch start early, often before dawn, the first rays of light peeking over the crest of the mountains, painting it pink and golden. He’d step out into the crisp morning air and go to the barn, where he’d feed the animals. The chickens were too loud if he didn’t feed them first, the two roosters crowing till he did, so they went first. After the chickens, it was time for the two horses and the cows. After three years of doing it, he moved with practiced precision. Scattering hay, pouring oats, and spreading seeds are all mindless tasks. 

Logan had to venture out on Weston, a reliable but honorary son of a bitch, with an icebreaker to free up the water for the herd. Then, he had to head into the barns and ensure they weren’t frozen. He should pull out the heated troughs, kept convincing himself he’d do it next weekend 27 weekends ago, and now it was necessary. His back ached a bit at the thought. Pulling out all the equipment and placing it was a full day's job with just himself doing it. He was getting a fucking headache just thinking about it.

It’s not that he wasn’t strong enough. He was just old. He was far too old to run a ranch independently with so little help. Each winter felt a bit long as if there was too much work. Maybe he had grown lazier, too, over the years. No more fighting and not working at Xavier’s school; he was just living on the land now. Cattle ranching. Felt like an All-American cowboy when he had on wranglers, flannel, Justin boots, and some hat he had picked up at the tractor supply store a year back. The hat had seen better days, and the ridge was beaten up and dented from all the times he’d fold it in half and tuck it into his back pocket. He didn’t bother with a jacket, be far too warm that way. 

The ranch was quiet, save for the sound of cattle and horses. Now, the yellow pasture stretches out from the start of his property line on the road to near the base of the mountains. His little private valley. At first, the quiet made him anxious, like he was waiting for another catastrophe to come and tear it apart. That he’d wake up with someone trying to kill him, and all too often, he’d close his eyes and envision all the torture he’d been through—too much pain and suffering in his life. 

The quiet also gave him too much time to think about everything he’d done. Everything he’d lost. He was a man who had known mainly suffering for all his life. Sometimes, he felt he didn’t deserve this peace, this serenity. It was dissonant. He was a fighter, a soldier, a weapon made human to kill and kill and kill again until the only color he knew was red, the only scent he smelt iron, till the collar around his neck pulled so tight it’d break it.

His hands ached, claws threatening to come out as he worked himself up, the sting of vomit on his tongue. The back of his knuckles split open like they weren’t even there, like there was no skin or muscle for the adamantine to cut through. Like it didn’t hurt every time it did.

Weston whinnied under him, tired of lazily trotting around the barn to check for coyote marks. He wanted to gallop around the outskirts of the land while Logan sniffed out any danger to the herd. Didn’t need a cattle dog when he was a glorified one.

“Yeah yeah, asshole.” His spurs dig into Weston’s sides, urging the horse into a gallop. He might as well get the morning round done now. 

The horse broke into a gallop, bouncing Logan in the saddle, wind whipping him in the face. For a moment, the noise in his head quieted. There was no constant thought of you, just what he had to do after rounds. 

As they reached the fence line, Logan scanned the horizon, senses on high alert. He knew he was never looking for just coyotes or stray animals; he was always searching for something more. A threat that might never come. Some bullshit hopped-up mutant on a vendetta or some power-hungry human looking to use him.

Now, at a canter, the two patrolled the whole property line as he took deep breaths, inhaling the cold air, trying to focus on the present. On the life he had here. Not what he had left behind. But the past is never far behind, and he had so much past to run from. It would always be near him, lurking in the shadows. The ranch could never drown it out, cover it up, and make him forget. Maybe it was just another reminder he could never truly escape who he was, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Easy now,” he murmured, pulling Weston to a stop near the far edge of the property. He could see everything from here. It was beautiful and peaceful, but all he could feel was the weight of what he was missing. 

Sometimes, he swore he smelt your perfume on the breeze.

“Let’s head back.” Weston turned around, ready to run the way back toward the barn. This routine was the only thing that kept him sane. The work. The responsibilities. Barely enough to keep him busy but not enough to keep him from sinking too far into the darkness in his thoughts. 

He’d gotten lazy the past week and fallen behind on the hay maintenance, so he’d need to buck it today. Move it all from being covered under some tarps to the hay barn. Move them all one by one. He was glad that 150 pounds felt like nothing to him in times like that. 

The chicken coop also needed a roof repair. The last storm did a number on it. Logan bought the supplies the last time he was in town. It just meant stripping the old one off, resecuring the waterproof liner, and hammering the steel roof. Maybe he’d add some more insulation next weekend in preparation for the winter. 

Today was going to be a long one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

A knock on the door echoed in the ranch house, slicing through the quiet thrum of the fridge kicking on and the TV volume on low. He wasn’t expecting company as he stopped mid-swig of his beer, brow furrowed. The neighbors knew by now to leave him the hell alone and had enough run-ins to steer clear of him unless it was an emergency. There were no ranch hands due to arrive until next Monday. 

His boots thudded with heavy steps as he rose from the couch and walked over. The tips of his claws cut through his skin, the metallic ring soft as he reached the door.

He grabbed the handle, ready for it to be blown off the hinges by someone knocking it down.

“Logan, it’s me.” That's a voice he’d recognize anywhere, unmistakable and achingly familiar. The one he longed to hear to the point it drove him crazy. The one he dreamed of every night, of all the terrible things it had said to him because of what he’d done. Heard it in his sleep and his waking hour like a fucking ghost haunting him.

“Can you open the door already? I know you’re in there.”

He blinked as he did, trying to grapple with his emotions brought to light by the reality of you standing there. 

“What?”  his voice cracked. “What are you doing here?” 

You looked so sad, a deep sorrow in your eyes—the kind that had been there when the two of you had argued the night before he left. It made him feel like he missed something crucial like you had lost a part of yourself—one that settled deep in your bones and moved in your muscles and ligaments.

“Charles told me where you were.”

His throat felt painfully tight, as if the words were squeezing his neck. He didn’t expect this- hadn’t expected you to ever ask Xavier where he was and come see him.

Neither of you moved, the door half-open as he stood blocking it.

“You ain’t supposed to be here.”  His tone was gruff. He had been smoking more since coming to the ranch, trying to dull his brain.

Your voice was steady but filled with so much sadness it made him want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Plead with you to transgress his sins. Go to confession and tell all his wrongdoings. “I needed to see you again.”

He looked out into the driveway, seeing nothing but emptiness.

“Did you fly over here? You don’t even have your suit on.”

“It’s fine,” you said with a shrug, “it’s dark out anyways.” 

He stared at you. The porch lights set a soft, warm glow on your skin, the panes of your face made clear. You looked beautiful, mesmerizingly so, as you stared up at him.

“You gonna let me in or not?” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” he grumbled, his tone softer now that you were closer. He opened the door wider, letting you walk past him.

He had the fire going, for which you were grateful. Flying without your suit always left you frigid afterward, especially since Logan had taken to living in the middle of nowhere nestled in the Rocky Mountains. You had always been jealous Storm didn’t have to deal with that. 

The ranch house Logan was living in was quaint. It was a three-bedroom, two-story house built in the 1880s that the previous owners renovated in recent years to feature modern amenities. The floors creaked as you walked, clearly still the original hardwood. He hadn’t done much decorating. It was clear that Charles had been the one to decorate the place for him.

He wasn’t ready to see you. Ready to talk about why he left you in the middle of the night four years ago. 

You quickly found your way into the living and dining room. Logan had left pocket doors open in these two separate rooms. Sitting on the couch, you could see through to the kitchen. A large pot was on the gas stove, the flames flickering on low. It smelled like beef stew.

Logan lingered by the entrance to the living room off of the entry space, unsure of what to do next. Watching you settle into the beat-up couch made him feel a mess of relief and anxiety. He was glad to see you were okay. Your hair was shorter, and you must have cut it after he left at some point. Grey hairs were coming through at your temples. 

“It’s, uh, good to see you.” Having his eyes on you like this made you feel small again. Like he was leaving you all over again.

Logan nodded, swallowing hard. “You too.” 

You smiled at him, and it hurt. Cut him like a thousand glass pieces over and over again. He was getting sandblasted and healing through it. 

He walked into the kitchen, trying to distance himself from you and his feelings, and stirred the stew. “I wasn’t expecting company,” he commented his back to you.

Your hands wrung together automatically, anxiety creeping up your throat. Maybe it was a mistake to come here and see him again when he had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do to you the night he left. “It’s fine, I don’t need to eat.” 

The wooden spoon clatters against the rest, and he puts it down harshly, making you wince. “Nonsense. I can hear your fucking teeth chattering from here.”

“I’m fine, really. It's just wind chill.” 

“Just take the damn food!” Logan bellowed, his hand slamming down against the counter, breathing heavily. “Just take the damn food.” 

You were silent for a moment, reeling. He’d never been like this with you before. “Okay.”

Logan closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, and pushed it out of his mouth, trying to steady himself. He didn’t mean to lash out at you, to snap, but just seeing you again put him in confrontation with his past and his own feelings. It was more than he could handle. He grabbed a second bowl from the cabinet, ladling the stew between the both of them. Even after all this time, he took care to give you more potatoes than beef and half his carrots.

“Come sit at the table. Don’t want soup on the damn couch.” 

You moved quietly, always did. It unnerved him when he first met you. Your mutation lets you float more than walk and never hear any footfall when you move. He sat across from you, and you could finally get a good look at him. The years had never been kind to him, but he seemed older now than ever. The past three had been the worst of his life. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and the wrinkles on his face seemed more pronounced. 

The silence between you was thick with unspoken words, cut only by the scrapping of metal spoons against ceramic bowls. The sound echoed in the quiet house with the TV now shut off.

As you finished up your food, he looked antsy. His left leg bounced up and down, hand strumming on the table.

“Thank you for the stew.” you pipped up, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, well, you look like you needed it. " Despite all these years, he still cared for you and loved you. It was evident to you. 

You both sat there momentarily, the silence returning but now filled with different tension. The possibility of reconciliation hurts more than anger.

“Why did you come here?” he puzzled. “After all this time, why now?”

You tapped against the bowl, inconsistent drumming on the sharp ceramic cutting against his ears. “I needed to see you.”

“Bullshit, what do you want”

“Jesus, Logan,’ you finally snapped, lightning crackling as you did. He acted like the wounded party when he was the one who had left you. “Am I not allowed to want to see you?” 

You didn’t mean for it to happen. Far past the age that your powers slipping up due to your emotions should be embarrassing. Static electricity builds up around you.

“You left,” you continued, to reel in your emotions, to keep them in check. “You left me without a word, without an explanation, and now you’re demanding an answer as to why I'm here? Do you have any idea what you did to me?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he looked to the side. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have this conversation with you. Not now. The night he left, you felt like he was ripping out his own heart, running from his feelings and the truth about the world around him.

It was like he was on autopilot as he stood from the table, knocking his chair off balance as he went. Like a bull in a china shop, that’s how he moved. He could hear you talking and feel the vibrations in the air, but none of the words meant anything. You were begging him to just sit down and talk to you, a pleading whine in your tone. 

But he couldn’t.

Just like the last time he saw you, he walked out the door with nothing but the clothes on his back into the night down the porch steps. 

The screen door slammed shut as you walked out after him, your body trembling with the intensity of your emotions, your hair standing on end from the static. He never told you what was wrong or why he did what he did. He just left. Tears blur your vision as your back hits the siding of the house, sinking down.

“Logan!” you yelled, calling out after him, voice breaking. “Please just talk to me!”

He didn’t turn around. His figure grew smaller, illuminated by the porch lights flickering from your lack of control. It felt like your heart was breaking again. The ache of his absence, familiar and painful, made all the more unbearable by seeing him again. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“I’m staying here till you talk to me.” 

When he finally came back to the house, knowing all too damn well, he had to take care of the ranch, that was the first thing you told him. He didn’t like it but found it hard to argue with you and Charles. It was impossible to change Charles’ mind; he knew you were too stubborn to leave. So he let it happen. 

Letting you sleep in the guest bedroom across from his was easier. It felt like he slept better since you had shown up. Even if you woke him up in the middle of the night, the floorboards creaking in protest under your weight as you went pee around 4:15 a.m. every night.

He’d lie in his bed, now fully aware of the space in it next to him, listening to the sounds of the house. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the ticking of the clock downstairs, the wind outside. He would never admit it, but you being there gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. The night terrors that plagued him endlessly seemed to ease. For the first time in a long time, he could close his eyes without fear of being swallowed up and spit out by the past. 

During the day, you had a tentative routine with him, and he woke up earlier than you did. It had only been a week since you had shown up. You had left at one point to fly back to the school and get some of your belongings. Every morning, you’d go out to the chicken coop, collect the eggs, and make breakfast. It was nothing fancy, some variation of a bread product, eggs, and a protein. Sometimes, it was pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Other times, it was steak and eggs. Today, it was omelets. 

You’d help out in other ways, too. Go out and move the steer to a different part of their sectioned-off pasture. You were faster at de-ice the troughs, flying, and whatnot, so he let you take over that job. It was hard work, and your muscles ached like they hadn’t for a long time. 

Logan had to admit it’s helpful having you on the ranch. He’s got a greenhouse and some therapy project Charles talked him into, but that’s been looking worse for wear. The weather pattern changed the past couple of weeks, and there’s been an inversion that has left the valley with no direct sunlight. All the plants inside had started to wilt and were on the path to dying, not that he cared. He’d survive without some tomatoes. Then you threw open the door, solar energy pouring out from your palms, and they’d perk right up. You had that effect on plants, hell, people too. 

Something about you, even if you didn’t have your mutation, would have made you shine as bright as the fucking sun to anyone. All wild curls and big smiles, a helping hand to those in need—just one of those people who made the world a better place by breathing. You always said you were just doing your part, but god, there was so much good, so much sweetness in you. If he took a bite, he’d even get a cavity. Seeing you wrapped up in an old wool sweater of his, bent over coaxing a plant back to life, made him feel so ashamed of himself. 

“The plants in the greenhouse look a lot better this week.” 

Some of the leaves crunched underfoot, but most of them were soggy in the mud as you walked over to the steer barn where he was working. One of the steers had a rock impacting his back hoof, and he had to get it out. Logan had just finished spraying it with salicylic acid and wrapping it as you walked in. 

“Like I said, you don’t need to be doing all that.” He grumbled, standing from the stool and leading the cow back to the enclosure. 

Where he spoke dissent and anger, you heard what he really felt. Fear. He was still that little boy in his father's manor.

“It’s not a problem.”

It hurts to be this close to him and not have him, to know that things could just be better if he were honest. 

You'd cook him dinner in the evening, sit at the old wooden table, and comment about the school. About what you’d been up to. You steered away from the elephant in the room. It was best to talk about the mundane things. Sometimes, you’d slip and tell him something more personal than you meant to. He didn’t add much to the conversation because he hadn’t been doing much since leaving you, but he’d chime in about the animals. About the fox that kept creeping around the chicken coop.

Logan still had moments of withdrawal, times when he’d just disappear from the ranch, and you wouldn’t see him till the morning. It was hard on you, a reminder of just how much had changed between the two of you. You used to come home to him after a day of teaching and collapse into his arms on the couch. He’d offer you a sip of his beer, something dark and hoppy, and you’d taste it and declare it’s gross. Logan had told you one day, he’d find a beer you liked, and he’d stock the fridge with it. The closest you’d gotten was some Mangocart IPA that he told you was meant for 17-year-olds, and you told him to go fuck himself. 

Healing wasn’t a straight path forward. And healing couldn’t start until you cut out the festering parts. You can never go backward, but you must go forward while looking at the past. 

The two of you sat on the porch tonight, twilight hues, deep indigo taking over the sky, and the stars coming out. The first night you were out here with him, you couldn’t stop staring at them. Had a whole thing about them since they charged up your mutation, but he just thought you looked gorgeous. Older but still gorgeous. 

That was another thing that scared him. You are aging. He didn’t know how long he had left to live, hell, if he could even die. Some wounds should have killed him many times over, but they never did. They never do. But he's seen you bleeding out and broken after a fight with Magneto, a laceration so severe you had to self-cauterize the wound on the spot and passed out multiple times while doing so. You were getting older, and he was staying the same. 

You were 24 when the two of you first met. Your parents were good folks, never held any bias towards mutants, and helped you learn to control your powers and keep yourself hidden from the government when they were still rounding up mutants. The only reason you got found out was because of Cerebro and Charles. With so little training, it should have scared him how strong you were back then. A few years with Charles, and you were deadly. Deadly, but a pacifist. 

The air was cold. You could see your breath as you rocked in the rocking chair he had out there. Wafts of pungent tobacco hit your nose as he lit up a cigar. He had stopped when you lived together. You looked over at him, feeling the weight of his eyes on you. As soon as your own met his, he looked back out into the night sky. The silence was heavy.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked softly. 

“Miss what?” he drew another drag from his cigar.

“The school. The kids. The…purpose.”

“I think about the students daily. It was good work. Important work. But…” Logan trailed off, searching for the right words. What were the right words to say without telling you everything? “It got complicated.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken part of his statement, drawing your knees to your chest. “It’s still important. And the kids still need you.” 

After all this time, you still wanted him. Despite every wrong he had done to you and all the harm he caused you. The most pathetic part of him was ready to take your kindness, love, and care and bathe in it. Draw you back into the bottomless pit of his life and ruin you like he had all the others. 

You saw him clench his jaw. A twisting wave of guilt and self-loathing ate him up. A man made to destroy and he was afraid to destroy you too.

“The kids will be fine without me.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, they’ve been fine without me so far.” He shot back, but there was a hollow note in his voice. There wasn’t any gumption behind it. 

“They’ve managed, but that doesn’t mean they’re fine. You gave them something no one else could, Logan.  They relied on you, they needed you-they need you.” You corrected gently, reaching out to touch his thigh. He was always so warm.

He took another drag, blowing the smoke away from you. “They’ll move on. They’re better off without me.” 

“They didn’t move on, and they aren't okay without you.” 

Logan looked down at your hand on his thigh, his expression a mixture of pain and something else. Something so soft, buried deep beneath the layers of hardened exterior. He didn’t pull away, but you could see his temptation rising.

“I’m not me without you, Logan. Please just talk to me.” Your grip tightened, the denim rough under your fingers, and you begged him to let you in again. To tell you why he left you, why you haven't heard from him since.

He needed to keep you safe from himself.

“You should leave.” Standing from his chair, he threw open the screen door, letting it slam shut behind him as he walked over to the living room. 

You rose after him, chasing him into the house, your heart pounding in your chest. The floorboards cracked up the both of you, echoing in the house. He moved with a desperate, frantic everything. His broad shoulders tense as if he could outrun the conversation you were about to have.

“Why won’t you let me care about you!” You cried out, voice breaking, trembling with the weight of the emotions you've been holding back. He didn’t stop, didn’t turn around, but kept going, and your words spilled out like a damn bursting.  “I am begging you to let me in, to let me love you, to stop pushing me away like you do every time! You left me. In the middle of the night, you left. I woke up, and you were gone. And all I have ever asked of you is to let me love you.”

From behind, he looked like a man barely holding together as he reached the living room.

“I don’t want you to.” he ground out. Each word hurt to say, and he hated lying to you. 

“We both know that's a lie, Logan. I’m not stupid. I know you love me. Just please let me in. Why won't you let me in?” 

“Because I don’t want you to wind up fucking dead!” His voice reverberated off the walls. “Everyone and everything I have ever loved is buried six feet fucking deep, and I don’t want you to join the shithole graveyard that is my life.” 

Logan’s voice cut deep through the room, his shoulder hunched as he leaned over the back of the couch. The sob was settling in his chest as he tried to keep it at bay. He didn’t want you to see him crying. It was like he could see you now, lying in that grave, another name added to the long list of people he’d killed or gotten killed.

“You think leaving me is protecting me? You think that by pushing me away, you're saving me?” You hated being an angry crier, the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m already in this. I’ve been in this for years. You leaving didn’t save me—it fucking broke me.”

“I just,” his breath was shaky, knuckles white against the couch as the wood splintered from his grip. “I can’t lose you too.” 

You stepped closer, a hesitant hand hanging in the air a moment before it made contact. Slipping over his back, meeting your other hand in the front as you hugged him from behind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, voice soft and thick with sadness. “I’m right here, and I’m not leaving. I’m not letting you leave this time.” 

He shook his head, tilting it backward to keep the tears from falling. “You don’t understand. I keep telling you that I’m cursed, that everyone who gets close to me, everyone that I love,” the crack in his voice hurt you, “ends up dead. And I can’t let that happen to you.” 

“You’re not cursed,” you mumbled into his back. “You’ve been through hell, but you deserve a chance at happiness and love.” 

His shoulders shook as the sob he had been holding back finally broke free. He crumples against the back of the couch, wrenching at his waist as his head meets his hands. You went down with him, following the curve of his back with your front, holding him tightly as he cried. 

“I’m here,” you cooed into his ear, your tears cresting down your cheeks. “I’m here, baby.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” he choked out between sobs. 

You tightened your hold on him, wishing that the pressure could soothe his aches and worries and make him feel whole again. That it would wash away all the suffering he’s been through and wipe it from his mind, even if you knew that pain was part of what made him him. 

“Yes, you do. You deserve love and happiness and to find that with me.” 

“I’m just going to hurt you again, like I have before.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me-”

“God dammit, I’ve killed people,” he stood up straight to face you, his voice jumping in volume, shaking you off balance. As you stumbled, he reached out, a hand on your hip to steady you. “I’ve killed so many people that it’d take them years to find all the bodies that I’ve fucking piled up in my 230 years of life. I am a fucking mess of a man who is so goddamn broken, and I don’t want to drag you down in the mess that I have made.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around your face as he did. His beard was grown out, the greys now outnumbered the black, jaw trembling as he spoke. 

“And just when I think I can start to be okay without you in my life, you show up, doll, and it ruins all that progress I made, if I even fucking made any in the first place. Make me realize just how damn much I need you. And how much I am so fucking scared of losing you because I can’t take it if I do.”

You reached up, hand cupping his face against the scruff of his beard. “I know that I’ve always known the life you lived before meeting Charles, and it doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the thought of you shutting me out and living out here on your own till you die. You’re not this terrible monster you think you are. Yes, you’ve done terrible things, but you’ve also done so much good in the world. You’ve saved just as many lives as you’ve taken.”

His eyes softened, tongue darting out to wet dry lips that stuck to his teeth. 

“I can’t change who I am. I can’t be someone you deserve.” 

“I’m not asking you to change.” 

His other hand met your hip, both of them squeezing them tightly as his body shook. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promised. It was easy to promise that to him. As much as he needed you, you needed him. “You and me, we’ll get through this, and all that's to come.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. 

For a long while, he just stared at you, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes searching yours, looking for any doubt or lie in what you said. Fearful you’d sweep the rug out from under him and leave. He couldn’t find any indication of the sort. All he could see was how much you loved him, how much the distance between you had hurt, and how badly you wanted him to let you in.

Logan let out a shaky breath before pulling you into a kiss. His facial hair tickled your face as your lips met. It was intense as his lips moved against yours, his hands sliding down to your ass to pick you up and hold you. You could feel all his longing, desperation, and the despair he had been holding back. His lips were chapped from working outside, not caring for for himself like he should be, but you didn’t mind.

It sent a shiver down your spine, having him so close after so long. He was so warm against you. Your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Logan groaned as you did, parting his mouth enough that your tongue could meet his. 

The kiss deepened. You could taste the salt of his tears mingling with your own. His grip on your ass tightened, pulling you flush against his body like he was afraid you might disappear. His mouth moved hungrily against your own tongue, nearly forcing yours into submission as he held you close.  He felt like a man starved. 

You matched his intensity, trying to pour all your love and care into the kiss, your lips moving together in a way that felt both familiar and new. Hoping that enough of your love could spill into his cup and fill him so full it didn’t matter what spilled out his cracks. There’d be more poured in every second. A rediscovery of what the love between the two of you had been. 

The two of you have to part far sooner than he liked, your lung capacity smaller than his own. His eyes were still wet with tears as he watched you, your chest rising and falling as you gulped down the air. 

He leaned in towards you, placing a small kiss on your forehead as he rested his head against your own, moving your ass to rest against the back of the couch. You had changed your conditioner; it smelled like honey now, but no matter how fragrant it was, it couldn’t cut through the smell of you to him. You smelled like home. 

“I’m sorry, doll.” his voice was a murmur against your scalp, heavy with regret. If hammer home the point, he’d bend nail after nail into soft wood, splitting it down the middle with how much metal he’d drive into it, just how sorry he was.

“I forgive you.”

Somehow, he gripped you tighter.“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“I know you will.” you pulled away from your position tucked against his chest to look up at him. “Kiss me again?”

He compiled without hesitation, his lips finding yours so tenderly. It was slow, deliberate, a melting of his body with yours. A promise, shared understanding, a soul tie that bound the two of you together.

Pulling away, his eyes met yours, and all he could see was love. 

“You gonna take me to bed or what, big boy?” 

Logan moved quickly up the stairs, taking two of them at a time. The promise of having you again was all the incentive he needed. He missed you. The way you felt under him, the way your pussy felt against his dick. How you fluttered around him every time he angled just right, how you smelt. He'd been jacking off to the thought of you for years now, and finally getting to have you again was like a fevered dream.

It wasn’t graceful the way he swung open his door and tossed you on the bed. You bounced a few times, mattress springs creaking as you did, before propping yourself up with an eyebrow raised, questioning him. No doubt he’d never hear the end of it; could hear you nagging him now. “A spring mattress? Logan? You’re made of metal. You can't have a spring mattress. You know this.” 

You raised a finger, curling in towards yourself, beckoning him closer. He was a dog on a leash for you, moving like a well-trained animal. If they’d found you during Project K, he would have listened to every command they gave. Hell, he’d roll over right now if you told him to. 

His knees enclosed your legs as he crawled over you, dog tags slipping out from his white tank top and dangling in your face. You smelled like him. His body wash and house, mixed with your fruit conditioner. Underneath it all, he could just smell you. The salt on your skin, the heady scent of your arousal. Logan lowered himself, tucking his head into your neck, and took a deep breath, groaning at the smell of you.

“Need you logan.”

That was something he’d missed. That pitched whine in the back of your throat you got when you were all horny and needy for him. Your voice turned raspy and low, caressed his ears so smoothly, and it made him want to purr like a fucking cat. The cadence just scratched an itch in his skull, setting his nerves on fire. 

With a low growl, he cradled your face in his hands, thumbs tracing over your cheekbones, relishing the heat coming off your skin. The little bumps and scars that crossed your skin felt like home to him, a map he’d always know how to read no matter how many years passed. He leaned in, lips meeting yours, and it just felt right. It always felt right. He was stupid for trying to run from you all this time. 

Your fingers laced in his hair on the nape of his neck, fingernails scraping his scalp. He groaned low,  wanton, animalistic, your tongue meeting his own in a warm, wet dance. Logan devoured your lips, his hunger for you impossible to sate. It was messy, desperate, the way he clung to you. Grabbing your waist and lifting you closer to him, you felt like a feather to him, all soft flesh and curves against his hard angles. 

He pulled away from the kiss, moving along your jawline and neck, stubble brushing your skin, making it more sensitive than it already was. Not stopping at your neck, he continued down over your collarbones and the expanse of your chest, all the skin he could access in the v-neck you wore. His fingers tugged at the hem of your sweater, pulling it over your head. You weren’t wearing a bra, perfect fucking nipples already perking up for him.

Logan leaned forward, his lips closing around your nipple. You gasped, back arching off the bed, the cool metal of his dog tags stinging against your skin. His tongue swirled around your nipple, fingers digging in at your waist before he pulled away with a pop, your chest heaving. You always looked so beautiful coming under him, over him, beside him, any position in which your naked body was near his and your flesh met in sinful desire.

“Oh,” his voice was ragged like he had fought all his battles and wars at once. “Oh god, doll…”

Testament and faith could be read about in books and studied. The Bible could teach you of Jesus’ preaching, but true faith, true trust in the unknown, could never be read about. It had to be felt and experienced. Logan slid to his knees, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed as he went. The fabric of your leggings felt too thick, separating him from his worship. He could smell you through them, through the lace of your panties. Heady, musky, a whine rumbles through his chest as his face falls against your thigh, nose pressed against the fast of your pussy. He breathes in deep, savoring your scent, his mouth watering like he can taste you.

“Doll, please,” he begged, opening his bloodshot eyes, his voice needy. “Let me taste you?” 

“You don't have to ask, Logan,” you replied, smiling. “I’m yours, always yours.” 

Logan hooked his finger into the waistband of your legging and panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. The cold air of the room met your skin as he did, but you didn't have long to think about it as he parted your legs, and his hot breath made contact with your pussy. His mouth hovered above for a moment, just wafting in your scent, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Fucking love the smell of this pussy.” he murmured to himself, a low growl, before he dove in, tongue parting your folds.

Wet muscle slid between you so easily before swirling around your sensitive clit, teasing it. His hot breath ghosted over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers flew to his head, trying to find purchase in his hair as he went. Logan was ferocious. He went from your clit to your hole, delving inside you, trying to taste every inch of you. He grabbed your hips, tilting them upwards, making you squeal as he opened his mouth wider on you. Working himself into a frenzy, growling, the vibrations amplified by his adamantium skeleton. It rumbled through you, low and deep, like the base setting of a vibrator.

He takes a second, not quite remembering the perfect rhythm for you right away, but he gets to it quickly. Starts playing with your pussy like a fine-tuned machine the way he has you gushing in minutes. Your wetness coats his tongue, and that engine is firing.

Each stroke, each flick of his tongue on your clit brought you closer to ecstasy. The stars might power you, but he’d have you see them tonight. He devours your pussy like a man starved, primal hunger driving him. You couldn’t fight back, not that you wanted to. All that you could do was let him keep going. Let him take you to the edge. Push you past it. Over it. Your breath hitches, heart pounding in your chest so hard you feel it in your temples.

You push his head back, abdomen muscles flexing, a thick line of spit and arousal connecting Logan’s mouth to your pussy. His pupils were blown wide, eyes unfocused, hungry. A red, ruddy color spread across his cheeks. He felt hard enough to cut steel with his length, rutting against the bed. They move on their own accord, desperate for friction. There’s a growing wet spot of precum at the front of his darkening blue jeans.

“Cum for me, doll, please, I need to taste it.” That low vibration of his voice made you whine, hips bucking against him.

Logan spread his tongue flat and mercilessly kept going at your clit. Your moans grew louder, fingernails digging into his scalp as he manhandled you around like you weighed nothing. He gripped your hips tighter, tilting them further, ensuring he had better access to your pussy, before taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it. An involuntary squeal came out of you as the added pressure made your back arch. 

The suction made your stomach drop, and your toes curl. He kept swiping his tongue side to side, little pulses of suction in time. It left you writhing and gasping. One of his hands released your hips, moving so that he could slip two fingers into your wet hole. You were so soaked he met no resistance, walls clenching around his digits as he slid them in, desperate for something to clamp down on. The pads of his fingers brush against your G-spot, and the lights of the room glow brighter as you begin to lose control. You’re so close so quickly it feels like you can’t breathe from how overstimulating it was. 

You push his head back, abdomen muscles flexing, a thick line of spit and arousal connecting Logan’s mouth to your pussy. His pupils were blown wide, eyes unfocused, hungry. A red, ruddy color spread across his cheeks. He felt hard enough to cut steel with his length, rutting against the bed. Your vision blurred, light filling your eyes, your only point of focus in the world, his mouth on your sensitive pussy.

“Taste so goddamn good,” he licked his lips, breaking the strand before diving back in. Your legs shook, thighs clamping down around his ears. You were so close, you could taste it. Logan picked up the pace, his tongue rapidly flicking over your clit, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering hole. 

The room was filled with sloppy, wet sounds of Logans eating you out mixed with your cries of pleasure. He presses your pussy harder against his face, moaning as he does. You clench around him, body drawing tight like a bow as your release nears, his fangs scrape on the fat of your pussy lips.  It's like you leave your body for a minute, your ears ringing and your heart pumping. Every nerve in your body is lit up.

Logan reaches up to grope at your breasts, and with a pinch of your nipple, you cum with a loud moan that startles the cows, the lightbulbs exploding as you do. Your body trembles and shakes, juices gushing onto his palette like a tall glass of iced tea after a long day of work during the summer, and his thirst is quenched, but his appetite is only hungrier. You felt like you were melting, pleasure pouring out of you.

“Fuck,” you sound winded, “I haven’t had that happen since I was 24.” Your smile shows crow's feet, crinkling comforts near the sides of your eyes as you smile, really smile at him for the first time this week.

“Getting old, kid.”

“Oh, shut up!” 

He ducks to the side to dodge the pillow you throw his way. 

“You want to keep going?” 

“With you, I don’t ever want to stop.”

His eyes go all soft at the corners, caught up in his feelings. “Promise you won’t ever have to again.” 

“Good.”

He picks you up and places you up on the center of the bed, grabbing the pillow you threw at him to place under your hips for support. His clothes come off, and his blue Wrangler jeans drop to the floor with his tank top and boxer briefs. The dog tags stay on. He knows you’ve got a thing for them.  They glint in the dim light, steel catching your eye.

Rough, calloused hands slide up your legs, starting at your ankles, and he kneels between your legs on the bed. He folds you nearly in half, hooking your knees over his shoulders, his hip meeting yours. You feel the curling wisps of his pubes tickle against the back of your thighs. Always been a hairy guy, told you it's how he was so warm all the time. It makes your stomach flutter.

Logan leans down, capturing your lips against his own in a kiss before lining up his pre-cum soaked tip with your entrance. He eases into you with a hiss, your walls squeezing him tightly. The length was never an issue, he was only about an inch and a half above average, but it was the girth that made your jaw go slack and droll pool out the sides as he fucked you. The stretch is delicious as he slides inside you.

The first inch yielded a slick gushing sound from your pussy, while the second made you gasp, and the third had your walls tighten around him, taking his and your breath away. The stretch felt so good with how fat of a cock he had. One that felt so much girthier than you’d ever imagine it to be. His cock twitched, heavy, inside you, his pulse beating in time with yous.

“Jesus, princess, you’re squeezing me so tight. Relax,” he rolled his hip about halfway in and still meeting resistance.  Relax.” It came out like a pant. Fuck you were so tighter, like a vice around him. He wanted to take it slow, cherish you, show you how much he’d been missing you, but he was an old dog, and he wouldn’t last that long with how bad you were squeezing him. 

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails cutting the threadbare cheap cotton ones he’d been using for all these years. “Too much Logan.” You could barely breathe, let alone get the words out.

“You can take it, doll, remember?” he groaned, finally sliding in, flesh meeting yours in a wet slap. Your poor little hole stretched to the max as you whimpered. “See? You can take it.” Logan emphasized each word with a thrust of his hips. 

He felt his control slipping, thrusts starting to pick up, super strength coming into play. It coiled deep in his belly as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. “Feel so fucking good. Oh fuck. You’re so perfect, perfect little pussy.”

Logan’s hands move to grab your breasts, pushing them together. He plays with your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index finger. His pace is brutal, and the position allows him to hit that perfect spot on your gummy walls that has you seeing stars. He’s all grunts and whimpers, silver tips eclipsing the skin of his knuckles. It gets to the point he wants to go faster, the need to cum inside you far too great, and he lets go of your tits and balances himself on the bed. 

The base of his cock swelled, his knot beginning to grow. This was the part you missed the most. The way he’d stretch you out so good on his dick, only to then slip his knot inside you and stretch you even further. 

“Ain’t gonna last much longer, doll.” 

You moan, reaching down to play with your messy clit. It’s so wet between your legs it’s hard to find any purchase, and the sensitive nub slides back and forth so easily. The bed creaks, the wood floors groan, and the bed frame slams against the wall. He’s getting rougher by the second, his knot starting to press against you. 

“Give it to me, I’m ready.”

Logan thrusts forward, his knot sliding in with a satisfying pop, your words spurring him on. He pulses, cock swelling impossibly large before he cums. Thick, hot white ropes paint your insides as he stutters and groans, nearly growls, dropping to his elbows and forcing your knees to your chest. His hips don’t stop moving, still rutting up into you as you play with your clit. You just need a little bit more to push you over the edge. 

His voice is gravely in your ear as he careens over you, half squishing you with his weight. “I love you.” 

It’s the emotion of the moment that makes you cum. Tears in your eyes and love in your heart. Love is a lot like faith, blind trust in the unknown. A bishop can train his whole life, be a theologian, a scholar of the bible, know all of his god’s teachings inside out, and have less faith than a man who’s lived through hell. Putting your trust into the unknown and praying that good comes back to you. You felt like you were finally home, like that piece of yourself you’ve been missing for years is clicking back into place.

Logan didn’t know romance. He was gruff and awkward, snappy at the random way things. But he stood on the outside when you walked along the street, never let you carry anything, and opened every door for you. Never bought you flowers because he hated the local guy who sold them. But he picked them for you daily on his runs. Didn’t ever wash your laundry, but he folded every piece of clothing you owned and hung up all your shirts, all of it, just because you mentioned hating folding clothes to him once. 

He’d never be able to admit to you how much you meant to him fully. When you came into his life, he was close to ending things. There had been so many dark, endless days that only he remembered now. Horrors beyond human comprehension were his burden, shadowing his every waking moment until you came walking into his life.

There’d be a conversation in the morning that probably would rise into an argument. He’d likely storm off, and you’d be there waiting, telling him to get therapy, and this time, he would. This time, he’d go talk to a shrink about the mess in his head and sort it out for you, for himself. This time he wouldn’t fuck it up and leave you in the middle of the night. He’d have the difficult, uncomfortable conversations that activate his fight or flight. 

You were soft under him as he lifted off of you, still unable to pull out due to his knot. He rotated the two of you so you were on top, your chests pressed together as he lazily traced your spine. 

“I love you too.” 

“I love you more, sunbeam.” 

“Oh, absolutely not. You know I hate that name.”

©️ uzuzrimisery

thank you @txjis for beta reading

[sun-kissy]

hi!! so for your Christmas sleepover (which is so cute btw) can i do 🧸 with Remus and the prompt 'just tell me!'

thank you for the request, angel! here’s your teddy bear :) 🧸

cookies | r.l.

— “Just tell me!”

remus lupin x reader

summary: remus tries to surprise you for christmas, and fails

tw: fluff fluff fluff <3, remus is boyfriend material. actually remus is boyfriend.

You let out a soft groan, flopping onto your side as another thud resonates from downstairs. Your mind feels muddled with sleep. You instinctively reach for your boyfriend, arm outstretched as you pat down the mattress beside you. There’s nothing to your touch but empty space.

Remus’ absence adds to your sleep-addled confusion. There’s one more loud bang from somewhere in the house, jolting you awake. You roll onto your back, grunting as you sluggishly pull yourself up into a sitting position.

You crack your eyes open to the darkness of your room, trying to rub the sleep out of them. The blanket you were cozied up in pools at your waist, chilly air immediately stinging your skin as though it had been waiting to strike.

Metallic, clanging noises continue to reverberate off the walls. You think you hear some silent cursing too.

Sighing irritably, you drag your blanket off the bed with you, pulling it over your shoulders as you stumble out the room. The night before Christmas and you still couldn’t get uninterrupted sleep — you thought Santa might have been nicer to you.

You tiptoe down the stairs, remembering the faulty heater in your living room; tug the blanket tighter around yourself. The festive green garland twined around the staircase railing looked silver-streaked, reflecting the soft light from the kitchen.

You peer around the corner, blanket trailing behind you like a cape as you inch closer towards the kitchen. You involuntarily grimace as a strong stench wafts your way. It had hints of smoke, as though barbecued. Maybe even burnt.

You’re too drowsy to panic about the house burning down, but awake enough for your heartbeat to start picking up the pace.

Sneaking your hand out from under the cocoon of blankets, you curl your fingers around the cold metal of the knob. You’re beaten to it by the person on the other side of the door.

It’s the curls which you catch sight of first, followed by his lovely brown eyes peeking out — then widening, from behind the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Remus mutters as he quickly steps out, casting backward glances as though someone in the kitchen was holding a gun to his head. “What are you doing up?”

He hurriedly closes it before fully turning to you, instantly softening at how endearing you looked. Sometimes, he wonders how he got so lucky, and you chide him till he admits that he deserves you. Right now, he could see how close you were to falling asleep right then and there — too close to berate him, close enough to look like an angel worth falling in love with all over again.

“I could ask you the same —“

Remus cuts you off mid-sentence, stepping forward to cup your cheeks and kiss you. You indulge him. He smells nice, you note. Like chocolate and peppermint.

He pulls away but doesn’t let go, sliding his hands around the back of your neck to rub comfortingly at the nape.

“So,” you start again, already visibly much happier and awake, “why are you not in bed?”

He sighs and shrugs, trying, but failing, to look nonchalant. Something in his heart tightens as you tug the ends of your blanket closer to each other. He presses a kiss to your blanket-laden shoulder, smitten. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“And you decided to come down to the kitchen to do… what, exactly?”

“Oh, nothing much,” he shrugs again. “You know, just cleaning up a little bit.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “You needed to wear an apron for that?”

“Oh, um — well,” he looks down at his apron, chuckling sheepishly as he looks back up at you. “I mean, yeah. You know how much I hate the dust and stuff getting on me.”

“Right, right,” you mutter, squinting as you step closer and rake your eyes over him. Ah ha. There’s flour dusted on the top of his shoulder, and you’re quick to swipe some of it onto your finger. “This is said dust, huh?”

He looks down at your finger, struggling to keep a straight face upon seeing the white powder. “Mhm.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying, I swear,” he grins upon seeing your frown, leaning forward to give your nose a peck.

You swat him away. “Yes, you are. Tell me what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything, pretty girl,” he mutters as he moves up to kiss the soft spot under your eye.

You try to back up, but he takes your wrist and pulls you closer. At this point, you’re fighting to keep the smile off your face. “Just tell me!”

Remus chuckles. Like the flirt he is, opts to avoid the question and capture your lips in a kiss instead. You involuntarily lean in.

“If you’re trying to distract me,” you mutter in between kisses, “it’s not working.” You feel his smile on your lips.

He pulls away slightly to rest his forehead against yours, hands going up to thumb at your cheeks. “You really wanna know?”

You decide to change tactics, putting on your best puppy eyes and pout as you look up at him. You nod, and Remus’ heart melts in record time.

“Okay, well,” he sighs. “You know those choco chip and peppermint cookies you really like?” He lets go of you to push the door open. “Since tomorrow’s Christmas, I was trying to, you know… bake them for you.”

You feel your heart soften at his words, beaming up at him as you enter the kitchen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he smiles bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “But um…” he gestures at the state of the kitchen.

You turn away from him to look around, your exhale coming out on a giggle. The place was a mess. A few batches of burnt cookies on the counter, flour here and there, broken egg shells scattered all over the floor. You can’t wipe the smile off your face. “You did this for me.”

He laughs quietly. “Mess the kitchen up? Sure, I —“

“Fuck the mess, Rem. We’ll deal with that later,” you grin, lovestruck. Suddenly it feels like the first time you're meeting Remus, and you're falling in love with his softness all over again.

“You're such a sweetheart. Thank you," you gush, leaning over to peck his cheek. He smiles like the mess was all worth it for a kiss.

“Well, I tried.”

“And you tried spectacularly,” you smile encouragingly as you go over to inspect the burnt batch. “They’re actually not that bad, just a little burnt is all.”

“You’re an awful liar, do you know that?” Remus huffs as he comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

You giggle. “Better than you anyway,” you tilt your face to nuzzle his nose. “Why don’t we clean this up, and tomorrow we can bake the cookies together? I’ll even let you tell James you made them yourself so he feels jealous.”

He laughs and rubs your hips adoringly. “Sure thing, dove. Just let me obliviate you tomorrow, so I can surprise you too.”

“That is not happening!”

Remus assures you that he was not going to wipe your memory. You shrug your blanket off, and the two of you get to cleaning the kitchen in between kisses, laughter, and handfuls of flour hurled at each other. It was the perfect start to Christmas.

san’s christmas sleepover

[chainelunaire]

hands hands hands

gojo satoru

light easy touches, almost innocent (sometimes not). very touchy, you probably know his hands better than your own. feeling everything with the tips of his fingers. pats on your head and making a mess of your hair, then tying it up nicely. hand around your shoulder, when he says something directly in your ear. playing with a pen while pretending to listen. hands big and warm everywhere but his fingertips. hands of a man who has a lot of love to give but doesn't know how to show it properly.

geto suguru

long slender hands, slightly cold but not much. surprisingly rough skin, but the gentlest touch of all. deadly, deadly hands, capable of ending someone's life bare. playing piano or with a knife with the same ease. the beauty of just touching someone without saying a word. folding hands in prayer, worshipping a cruel god, made by people themselves. tender palm caressing your head, touch as warm as it is motherly. hands so loved by the kids, because they never ever let anyone hurt them again. relatively long nails, always perfectly manicured. hands of a man who knows how to love, but chose otherwise.

nanami kento

very moderate, very predictable, right in the middle. not so warm, not so cold, skin not rough not soft. hands smell like rich black tea, because of how often he made it for you. the feeling you get when someone writes something by hand in front of you for quite some time. knuckle cracking, even though he himself despises to do it, he does it out of habit. hand that always guides you throw the crowd. fingers trembling when he's too tired. hands of a man who always wanted to love, but never had the chance to.

fushiguro toji

confident hands of a dangerous man. you can never recall the feeling of the skin, because of how rarely he touches you. hands closing before his face on autopilot, because of how severely he was beaten in his own household. calloused fingers, clecnhing fists out of sudden bursts of anger. grip firm, it's impossible to get out. careful playing with dangling toys above small bed, laugher of a child filling the room. sound of cracking bones and the smell of blood everywhere. hands of a man who once knew love, but it was so long ago, the feeling long forgotten.

ryomen sukuna

hands covered in blood, brutal hands of a violent, non-human creature. they hold no love, no joy, not anything. touch not warm, but insted hot, painful. skillful hands, which know how to turn anything into a weapon by the touch. a big talent for craftmanship. short but strong squeeze on your shoulder, commanding you to continue the battle. big cruel hands holding a small ancient poetry book with so much care and respect. so many scars, yet only so much still do hurt. hands of a man who knew no love and therefore chose to love no one but himself.

itadori yuji

warm hands, strong hold. always dry and rough, to the point they bleed sometimes. he blushes when you put bandages on them. clean short nails. playing basketball with ease. olive-toned veins, warm toned skin, smells like something sweet and almost sunny. clenching fists when he's angry. hands oh so tender when they hold something or someone dear to him. palms kindly cupping your cheeks when he says you with a smile that everything will be okay. hold so strong, he's able to catch you, no matter how fast you fall. hands of a friend who does not love himself enough, but instead loves you more than you deserve.

fushiguro megumi

long slim fingers, gentle touches. always so cautious, as if he's not allowed to touch anything or anyone. detailed handwork with magic sealing, so precise and smooth. putting a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips cold, but soft. strong yet careful hold on your shoulder, comforting touches to soothe you and bring you some relief. hands that every dog and any other animal loves, because of how gentle and caring they are. hands of someone who was loved, despite everything that happened to him, and who wants to give that love back.

yuta okkotsu

cold cold cold hands of a man with a dead soul behind his back. boney and slim, they look fragile and weak, and you could not be more wrong. pale skin, borderline bluish, lots of bruises. hands more of a musician, not a swordsman. hold so strong, it almost scares you, and he didn't even try. sweet tight hugs, feeling safe with every muscle and bone. fears of his own strength, the hold of a man who earns for love and fears to break it with his own hands.

[etz-ashashiyot]

You know how sometimes arguing a point is losing?

Like if you engage the argument at all you are inherently putting up for debate things that should never be up for debate and the argument itself is degrading?

You see this with interpersonal gaslighting:

A gaslighter doesn’t simply need to be right. They also need for you to believe that they are right. In stage one, you know that they’re being ridiculous, but you argue anyways. You argue for hours, without resolution. You argue over things that shouldn’t be up for debate  – your feelings, your opinions, your experience of the world. You argue because you need to be right, you need to be understood, or you need to get their approval. In stage one, you still believe yourself, but you also unwittingly put that belief up for debate. In stage two, you consider your gaslighter’s point of view first and try desperately to get them to see your point of view as well. You continue to engage because you’re afraid of what their perspective of you says about you. Winning the argument now has one objective :  proving that you’re still good, kind, and worthwhile. In stage three, when you’re hurt, you first ask, “What’s wrong with me?” You consider their point of view as normal. You start to lose your ability to make your own judgements. You become consumed with understanding them and seeing their perspective. You live with and obsess over every criticism, trying to solve it.

[Source]

But you also see this on a broader societal level, with people asking unfathomably awful questions about minority groups, such as:

[Source]

It should go without saying, but no group of people should be forced to explain that yes, they really are real people, dickheads. The question doesn't deserve an answer; it deserves at best a disgusted eyeroll + "Are you a Nazi?" and at worst a punch to the face.

There is also the related phenomenon of the "when did you stop beating your wife?" type questions. The question is framed as a yes or no question, but the real answer for the innocent is: "I've never beaten my wife and never would." But even that answer still dignifies the question with a real response and puts the idea in the mind of the listener that hey maybe that's a real possibility and this guy is lying because of course he wouldn't just admit that. Now I don't know what to believe, but I'm skeptical.

Even if he answers, doubt has been cast on his character and many people (maybe even most people) neither have the attention span to listen to his full counter argument and supporting evidence nor are invested enough in strangers' lives to take the time to dig for facts on their own. Critically, it comes from a good impulse that shouldn't be repressed or taken too far in the opposite direction; namely, that we want to believe survivors and make it socially acceptable to speak out about abuse.

This leaves us with the uncomfortable reality that balancing believing survivors and whistle-blowers against not automatically believing allegations that very well may be false and/or in bad faith is a very tricky balancing act indeed. Because of this, people tend to struggle with taking survivors seriously and with presuming innocence until guilt has actually been proven, both. And as for the latter, this is at least partially due to the same psychological factors underlying the Don't Think of an Elephant problem.

Why am I discussing this?

See the thing is that these types of discourse have all been used, heavily, against the Jewish community, especially since Oct 7th, but really going back hundreds of years.

If you want to be our ally, you need to be on guard for how people use this rhetoric to accuse Jews of absolutely batshit cookoo bananas allegations (like being lizard people or having horns, or secretly running the world, or killing Christian babies to use their blood in our matzah, etc. etc.) and get away with it. Now obviously if so many people weren't already racist towards Jews as a people and had a vested interest in maintaining their supercessionist cultural worldview from Christianity and Islam, it would be a lot harder for this to work. Alas, the past 2000 years has created a bit of a snowballing effect.

This culminates in the effect described so well by Sartre:

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.

— Jean-Paul Sartre

Right now, Jews are facing extreme levels of these types of rhetorical abuse, and are receiving very little help in the way of pushback.

We have to stop trying to explain ourselves and start just naming these tactics instead.

[xueyidweams]

rambling again (gn reader, nsfw under the cut)

at the start of your relationship with him, sex was kind of… one sided? he made sure you were satisfied, let you do whatever you want even though you could see discomfort behind his eyes (when you could catch it you obviously did not go through with whatever u were about to). it felt.. weird. he was good, he’s really good at sex its just, it doesn’t look like he’s really, actually enjoying it for himself as well as you.

you decide to talk about it while you guys are sprawling on the bed in the morning, his usual silk pyjamas hugging the right places and his shawl makes him look like a cozy cat. seeing him this relaxed bubbled up the questions in your mind you have been meaning to ask but he’d been too busy. so you decide it is time, now.

“Hey, love. i hope this doesnt come across wrong but… do you really feel good when we have sex? or do you feel like its something you have to perform to keep me satisfied?”

and Aeons, you saw him freeze. he looked at you as he laughed in his usual demeanor and yet there was a tinge of awkwardness, you’re his lover of course you can tell. “What… made you say that?” you shook your head and reassured him that it wasnt his ‘performance’ in bed that was bad in an attempt to ease him into the topic. you simply wanted him to enjoy himself too, let you be the one giving for once. for him to sit back, relax and enjoy.

he sighs wistfully and his eyes look spaced out and yet he’s talking to you, “it’s not that i.. don’t enjoy it, i love embracing you in every way its just…” he looks into your eyes as his fingers go to his nails and scratch a bit, “im not used to.. feeling a lot of pleasure out of it, i guess.” he sees your brows crease in concern and he shakes his head, don’t look at him like that don’t look at him like you care about this more than he thinks you do don’t do that— “no, no, don’t be concerned. i’m fine, i really am.”

you get closer as you hold the hand that was on his neck, bringing it to your face. “then let me be the one to give tonight, i want you to just lay there and enjoy it, please? or right now! if you feel like it, of course.” his heart sinks and flutters off of his chest at the same time, he did want it— but that doesn’t mean he deserves it.

he looks into your eager eyes, you’re looking at him like a puppy that wants a treat. its cute, you’re always like this. like a dog that doesn’t care how many times it gets kicked or beaten, it’ll still choose kindness, it will still choose to love, it will not snarl its teeth, it will lick the hand that hurt it, you’re loyal and loving—sometimes to a fault and yet he cant help himself.. how can he say no to you when he can practically see your tail swaying back and forth?

“Okay. whatever you want, love.” You smile and he swears it melts off every worry he has, yeah. yeah maybe this was okay.

he groans as you have his dick so deep he can feel his tip hitting the back of your throat. it makes him twitch and whine, your fingers are holding his thighs apart, gently as if to say ‘you can make me stop at any time.’ right now though, he feels those vile thoughts in his head subside as your hands stroke his skin, your mouth and tongue working desperately for him.. you’re working for him.

his hand slowly grabs your hair and tugs, and the choked whine you let out with the added stimuli of your teeth grazing him just a bit makes him cum down your throat, whimpering your name when you don’t let go of his dick, making him pump his entire load down your throat and fuck it makes him throb.

you let go of his dick with a pop, licking your lips and smiling at him and fuck you look like such a dumb dog, he wants to eat you so violently it makes his dick stiffen again. so embarrassing, he’s acting like a virgin and he feels like it. the way you look up at him as your fingers curl around the base of his dick and your tongue goes lower, poking into his hole. he nods and whimpers a ‘yes’ as you get to work. your fingers jerking him off as your tongue that’s stained with his filth is practically fucking his hole.

he whines your name so loud, he didn’t know he could make his voice go that high. he looks down at you and the power he feels is indescribable, you look so desperate and for what? his cum? that’s so pathetic, right? and yet he feels himself tighten, the knot in his stomach getting tighter and tighter in an embarrassingly fast pace as he feels you hooking your arms under his knees and bend his legs so that you can eat him out better. he has to bite his own finger to keep himself from whining like that again.

it’s pathetic, it’s desperate, it feels so good, you feel so good, you feel so warm, you feel so safe, he feels like he shouldn’t be the one receiving all of this but you decide that he does deserve it. and he’s never one to turn down his lovers’ requests.

[c-is-for-circinate]

It feels like there's this narrative that fandom keeps wanting to explore, with Steve Harrington, about this very specific type of martyrdom where self-sacrifice is an expression of a lack of self-worth. And, like, yes, write the narrative that's meaningful to you, and yes ok Steve does admittedly get beaten up a lot, but -- legitimately I do not think this narrative is actually Steve's story.

Like, without gendering things too much, there is something in the Steve fanon that I keep seeing that's so reflective of the specific kind of sacrifice and societal pressures exerted on girls, specifically -- this story of 'you make yourself worthy and worthwhile by carving pieces out of yourself', of believing that you must always give and never receive to justify the space you take up in the world. Yes, boys can experience this same pressure (and obviously trans and nb people of all genders run into it as well! sometimes a lot!), but especially in the mid-1980s cultural context where Stranger Things takes place, it's just...really not likely to be a dominant narrative for Steve to be operating under? It doesn't even really match the Steve we see on screen -- who is happy to make sacrifices for the sake of others, yeah, when needed, but who's not particularly kind or giving unless somebody asks first.

And Steve does get hurt a lot on other people's behalf! And this is a problem! It's just a completely different problem than the one fandom keeps writing.

Steve, and I'm going to say this forever, is a story about toxic masculinity, which the show may or may not even know it's writing. The archetypes influencing Steve's character as it shows up on the screen (and the stories and messages that Steve would actually be surrounded by in his actual life) are not deconstructions of suffering heroes who never should have had to fight in the first place and were destroyed by it. That's the Buffy the Vampire Slayer story. Steve's not Buffy. Steve's cultural context is Indiana Jones.

Steve is The Guy! And part of being The Guy is that you're expected to take the hits -- not because Steve is less important than the women-and-children he's supposed to protect, but because, the story says, he will get less hurt. Why should Steve get in between Billy and Lucas? Because Steve is an eighteen-year-old athlete and Lucas is in middle school, and of the two of them, Steve actually stands a chance. (And yes, Steve got badly hurt there, and Max had to save him -- but if Lucas, if Max had taken that beating they would not have been running through those tunnels later.) Was somebody else better-qualified to dive down to the uncertain bottom of a cold lake in the middle of the night? Steve doesn't list his credentials there as a way of justifying some ideal of martyrdom; he is literally the most likely person on the boat not to drown.

And make no mistake: when Steve's pulled into the Upside-Down, he survives the bats long enough for backup to get there. Realistic or not, he's apparently tough enough that he's physically capable of hiking barefoot through hell without much slowing down. Steve is the tank for the same reason as any tank: because he literally has been shown to have the most hit points in the group. You cannot honestly engage with Steve in this context without dealing with the fact that he's right.

AND THIS IS A PROBLEM! This is still a problem! But it's not the same problem that fandom seems to expect. It's not an expression of caretaking or the need for self-sacrifice; it's not an issue with Steve valuing himself less. It's an issue of toxic masculinity so ingrained that Steve doesn't even recognize he's suffering from it, because one of the tenets of toxic masculinity is that Big Strong Guys don't suffer. It's just a concussion, it's fine, he'll walk it off. It's not that Steve thinks he deserves to get hurt, or even that he's less deserving of safety than the others. It's that absolutely nothing in his cultural context allows him to admit that he can be hurt in a significant way.

There's still so much tension that can be gotten out of this situation, I swear. There's so much that can be explored in writing! Hell, the show itself is deconstructing some of this trope, believe it or not, by giving us a Steve who absolutely can take all the hits thrown his direction but still doesn't know what the fuck he's doing with his life. It turns out that doing his job as The Guy is only mildly helpful in horror movie situations (mostly by buying time for smarter, squishier people to do the damage from behind him), and somewhere a little worse than useless in everyday life.

But Steve does not go out of his way to self-sacrifice, he really doesn't. He just does his job. He's The Guy. Of course he's not going to let a kid or a girl or some scared skinny nerd who just learned about monsters yesterday take the hits. Of course Steve's got this.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

The sins of our fathers

Warning ⚠️; Mention of child abuse, alcohol

Pairing; Billy/Male Reader (with an accent xD)

Summary; You were supposed to study with Billy for an upcoming test. You didn't expect finding the bully half-naked under the rain trying to stay warm.

PS; sorry for not posting in a while, I’m working on like 5 stories 😂

~~~~~~~~

Everyone knew what a problem magnet Billy Hargrove was. Violent, racist and always up for a beer, he wasn't the kind of person you kept around you. Yet, you couldn't help but notice chilling similarities between the two of you. Only a fool wouldn't see them.

The little flinch each time a door was slammed, the tension in Billy’s shoulder when something would pass close to his face during sport or how quick he was at ducking and protecting his face during a fight. Yes. Someone was abusing Billy Hargrove just like your father did.

The realization had been like a slap on your face. Painful and stunning. You couldn't see the bully the same way anymore, knowing he acted like that just to protect himself and gain some control over his own life. You still couldn't stand his actions, but you also couldn't just turn your back on him. No one deserved to go through what you did alone and unlike Billy, you were free from your father.

He wasn't.

So little by little you got closer to him. Like with a wounded animal, you won his trust with food and drinks. Contrary to your beliefs, Billy wasn't stupid and quickly caught on to what you were doing. Yet he said nothing when he saw you shirtless, showing the gifts your father had given you.

At first, things were awkward between you. No matter the similarities you were also drastically different. Billy was like a loud pomeranian while you were a discrete black cat. Yet, your friendship only grew and you found yourself spending a lot of time with Billy. Many evenings and nights that you shared in the car, at your place or even at some parties that Billy would force you to attend.

Then you became his safe place.

Each time something would happen with his father he would either call or come to you. Shaking, silent and sometimes bloody. You always kept a first-aid kit full and a big bottle of brandy for those cases. Each time you would see Billy’s beaten body you would have to fight the urge to give Billy’s father the same treatment you gave your own.

And slowly, you began to fall for Billy Hargrove. Never before did you question your sexuality until then. Your eyes had always been on the girls, but now your attention was only on Billy just like you could feel his eyes on you. You noticed how he barely went out with girls and women anymore and instead stayed around you more. His favourite, and yours, excuse was to study while drinking. It both allowed you to spend some time together and also kept Billy away from his father.

That night was supposed to be one of them, but oh Lord were you up for a terrible surprise.

The rain battered your car as you drove, lights barely illuminating a few feet in front of you. Outside you could hear the cold autumn wind howling angrily as brown leaves danced around. Somewhere in the distance, the thunder rolled, letting you know that the storm was getting closer.

You stared at the road, squinting your eyes as you tried to stay focused. If a cat or dog jumped in front of your car it would end badly for it. Thankfully you arrived at Billy’s house without hitting any animal or person. You frowned seeing the absence of any light, which was unusual. Normally Billy’s stepmother would be in the kitchen preparing the food, Neil’s would be in the living room watching TV and yet…

Stopping the car you stepped outside after lightning a cigarette. You had to cover it so the rain didn't extinguish it. You hurried toward the porch before frozing on place had you spotted something moving.

Pressed against the door, only in his underwear, Billy was shivering and shaking. He was soaked to the bones and even in the dark you could tell his skin and lips were changing colour. How long had he been outside?

- “Billy? What the…” Your cigarette fell from your mouth as you all but jumped on your friend.

Taking out your jacket, you wrapped it around Billy’s shoulder. You cursed as Billy pushed you away, hitting your jaw as he whimpered in fear.

- “Oi! Billy, it's me. Its me, ya safe mate. Ya father is such a cunt, I bet he’s the one who threw you out, right?” You sighed, watching Billy calm down and lean in your embrace as you helped him up. “Aye, c’mere. The car is hot and dried. Should have a blankie or something in the back for ya.”

It had never crossed your mind that Neil could take things this far and put Billy in so much danger. Under your hands, you could feel Billy’s cold shivering skin and hear his little sobs. He was clearly fighting the urge to cry, which broke your heart even more.

You helped Billy to the car and quickly got in, turning the engine on before raising the heat to the max. Your eyes lingered on Billy, taking in his state. Under the car’s light, you could see the bruises turning almost black all over his ribs and thighs. Billy’s lips were split and his nose was still slightly bleeding. Seeing that, you tried to push Billy to lean down, but your friend flinched and jerked away, his shoulder hitting the car’s window with a loud thud.

- “Oi! Easy dickhead, ya nose is pissing red you idiot. Lean down before you choke on your own blood. Forget about the car, a bit of red ain't going to make me mad.” You said, hand gentle on Billy’s shoulder.

You could feel how tense he was, but he did listen to you. After he leaned down, still a shaking mess. You turned to search the back seat for the blanket you kept there. You found it under an empty box of beer and grabbed it. You slowly wrapped it around Billy, keeping your friend in a tight embrace and resting your chin on his back.

- “It's okay Billy, ya can cry your heart out. I get it. Been there, done that and I ain't gonna think less of ya for it.”

And it doesn't take more for Billy to just break down. You feel him shake as ugly sobs leave his lips and he sinks his fingers into your arm. You can feel his nails digging in your flesh knowing it will leave some pretty nasty marks, yet you don't care. You just hold Billy tighter against you, nose buried in his soaked hair. There is nothing more to say, nothing more to do but wait.

You can't stop thinking about Neil Hargrove, about how you hate and despise the man. This time the fucker took it too damn far. If you hadn't come Billy might have passed due to exposure. God! He could still get sicker than a rabid dog. No. Neil Hargrove had crossed the line and you couldn't let him continue because next time he might just kill your friend.

You closed your eyes as you felt Billy press himself against you, sinking your warmth and comfort. You gently stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head, showing him the care he deserved. Letting Billy know he was loved, and wanted by at least one person and that you weren't going to just leave him there. After what seems like an eternity, Billy slowly calms down, yet you don't dare to let go until he does. You grimaced as you felt his nails unstuck from your arms, the feeling a bit weird. You gave Billy a few tissues and as he wipe his face to face just wrap the blanket tighter around him.

- “Sorry. It's my fault, I deserve…” Billy tried to say, but you stopped him, your hand gently grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you.

- “No. Fucking not your fault, Billy. Whatever ya did, ya didn't deserve any of this. Fuck your father, fuck that bitch of his for letting him do all this.” You said, curses rolling on your tongue more than ever as you gesture, showing the bruises. “Swear I’m about to fuck him up good like I did my old man. Could bury him in the same hole too, trash should stay together after all.”

You heard Billy snort and you pressed your forehead together. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply as you tried to calm your own anger. Yeah, you really were serious about killing Neil Hargrove. No one would miss him but his wife. Fuck! Maybe the police wouldn't even be looking for him, who knew?

- “Please, I wanna leave. Take me the fuck away from here.”

Billy’s voice snapped you back to reality and as you opened your eyes, you saw the tears silently rolling down his cheek. Billy’s blue eyes were puffy and red but also filled with fear and so much despair. You nodded, moving away from him.

The drive back to your place was quiet except for the radio. You didn't even turn off the light, knowing it would help Billy to feel safer, almost like a child. For all the drive, Billy sat in a ball pressed against the door and fully wrapped in the blanket with only his hair and eyes coming out. He looked like a kid scared of the storm.

Thankfully your mother wasn't there for the night and you took Billy in. Since he was coming around so much you had a few of his clothes on hand and, after drying him, you helped Billy put them on before letting him rest with you in bed.

It took half a bottle of whiskey for him to stop shaking in your arms and by then you were both a bit tipsy. Billy was nuzzled against you, head under your chin as you had wrapped your arms around him. The covers were keeping you both warm, warming Billy up, but his skin still felt cold to the touch. You heard him mumbling something and rested your chin on his head.

- “Hush, I ain't letting ya back there. Fuck it, I think I'm gonna send him rest with my dad. Cunt can eat the flowers by the roots.” You said, closing your eyes as you felt Billy move to take a new gulp of whiskey. “That or I could tie the fucker to his car and send him flying down a cliff.”

- “You would really kill him?” Billy asked, resting the bottle on your chest as he sat and looked down on you, his blue eyes still puffy.

- “Ya. In a heartbeat. Fucker went too far, what if next time he fuck ya too bad and you die? I ain't letting him, ain't give him a chance. Ya going to stay with me and I won't let him touch ya ever again.”

For what felt like hours Billy just stared at you, judging if you were telling the truth or not. You never lied to him before and the alcohol always made you spill everything that you had on your mind and heart. His eyes were filled with so many emotions, that you could pinpoint every single one of them; surprise, sadness, doubt and then acceptance. You both knew you were serious and this went too far. You took the bottle and put it on your night table before Billy laid back down in your arms. You said nothing and just held him.

In the morning you will make a better plan and wait for the right time. Before the first snow, you would make sure that Billy was free from his own father. It would take time, but you knew that Billy would heal, you would make sure of it. But for now, you smiled as he felt Billy’s body relax before you heard his soft snores letting you know he had fallen asleep.

[cringefailvox]

Sometimes it makes me so sad nobody went looking for Alastor after the battle. Sure, maybe they knew he was still alive from Husk, and that he likes his privacy , but your hotelier goes MIA after fighting an angel only the devil from the Bible can beat? And you don’t follow up on that?

“So long as I have all of you with me!” 🎶 she sings, notably NOT having everyone with her.

I really hope they bring this up in season 2. Does it get to Alastor that he is not considered part of the group? That nobody was thinking of him after all he did to get the hotel started?

Can Vox use this point to discredit the Hotel? “ The Hazbin Hotel, where everyone is welcome and everyone deserves a shot at redemption! Unless, of course, we deem you too far gone, in which case, you can go f*** yourself while we eat pancakes” ( side by side videos of Al beaten up and the crew recovering with Lucifer’s promised pancakes)

i ALSO think about this all the time. on a practical level it makes sense that we'd have to trim the finale down to something manageable, and really all they had time for at the very end was a resounding musical finish, which necessarily glosses over some loose ends like this, BUT. on a personal level i would've killed to see whether the hotel actually thought alastor was dead or not. because as soon as adam joins the fight, charlie says "alastor was supposed to handle him! oh, no, he must be—" MUST BE WHAT??? and then we simply never mention him again. they're all clearly delighted to see him (except lucifer and husk, of course) when he comes back, which makes me think they at least knew he was alive, but might be unaware he was seriously injured—it seems possible that they wouldn't really consider alastor could be genuinely harmed, after all the time he's spent building himself up as the terrifying guardian of the hotel that can't be fazed by anything. think blitzo's "he can get hurt?" moment in western energy: the radio demon can't be dead. he can't be hurt. he's alastor.

now, would alastor himself be bothered that they didn't look for him? one hundred percent. perhaps he tells himself good riddance, he didn't want to form genuine bonds with these people anyway, friendship makes you vulnerable, friendship invites intrusions on your life and privacy that you never asked for, etc. but the night before the battle he basically confessed to niffty that he's grown accustomed to the hotel gang and enjoys being around them. he's not antisocial, he's just maladjusted and values his independence, and it visibly stings when he learns that not a single overlord cares to investigate his disappearance at the meeting in ep 3. whether or not he would have told the truth or welcomed any line of questioning is irrelevant. it's the principle of the thing—he wants people to be curious about him, he likes to cultivate a mystery, he wants to be chased. and then... no one does.

so ohhh yes i think it gets under his skin, and he absolutely resents that it does. i'd also love for this to get brought up in s2, i think it could make for a scene where charlie pulls him aside, thanks him for helping them during the battle, and that they were worried about him in the aftermath, because i'd LOVE to see alastor 1) immediately brush this off and redirect her energy somewhere else, and 2) have a Moment of conflicted emotion about how that open statement of affection makes him feel before visibly crushing it to dust. repressed king

i'm very intrigued by the vox thing too. that'd be such an interesting tack for him to take, to discredit the hotel by trying to form a wedge between alastor and the hotel through a kind of warped sympathy. like "i'm not a fan of the guy either, but yeesh! sure does paint a picture, doesn't it?" which alastor would fucking hate, but can he really bring himself to disagree? SO delicious.

[cherryblossombankai]

Summary: Years after the final battle, a retired Endeavor moves out of the city. You are working as his new housekeeper, and you begin teasing feelings from him that he didn't expect. Word Count: 5,025 Warnings: lots of talk about feelings, enji and rei talk about the past, all around there's some mention of past abuse and such, enji has a prosthetic arm, unprotected sex, smut with feelings (lots and lots of feelings), fem!reader, she/her pronouns for the reader, age gap relationship (reader is implied to be the same age as Fuyumi) Tag Lists: @pixelcafe-network, @actuallysaiyan, @helloiamadrawer, @satorustar, @sweet-chocolate-sweet, @hinomasumi, @renjis-wife

The dream had never changed. Deep down Enji knew his family would never truly be happy with his presence. He had tried to shake off that feeling for Fuyumi’s sake at least. Of all in the Todoroki family, she was the only one who seemed at peace with fate forcing them all together again. All she’d ever wanted was a happy family, but this was not a happy family. It never was, and it never would be. 

When Rei asked for a divorce, Enji didn’t fight her on it. He’d been living alone in the old house with the ghosts of the past for the better part of two years anyway, and she deserved a chance to be with someone good. Someone who would see her gentle strength for what it is, and savor her. The last time she’d come by to make sure he had food, he’d finally gotten up the nerve to put a stop to that as well. 

“Do you come here because you want to or because you feel you must?” he asked her, his voice gentle despite the raspiness it had acquired. Gentleness, something he never imagined himself practicing. 

“Somewhere in between, I suppose,” her voice was unsteady. 

“I don’t want you to tie yourself to me any more than you want to. I have more than enough money to hire help,” he sits back against his chair and stretches out his legs. They’re still sore and stiff, but he can stand on his own again, but he still uses a cane sometimes. “You should be using this time to do things you want to do. You shouldn’t worry about me.” 

Rei sits down beside him. “A man asked me out,” she confessed with a flush on her cheeks. “I suppose it’s difficult to imagine not being married anymore. I know the divorce was my idea but—”

He doesn’t have to hear the rest to know where she’s going with this. She’s worried if it was the right choice. Despite everything she’s worried about if he will be okay when she moves on. More than anything, she’s worried about stepping forward with a new relationship.

“Is he good to you?” Enji asks. 

“Y-yes, he’s very nice. We met at the library.” 

“That’s good. Do the kids know?” 

“No, I wanted to make sure you were truly okay with this before things progressed.” 

“Rei, all I want is for you to be happy.” 

“I am happy,” she admits sheepishly. 

She feels guilty to an extent. Guilt is an emotion Rei has never quite been able to get over but she has slowly learned not to misplace it anymore. So much of what went wrong was out of her hands, or she’d done her best but living with Enji was certainly living with an unstoppable force. There had been a brief moment in time when it felt like they were at peace, but it hadn’t lasted long. It almost feels like she just imagined things were better than they were. But she remembered the flush on her cheeks the first time he kissed her deeply and held his face in her hands so delicately. She remembers how he fumbled with the clasps on her lingerie on their wedding night then apologized when she winced the first time they were together. 

It seemed like almost overnight the gentle cradling of his hands turned into harsh slaps. The gaze that seemed concerned about hurting her when they were intimate became fierce with determination and rage. It had all fallen apart so quickly, and there was no way to pull it back together. It had taken him quite literally being beaten within an inch of his life for him to see the error of his ways. Still, they’d all paid the price. 

“You should find some way to be happy too,” Rei breaks the silence. “I know you think you deserve to be alone forever atoning, and maybe you do, but everyone who loves you wants to see you happy.” 

Enji furrows his brow, “No, I don’t deserve—” 

“Being miserable for the rest of your life won’t change the past,” she sighs softly. “And over the last few years, we’ve all seen the change in you. Even Natsuo asks about you sometimes.” 

“I have been thinking about leaving the city,” he admits quietly. “This house is much too big for me, and I just…I want quiet.” 

“I think that sounds nice,” she smiles softly. 

“I found a little place,” he fumbles through his pockets for his cell phone. “Well, Keigo —Hawks— found it for me,” he explains as he pulls up the house listing. 

 Rei takes the phone from him and looks it over. The house is a small two-bedroom in a tiny town known for its therapeutic hot springs, which are conveniently within walking distance of the house. She can see why Keigo would consider it for Enji.

“It looks nice,” she says as she flips through the photos. “Enough room for you and…Someone special.” 

Enji snorts softly, “Ah yes because everyone is on the market for a broken-down hero.” 

“Why not? You’re still handsome,” Rei giggles. “You could meet someone.” 

“I’ll consider it.” 

The weeks pass slowly. With Keigo’s help, Enji closes on the house. Over dinner he’d announced to Shoto and Fuyumi he was moving out of the city. He had texted Natsuo as well to let him know, but he didn’t expect an answer. He just didn’t want Natsuo to feel neglected anymore. He wants Natsuo to know that he’s always on Enji’s mind just like the rest of the children. He’d gone to the hospital to visit Touya as well and tell him the news, and also assure him he’d still be coming to visit him. Touya, who made a miraculous recovery due to some uncovered research from Garaki’s lab, had taken the news worse than Shoto or Fuyumi had. 

“You’re running from me?” Touya had croaked, his voice just starting to recover. 

“No, nothing like that Touya.” Enji’s cane taps across the floor as he comes closer to the glass looking into Touya’s chamber. 

It seemed like yesterday Touya was locked in a tank, but now he’s able to have a proper bed. His skin is growing back slowly due to the regeneration cells used in his treatment. The doctors said within a couple of years he’d be healed, albeit with some scarring.

Enji places his hand on the glass, “Perhaps when you’re ready, you could come live with me.” 

“You’d want that?” Touya looks up at him, tears brimming in his blue eyes. 

“I’d love that,” Enji smiles softly. 

Touya comes to the glass and places his hand over Enji’s. “Save a room for me, yeah?” 

“Always.” 

With all of that settled, the day came for him to move. He was a little nervous. Keigo and Shoto, to his surprise, came to help him move. Fuyumi did as well, but she spent a lot more time worrying about him being far away. No matter how many times he reminds her that he’s only a short train ride away, close enough for him to come to the city every day if he wants, she still worries about him being lonely. 

“I know how you are,” she says as she follows the guys outside as they load the moving van. “You’re liable to just lock yourself in the house and not talk to anyone for days.” 

“Well, don’t worry too much about that. I hired a housekeeper,” Keigo speaks up. 

“You did what?” Enji frowns. 

“Yeah, she’s a real nice girl.” 

“Oh! That sounds nice,” Fuyumi grins. She and Keigo share knowing looks that Enji picks up on, but decides not to say more. The last thing he wants to do is encourage this behavior. 

Once the moving van is packed up, Shoto and Fuyumi offer to drive it to the new house. Enji rides in the car with his driver. 

You’re already at the house, using the key Keigo had given you to let yourself in. He had told you that you would be working for Endeavor when you were hired. Many of the housekeepers he’d interviewed walked out the moment he revealed the identity of the client, but you had remained level-headed. 

“He is still trying to atone for his mistakes,” Keigo had told you. 

“He helped save the world,” you smile kindly. Keigo was pleased you remembered that. “I suppose the least I can do is keep the house clean and mind my own business.” 

He’d hired you on the spot, and now you find yourself getting the house ready for him to move. Keigo had even sent you some money to go buy some basics for the house. You may or may not have taken some liberties. You were putting together a bouquet on the porch when the moving van pulls up and is followed soon after by the car. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter under your breath. You hadn’t expected him to be here today. You stand up quickly with the flowers in your hand. 

You see Shoto and Fuyumi first, they hop out of the moving van. You wave to them, noticing how Shoto seems a little shy when he waves back. Fuyumi smiles softly and walks up to introduce herself. 

“I’m the housekeeper,” you explain after introducing yourself. 

“It’s nice to meet you! It’s good to know someone will be around to help him and stuff,” Fuyumi sighs happily. 

For some reason, her attitude has you expecting a feeble old man to emerge from the black car. Instead, the man who emerges is instantly recognizable as a former number-one hero. He’s tall and still broad as though he works to keep in shape despite his forced retirement. The only hint of his injuries is his cane and the few scars he has on his face. 

“Hello, Todoroki-san!” you smile softly as you come down the steps to introduce yourself to him. He greets you with a kind smile before looking at the flowers clutched to your chest. 

“Are those for me?” he asks uncertainly. 

“Oh! Uhm…Yes!” you lie and hold out the unfinished bouquet. 

He chuckles softly as he takes the flowers and blushes. He’s never been gifted flowers before. It makes his heart flutter in a way he didn’t expect. “Thank you.” 

“I hope you don’t mind, I’ve been cleaning inside to get everything ready for you. Takami-san gave me some money to buy some things for the house.” 

“I see,” Enji sighs softly. Of course, Keigo would make sure you take on the role of a lady of the house. He feels embarrassed at the idea of Keigo putting in so much effort just to hook him up with someone. 

“I bought a few groceries, and of course, some cleaning supplies and Takami-san said you didn’t have much for decor so—” 

When Enji opens the door to his new house, it almost looks as though you’ve moved in. It’s what Keigo had told you to do, start some decorating to make it feel like a home. Enji notices the pretty rugs and floral tapestries you have on the walls. He looks down at you, raising his eyebrow. 

“I can take it down if you don’t like it,” you blush. 

“It looks nice!” Fuyumi says as she walks in behind the two of you. 

“Heh, it’s pretty,” Shoto smirks and playfully nudges his dad. 

“It’s fine,” Enji groans before taking the box Shoto is carrying from him. 

“Would any of you like some tea?” you offer, hoping to break the ice. You feel a little silly now; already being here when he arrived, having decorating…It didn’t matter if Keigo encouraged you to do it, you feel foolish. 

“Tea would be nice,” Fuyumi says as she follows you in the kitchen. Shoto goes out to get more of the boxes out of the moving van. 

“Todoroki-san, would you like some too?” you ask. You can’t help blushing when you realize he’s putting your flowers in some water. 

“That’d be nice, thank you,” he responds. 

While you’re making the tea in the kitchen, he sets the flower vase on the kitchen table. Then he and Fuyumi go to look around the house. He notices right away how much effort you’ve already put into it. Everything is spotless and there’s a few touches here and there that show you’ve tried to make it more comfortable. 

“She seems nice,” Fuyumi comments to him as they step onto the back porch to look around at the garden. 

“She does,” Enji agrees nonchalantly. 

“Very pretty,” she adds. 

“Oh, want her number?” Enji offers, wholeheartedly sincere in his words. Ever since Fuyumi came out to him, he’s been doing his best to be as supportive as possible. 

“Not exactly what I was thinking,” Fuyumi giggles. She looks in through the door to make sure you’re not close by. “I was thinking you should ask her out.” 

“You have to be kidding me! She’s the same age as my children!” 

“So? If she likes you and stuff,” Fuyumi giggles. 

“Absolutely not!” he insists.

“Sorry, sorry,” Fuyumi giggles. She leans against the door frame as Enji looks at the potted plants you placed out. “It’s a good thing she decorated. You wouldn’t have thought to do it.” 

“She could’ve waited until I asked,” he grumbles under his breath. 

“Well, your feathered friend is pretty persuasive,” Fuyumi reminds him. 

Within a few hours, it’s only the two of you in the house. You’re busy unpacking boxes when he sees everyone off. His body is a little achy, as it always is after a full day of activity. He wishes he still had his youth some days, but then again he’s grateful for the clarity he’s found in his age. 

“You should rest,” he says softly as he walks into the living room where you’re fussing with the curtains. You’re not quite tall enough to get the rod on the hook. With ease, he reaches over you and fastens the hook. You smile up at him before straightening the curtains. 

“I should at least make your bed before I leave,” you insist. 

“No, really, that’s not necessary.” 

You giggle as you look up at him, “Sure it is! Where will you sleep if I don’t?”

“I’m capable of making my own bed,” Enji blushes and steps away.  

“Yeah, but I get paid to make your bed,” you argue playfully. 

He rolls his eyes at you, “Fine, fine. But then I want you to go home and I don’t want you coming in too early.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t overwork myself,” you brush past him and make your way to the bedroom. 

He follows you, although he’s not sure why. He leans against the door frame and watches you dig the sheets out of the box Fuyumi had helpfully labeled ‘linens’ and begin making the bed. The thought suddenly crept up on him that you might be the first woman to be in his room in years. He turns away quickly and walks away. 

You notice him stomping off, but of course you don’t know why. You hum softly as you make the bed then throw the pillows on it. 

“Todoroki-san, should I make you something to eat before I leave?” you ask as you breeze into the kitchen where he’d been taking solace from what your presence was starting to do to him. 

“N-no,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Call me Enji! You don’t have to use honorifics.” 

“Oh,” you blush deeply. You’d spent all day wondering if you should’ve called him Endeavor-sama or Todoroki-san and now suddenly he’s permitting you to call him by first name. Yet he won’t turn to look at you and he seems so damn eager to get out of your presence. You clear your throat and when he turns around, you’re bowing at the waist. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” 

Enji feels like he’s going to melt. He shakes his head and comes closer to you, placing one hand on your shoulder to guide you to stand straight again. 

“You haven’t,” he assures you softly. “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect…you.” 

“Oh? Did Takami-san not tell you I was going to be here?” you blush. “Did you not want a housekeeper? I’m so sorry! I must have seemed crazy all day—” 

“No! No, listen it’s fine. I’m glad you’re here to help me,” he lets out a sigh. “I just meant you’re very…Uhm…” His words fail him completely. Pretty? Yeah, sure you’re quite pretty but he can’t tell you that. Nor can he tell you that it’s been ages since he was close to a woman besides Fuyumi and Rei, one of which was his daughter and the other his now ex-wife who he never deserved to be close to in the first place. “Fuck,” he growls and turns away again. 

“How about tomorrow we can start over?” you suggest shyly. 

“Start over?” 

“Yeah,” you come closer to him and place your hand on his back. “It’ll be good.” 

“Alright, that sounds good,” he agrees. 

True to your word, the next morning you come into the house with a fresh smile. You don’t even say anything about the awkwardness from the day before. You make cheerful morning conversation, and as Enji sits at the kitchen table drinking his coffee and watching you cook, he can’t help wondering if anyone in his family was ever this content in his presence. Does he deserve this feeling now? Maybe he’s a desperate old fool, but he admires you. You’re sweet and funny, even towards him. You aren’t graceful all the time, but you are confident. Even when you mess up, you giggle through it in a way he’d never be able to imagine. 

As the days go on, he becomes even more of a fool for you. He can’t help it. 

He finds himself at the grocery store and passing the flower section, he considers buying you some. He remembers you had a bunch of daisies in the house and he realizes they must be your favorite. He picks up a bouquet of them, but then changes his mind at the register only to then change his mind right before paying. 

He comes home to the sight of you sweeping off the front porch. You were wearing a pair of corduroy overalls that hugged your curves in a way that had made him bite his lip when you first arrived this morning. He notices your bare feet. This morning your hair had been down, but now you have it pulled into a messy updo. He’s always liked long hair. Rei had grown her hair out as his insistence, but he’d been thrilled when she cut it off after their divorce. She was healing. 

“How was the grocery shopping?” you ask as he comes up the steps. 

“Good,” he grumbles and shoves the flowers at you. His cheeks are flaming red, and he doesn’t look you in the eyes. 

“For me?” you giggle. 

“Y-yeah, take them home,” he rushes past you. 

You watch him go into the house, and you smile softly to yourself before going into the kitchen behind him. He’s putting away the groceries when you find a vase to put your flowers in. 

“My roommates would probably just knock them over, so I think I’ll keep them here,” you explain as you set the flowers on the counter. 

“Roommates?” he asks. Although you’d talked a lot about yourself, you’d never mentioned roommates. You also never mentioned a boyfriend or girlfriend. 

“Oh, yeah. I had to get some roommates to help cover the bills,” you shrug. 

“Is Keigo not paying you enough?” he asks and he’s already fishing into his pocket for his checkbook. 

“He’s paying me plenty,” you insist. 

“How much do you need?” he opens the checkbook and places it on the counter. 

“Really, it’s okay!” 

“Just tell me,” he presses on. 

“Enji, stop!” you snap. His eyes come to meet yours. He can see right away that you regretted taking such a tone with him, and he has to fight down his own pride wanting to lash back out. 

“I was trying to help,” he growls softly.

“I know, but it’s fine,” you insist. “Lots of people my age have to have roommates. We’re not all heroes making bank.” 

He watches the way you force a sad smile before turning away. It had been his desire only to take care of you, but of course, he always pushes too hard and breaks the things dear to him. 

The rest of the day is quiet, and for the first time in months, you don’t stick around for dinner.

He’d been shocked the first day you called out of work. You told him you weren’t feeling well, and just needed to rest. He’d been sure to keep up with all your chores for you so that you wouldn’t be overburdened when you returned. But then you called in for a second time, then a third. 

It was almost a week before you finally showed yourself again. This time you weren’t smiley and happy like before. Your brows were furrowed as he sat down at the kitchen table in front of you. You’re staring into your coffee trying to get up the nerve to slide the envelope across the table to him. 

“What’s this?” he asks, pointing to the little cream envelope. 

“It’s…My two weeks notice.” 

“Your what?” his eyes widen and he wants to pretend he’s not hearing this. Fuck, you were the only thing that made him want to get out of bed most mornings. 

“I just think maybe I shouldn’t work for you anymore, Todoroki-san.” 

“Why?” he feels like his chest is being ripped open. “Because of the money thing? I am sorry about that! I didn’t mean to…” 

“It’s not that,” you sniffle back some tears. “It’s really not that.” 

“I see,” he looks miserable. “Is it me? Did I offend you?” 

“No! No, nothing like that.” 

His hands are shaking as he tries to find something, anything to make you stay. He doesn’t want to lose you. Just thinking that you would walk out that door today, and he would never see you again, he felt like dying. 

“Don’t go,” he pleads. His pride be damned. 

Little did Enji know, you were leaving because you’d fallen for him. It happened so suddenly that you hadn’t even realized it. Everything had just fallen into place, and every time you came to work it felt more like coming home. All of his little quiet gestures, like buying you flowers and making sure to keep your favorite tea around even though you only told him once which one you liked best, had made you feel like maybe he felt the same way. When he’d offered you a check, you’d felt like a commodity instead. It had made you wonder if he only did nice things to keep you around. But now…He’s pleading. You never thought you’d hear Endeavor plead. 

“I just think it’s for the best,” you whisper before standing up. You grab your purse to leave before you lose your nerve.

Enji rushes to his feet. The kitchen table is pushed aside as it just becomes an obstacle keeping him from you. The effort of pushing it sends a sharp pain through his back. At the same time, he takes his first quick steps towards you, he falls to his knees from the nerves in his back searing with pain. Still, his hands reach for you, grabbing at your skirt. He’s fought through worse pain than this. 

“Don’t go, please don’t go. I’ve been alone…For so fucking long,” he pleads, not caring how foolish he looks. “I know I’m a stupid man. I’ve made mistakes, and I fucked up because I couldn’t just tell you…How I feel…” 

“Enji, let me help you up,” you whimper as you try to pry his hands off your skirt. He wraps his arms around your legs instead. 

“Don’t go,” he pants softly and he nuzzles his face against your thighs. “Stay with me, just…Stay!” 

“Enji,” your hands are gentle in his hair as you lower yourself onto his lap. You kiss him softly on the cheek before hugging him tight, burying your face in his chest. “I…I love you…” 

“Oh…oh…” he wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes you against his body. His nose is in your hair, taking in your scent and his hands are kneading at your sides. “My precious girl…” he gently kisses you. The taste of your lips makes his blood run hot, and you can feel the heat rising on his skin. 

Everything else is forgotten now. He may not have told you he loves you, but every touch proves it. The way his tongue is slow and tentative against yours, his hands are gentle yet insistent as he touches you. He keeps your body pressed close to his, not wanting to part even a little from you. Even his moans, the first time you grind against him, are so incredibly desperate. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks between kisses. 

You nod eagerly and he pushes up your skirt. His thick fingers brush against the wet spot on your panties, making you moan softly for him. Months of shy smiles and lingering touches culminated into this hunger neither of you can contain any longer. 

He pushes your panties aside carefully and begins rubbing your slit carefully. His hands are a little shaky, it’s been so long since he’s done anything like this. Already his mind his in a daze.

“Is this good?” he asks. 

“Y-yes,” you pant softly and spread your legs a little wider for him. 

Every moan he manages to draw out from your body makes his cock twitch in his jeans. The outline of his cock is finished off with a thick, sticky splotch of precum on leaking through. He feels needy, feral even. Your walls are hot on his fingers, making him hunger even more to be inside of you. 

“I need you,” he growls as he pulls away from your kiss. 

He can’t be bothered to take the time to do this properly. He needs you now, and he can tell by the look in your eyes that you need him too. 

“I need you too,” you whisper. 

He pushes you against the kitchen cabinet, only making space enough between your bodies for him to open his pants and push them just past his ass. Then, he’s hovering over you once more, guiding your legs around his waist. You only get the quickest glimpse of his cock and the dark red patch of hair at the base before he’s pinning you against the cabinet and pushing into you carefully. Your arms wrap around his waist and your hands rest on his ass. 

“F-fuck,” you whine as his girth stretches you past anything you’ve felt before. He knows he’s big, huge even, and that’s why he’s going slow despite every instinct to slam into you. 

“You feel fucking amazing,” he groans softly. 

He clings to your body like he never wants to let you go. He works his way into your warm walls and pauses so you can both acclimate to the feeling once he’s bottomed out. 

By the time he starts his pace, he’s rutting into you like a man gone wild. His face his buried against your chest, his mouth drooling and biting at your tits through your thin shirt. He loved that you didn’t wear a bra, he had noticed it from day one but didn’t want to be a pervert. Now he’s leaving saliva stains right on your shirt from biting at your nipples. 

“You’re fucking perfect, so perfect,” he pants as he fucks you. “Love you, love you, love you…” he emphasizes every declaration of love with a deep thrust. 

You can’t even make a coherent thought come out of your mouth. You can only moan and cry his name in blazes of ecstasy. It’s music to his ears, knowing he’s managing to bring you to this state. You don’t even manage to warn him when you cum on his cock. The pleasure takes over your senses completely. He can only tell by the way you grind against him and your walls clench so tight around his cock that you’ve reached your peak. His nails dig into the meat of your thighs as he feels himself reaching his climax. 

“Shit shit shit,” he grunts. “Do I…fuck…pull out?” 

Your hands grip tighter on his ass, “No, please!” 

His eyes roll back in his head as he quickens his pace. His hips snap frantically, and he shakes when he reaches his peak. You’re filled and then some with his seed. It’s dripping out even as he continues to fuck it into you. 

Finally, he slows himself to a stop. You’re limp and weak in his arms. Your head rests on his shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” he asks as he rubs your back. 

“Mhm,” you hum sleepily, your eyes fluttering closed. 

He carefully holds onto you as he stands. He manages to hold you with one arm long enough to pull his pants up. They hang loosely from his waist as he carries you to the bedroom and gently lays you down. 

“Rest,” he whispers and kisses you quickly. “Let me take care of you.” 

“Will we do it again?” you ask as you watch him dig through his drawers for a shirt to dress you in. He didn’t realize until now that he’d ripped your clothes. 

“You don’t regret it?” he asks as he carefully undresses you only to slip a black sweatshirt onto your body. It’s big on you, and he loves the sight of you in his clothes. 

“Not at all,” you smile softly. 

“Then, we’ll do it again,” he promises. “Next time, I’ll go slow. I’ll make love to you like you deserve.” 

“Mm, sounds good,” you giggle as you snuggle up on the bed. “Nap first though.” 

“Yes, yes, nap first,” he agrees.

[stripetkattelalala54-gf]

So this post by @auroraknux about Mario angst and the people describing what they all made Mario go through kinda inspired me to make a list about all the canon things (in the different media) he’s been through (and also because I think that some of the things deserve to be talked about more):

Mario has lost quite some companions (be it through death or other reasons. And yeah some came back but I think that doesn’t make the impact any less):

And it clearly affects him. I wonder sometimes if he refused to travel with people for a while because of how many times it happened.

Had to watch his loved ones getting possessed or brain washed:

Got bean fever and almost turned into a bean:

Maybe not as angsty as other stuff on this list but being sick like that can’t be fun.

Has been tossed around a lot especially in Odysseus:

Got captured by King Boo three times:

And it seems that especially the first time, he did not have a good time at all.

Got his body stolen:

Bowser’s fury:

This goes more a bit into headcanon territory but knowing you could die at any second without much warning must be pretty stressful.

Got exploded off the rainbow road and then got eaten by an eel:

Got nearly beaten to death by Bowser:

Had to watch an entire galaxy die and then the rebirth of it. And again he had to watch a companion sacrifice himself:

This is probably one of the most screwed up things Mario had ever to witness.

[furiousgoldfish]

I have an update about this situation, which if you didn't read it, was about me finding out that my parents are searching for me, going door to door and asking people on the street if they know me, even asking with my fake name. They found someone who did know me, and they chatted, and this person later called me and told me what had happened, to which I freaked out, asked them not to share any details about me, and explained that I had ran away due to violence and that I'm terrified of these people.

Now knowing that my parents are out there looking for me, I spent the next few weeks locked in, afraid to go out, only going to work and back, and sometimes disguised so I wouldn't be recognized. I didn't run into anyone on the street, nobody came to my door, I didn't get any other phone calls, so I eventually relaxed and decided that it was okay to be outside, even if they are looking, unless they find me directly where I live, I could easily escape on bike, and they wouldn't know where I went.

The other day I got the phone call from the person who talked to my parents, and they asked me to come over, to be gifted some extra clothing. I was scared, worried that it was a trap, that my parents somehow got this person to cooperate and to bring me to them, but I decided to be brave and go anyway, since the chance of this was very low, and on the phone they reassured me that I could forget that last situation. Still, when I got there I startedly looked around to see if anyone was in there, but it was all empty.

I got some extra details of what happened; it was my mother and a friend looking for me, my father was not present. This person admitted to actually knowing me, and where I live, so my parents know someone who is in contact with me right now. However the person didn't share my address with them, which is why I was still safe.

Then the person revealed they actually got a call from my mother later that day, and they had an argument over the phone. The person repeated what I had told them – that I ran because of violence, because I was forced to work to deserve to eat and sleep there, because of death threats, torture, neglect, and my mother responded angrily 'You don't know what kind of trouble they were causing me!'. Then my mother still tried to convince this person that she cares about me and is worried about me, but the person rebutted with 'you should have cared when they were younger', and when my mother wouldn't stop asking for information, the person said that if she calls again, the police will be called and hung up.

Now this was very interesting to me, firstly my mother getting a police threat upon trying to find me, that is extremely good, satisfying, reassuring, positive, made me so happy. I was in a good mood for the rest of the day just thinking about what kind of reality-check that must have been, to have other people threaten with police and stand in their way of getting to me. I feel it was the first time someone actively protected me and it feels like I've been waiting my whole life for that to happen, and I never thought it would.

Second thing is her 'you don't know what kind of trouble they were causing', because she wasn't even denying the accusations of violence and torture! She blatantly did admit that yes, I had to work to deserve to live as a child, I was beaten, neglected, I was threatened death, I was kept in sub-human conditions, but she just felt it was justified! Because I was 'causing trouble', which is a lie, I did everything she asked me when I was a kid. It's like she still thinks me standing up to her violent abusive husband was 'me causing trouble' excuse me why did you marry that thing, and then never stood up to it? I had more backbone as a child than she has as an adult and this was 'me causing trouble'. I stood up to him because it was the right thing to do, because he was attacking me and my siblings, what do you mean I was causing trouble defending rest of the family from violence and absorbing it so the rest of you wouldn't have to. Ungrateful lying coward.

And also her saying I was the awful troublemaker doesn't check out with the rest of her story; if I was such a menace why is she out there looking for me? Why is she not blessed that I am gone and she can finally enjoy your life? Would you actively seek out someone you have to control with death threats from how much trouble they're causing to you? The lie is falling apart.

This has me very calmed down and grateful that not all people are cowards and unwilling to stand up to abusers. I've never seen this before, in my experience, people were always ready to bow down to my parents and see me as an ungrateful horrid creature who needs to be put into their place. This person has known me enough to see that I'm honest, fair, hardworking, kind, accommodating, they even told me that they can see there's nothing twisted about me. They understood that my situation is one of a struggle and that I have to work hard to survive, and often expressed that I struggle too much compared to others. And this isn't someone I'm on constant contact with, we talk once a year. I was surprised they picked up on this much.

I'm feeling better about the situation now I understand I was defended, I'm not that afraid anymore. I did get upset that my mother is trying to convince people that I was just so bad I deserved all, but at least not everyone believes it. I mean, it's ridiculous for anyone to believe a child could possibly deserve this, but I know a lot of people who do believe that. I thought everyone would side with my parents forever. Feeling better knowing there's one person who sided with me, when it was crucial for my safety.

[bloodiedrogue]

your heart's a mess

pairing: loki laufeyson x female reader contains: 18+ sexual content, cunnilingus, mentions of rough sex/toxic relationship. also, unedited. wc: 964. note: this is a little treat for the sluts and the sluts only. y'all know who you are, merry christmas ya filthy animals. <3

Loki kneads her flesh with heavy hands. Hungry fingers poking and prodding and prying —the sheer force of which he pushes her thighs apart making her heavily breathe. 

It’s like music to his ears —that simple puff of air. It’s sound spurring him further; threatening to tear what little resolve he last left to pieces. Only to leave the ill-intentions of ruin behind his mind’s eye. The sights of wanton moans and twitching nerves taking shape in his thoughts while his hands explore.

Gripping her calves, he sees her lips part to create another breath, the lack of weight compared to the first making his brows pinch together and his hands get more rough, wanting more. 

“You’re being rather quiet for someone who was just ruthlessly bragging about their ability to keep quiet.”

As he speaks, his voice takes on a gravelly hum. The almost ragged tone reverberating straight from his chest onto the skin of her knee as he takes a quick bite —teeth sinking through the wicked grin that pulls across his face when she huffs out a laugh. 

“Well, you’re being distracting.”

“Am I?” 

In addition to his tease, he runs his mouth up her leg with a smirk, allowing his tongue to languidly slip out between each open-mouthed kiss. The mere taste of her causing a sound of approval to release. 

It makes her smile. A big, toothy grin that steals the breath from his lungs, prompting him to bite her hip to suppress the feeling. To distract him from the ache that spreads throughout his chest, threatening to undo all the work he’s done to block it out. 

“You’re being awfully gentle tonight.”

As expected, he feigns the obvious, pretending as if the uncharacteristic way he touches her is the result of exhaustion rather than desire. 

“Bit sore,” he ends up telling her, using the excuse of mistreatment and injury to cover up the fact that he merely wants to touch her. To hold and caress and memorize. To take his time shaping her to his every whim. 

“Rough job?”

“Somewhat.”

Her brow quirks up in time with the hand that slips down to caress his face in response. The simple gesture —soft and warm— making him nod and pull away, knowing that if he doesn’t he’ll only offer more mercy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Instead of replying, he merely nips her hip, offering his usual brusqueness. The instant shift from gentle to rough making her knowingly hum, expecting as much, considering it’s how he always is —pushy, aggressive, impatient. All the things a lover shouldn’t be, and yet, she seems to know just how to bear the brunt of such qualities, taking them in stride. Enjoyment, even.

Which is a thought that truthfully scares him when he focuses too hard on it, realizing how little he deserves to earn such reactions after using only the parts of her he finds amusing. If anything, he deserves to be denied these pleasures he often seeks out —barred eternally for even thinking of harming something so fragile. 

And yet, each time he creates those blooming marks across her skin, carelessly leaving them in places where everyone can see, she hardly bats an eye. Instead, she just lets him pour the heat of all the fury that sits within his gut out onto her flesh like it’s nothing. Like it’s something she truly wants.

It completely vexes him. Not because he isn’t used to women fawning in response to his abuse, but because the more it happens, the more guilty he feels, watching her reduce herself to nothing more than a casket of flesh he continually retires his rage into.

It makes him want to stop, sometimes. To truly feel the texture of her skin, whole and unharmed. Healed and nurtured rather than beaten and broken. 

So, tonight, he does. Slowly forcing himself to hold back the urge to inflict as he remaps every dip and curve. Foolishly allowing himself to take on the kind of reverence he knows he should not be bestowed.  

Taking his time, he starts by lapping the apex of her thighs before he shifts the fabric of her underwear down for easy access, revelling in the sight. Releasing an approving hum, he then presses careful kisses to the edge of her entrance, feeling her arch instead of round. The obvious desire for more only spurring him further as latches onto her clit to suck. 

And at first, it feels odd to move so leisurely —to slow things down and simply feel as his tongue runs careful patterns over the bundle of nerves. Given their usual routine, it seems wrong to not already be buried inside her, taking what’s his in a matter one would definitely describe as brutal. 

Yet, despite all that, he somehow finds peace —silence— as if the sudden taste of both her melting on his tongue and the discovery that he’s capable of violent restraint in the name of worship erases the anger and resentment. Every minuscule flicker of displeasure wafting away with the sound of her gentle voice calling his name; begging for more. Something he’s offering over with protest in the form of wandering hands that pull her further into wanting lips. The position of his hands acting as a tether, holding her down with every squirm each time he curls his tongue or applies more pressure.

Against his mouth, he can hear those wanton moans he imagined not too long ago paired alongside the twitching nerves. The sound, making his own throat well up with an undeniable longing as moves his hand to spread her further, prodding her centre with the base of his nose as he begins to bury himself within her, embracing praise instead of condemnation. 

[glitter-stained]

Sense the current state of jason as character is stagnant do you think dc will ever purplish a good story of him, maybe he even kills of his red hood persona and goes on to be something else that would be something I would like to see but I don’t think it will happen. Dc will forever shoehorn him in to the batfamily. At least in his anti-villian era he was actually fun now his character is in a pitiful state

do u think theirs a chance of reinvent him as character anytime soon ?

Well first of all through spite everything is possible, so jot that down.

Like seriously, remember when it was so so incredibly over like Spiderman's Uncle Ben levels of over and then Under the Hood happened? Hell yeah I think dc will publish a good Jason story

Second I may not be the best person for this ask because I like my blorbos pitiful and miserable. Like yeah defiance is awesome but exhaustion -in characters who have been angry and alone for so long, beaten dog who got electrocuted too often to bite back- has a special place in my heart. But I also agree this has to be a transitional part of a story, the arc can't be "well he was hurt and then he was angry and then he was tired and he was miserable the whole time". Unless of course he ends up perma-dying in a really meaningful arc centered around his character but I'm not sure that'd be what I want for him, and we all know how lame dc is with permadeath nowadays. I'm also very mitigated with his villain side because yeah sometimes it's very fun and cathartic to see the angry/bad victim trope, but also the classismXpsychophobia of villain Red Hood sometimes are just too much; and also I'm a jaybin fan and sometimes I feel betrayed on jaybin's behalf by elements of his villainous characterization. (One day I'll write that damned UTH rewrite, I will).

With that being said!!! I love Jason because of his potential, he has so so much of it, that's what's exhausting about his many bad comics is that yeah. Yeah, dc can absolutely publish something more than good. They don't understand the goldmine they're sitting on in terms of potential.

What I'd love to see explored in hypothetical upcoming good comics (i'll talk more about it later with malfiora but for now)/how dc could go about reinventing his character :

1) addressing Jason's suicidality and getting him a functional support system (seriously, something's gotta give)

2) Get that boy a dog. Ik he had one at some point in N52 idc give him more dogs. Big ass rescue dog that's loyal and similar to him.

2) we need to figure out a way to let Jason keep being a Crime Alley/Park Row vigilant without being dependent on Batman. Like yeah he should explore the world away from him and heal but also i'm very uncomfortable with the idea that healing, for Jason, has to mean leaving the city and neighbourhood he grew up in and protected, has to mean be shoved out of his home by a guy who doesn't live there and, at least when Jason was a kid, only visited the place one time a year because of the anniversary of his parents' death- it's not fair and I won't accept it.

3) I so so agree about the "killing the red hood persona" or at the very least changing his vigilant name. Like I get the point, I understand the use he had for him, but his story can't be centered around the Joker forever (I keep thinking about the Joker's attitude to him in The Man who stopped Laughing and god, I can see a driving force to find himself as something else than what Batman and the Joker made him). At some point his name has to become something that is his and turned towards the future.

4) art + story that acknowledges how young he is (someone please let Jason take college class please please he deserves it)

5) perhaps most importantly: batman writers often sound like hardcore deontology or hardcore utilitarianism (and the occasional egoism) are the only acceptable moral philosophies. And for characters, it works! Like I can see Batman as a Kantian, sure. But for others, it doesn't fit as well.*

The cool thing about Jason's character right now is that he's a utilitarian, but a utilitarian that often isn't guided by his values. He can and will compromise on his philosophy in the name of love and being loved ( @bestangelofall called that a morality leash) and that already sets him as an interesting character in his own right. But in terms of redefining himself as a person after decades of defining himself through his pain (which, at 20-23 years old, he should get to do) I'd love to see an evolution of his morals based on love. Specifically, I'd love from his morals to shift from mathematical utilitarianism to agape, an ancient greek concept of platonic love for everything human, a movement towards the other that can be thought of as close to some conceptualisations of empathy. Mind you, that doesn't mean that he would stop killing! I can believe in a Jason who kills because or against of agape, the pain or relief that could be so good to explore in relation to that, how he would go on to define himself as a person... I feel like Jason has a certain tendency to kinda dehumanize the worst criminals as he kills them (a lesson from Judy, love her sm) which I love, but would also love to see him grow out of - learn to see and love everyone as human and what it means, a re-exploration of his empathy.

Imagine: a scene where he kills a guy because a kid victim begged him to. The focus on the image is on the kid's big wide tearstruck eyes, and then Jason's uncertain face, the kid begging him to kill the bad guy. And then Jason kills him and they're standing so close to eachother, and he's look him in the eyes and seeing the image of the kid's eyes, and then turning back to the kid while wiping the blood on his face and seeing the kid's wide eyes looking in disbelieving awe. And then kneeling and hugging the kid as he cries his heart out. And Jason's inner monologue during all that being something like "I could say that I killed him because I'm a bad guy; I probably am. Or argue the world is better off without scum like him; I could pretend I did it so he wouldn't hurt [x] again, or that I was thinking about all the other children he wouldn't be able to hurt anymore. But the truth is, I didn't. I killed him because [x] asked me to; because I could tell that he needed it. I can live with that."

Idk, that's the direction I would love to see it going, but simply "becoming even more open, louder and unapologetic about prioritising his love over his values, and being angry when it causes him dilemma" is something I'd love with as way. Very "Odysseus knows what he's going to choose the moment the gods tell him to throw the baby off the wall to see Penelope and Telemachus, but fuck if he's angry at the gods for making him make that choice" kind of vibe if you like Epic the musical.

*i'm not saying there aren't any characters in dc that fall out of this deontological/utilitarian false dilemma, it's just a vibe I get from batman writers at times, and as a consequence of specializing in one character I don't feel legitimate in exploring the intricacies of other characters because I feel like I'm lacking information and would be making uneducated guesses (that being said, I would fuck heavily with an exploration of Cass' morals VS Levinas' concept of ethics). If anybody has recommendations of dc characters that are neither utilitarian nor deontological (or are at least an interesting twist to it) I would love them so much please don't hesitate!!!

So yeah, idk if that answers your question, I don't pretend to know the intricate working of dc editorial. But imo there are wonderful possibilities for dc to reinvent Jason and write him into good comics -call me a blue lantern cause baby I got hope.

[sc0tters]

Guest Room | Trevor Zegras

summary: sometimes all you need is a trip away to an old friend.

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, oral (m receiving), use of a sex toy, swearing.

word count: 4.62k

authors note: this is acc for a Trevor I have never written for in pre ducks debut so this takes place in 2021! I wanted to change things up for our f1 x hockey playlist so here we have one who is a rookie! I think it should be a given by now but we need to thank @sweetestdesire for letting me pick her Trevor smut brain to help write this one out!

You needed a break. 

Life had been on this weird high after you won the Formula Two championship and were now moving up into the McLaren F1 team as a reserve driver. You hated how out of place you felt yet that somehow you still hadn’t done enough to be where you deserved to be. 

You had settled into your apartment in London now and after spending Christmas with your family you got an offer you couldn’t resist. Trevor had just returned home from the World Junior Championships and he was in need of some company in his apartment. He was back in San Diego awaiting his debut for the Gulls but that didn’t matter for him as he craved seeing the one person who was ready to be honest with him. You craved that attention too as you were at your wits end with everyone in your parents lives wanting to know about your career “you stay safe okay?” Ellen sighed as she pulled you into her arms. 

It made Jim smile as you rolled your eyes “Z might be irresponsible but at least you know who killed me if I go missing.” You joked seeing your mom grow unimpressed “you should get going before you are late kid.” Jim pointed out as he kissed your head before he ushered you off. 

Even as you went off in the world before each race your parents were watching as you left to the airport. Hockey fans were all around with most in redwings gear, making your bluejays cap blend you in as though you were meant to be a mere fly on the wall. You watched your brothers do well in both Vancouver and New Jersey when they seemed to have everything under control like they knew what they were doing was right for them. 

You used to love racing, it was your everything. But spending a season forcing every free moment you had into training only to be beaten to a seat, it killed you. It threw this spanner into the works that fried your brain leaving you unsure about everything as you lacked the simple clarity that was once your comfort. 

That was part of the reason you couldn’t say no to joining Trevor. He might have always been Jacks friend first but that boy knew how to react to whatever it was you seemed to feel. So in that moment you just needed someone to be honest with you. 

San Diego was warmer than Michigan as you were now getting ready to discard your coat as there was no snow in sight“speedy!” As ironic as your nickname was, Trevor didn’t give it to your for your speed on a track in your car. He gave it to you because he has never seen someone run away from a group of teenager boys after a work out as fast as you do. 

You whipped your head around with a soft smile on your face as you locked eyes with the older boy “it’s good to see you.” He mumbled pushing himself off of his car as he made his way over to you “wish I could say the same mr MVP.” You teased barely being able to contain your smile as you let out a laugh at the feeling of his arms around you. 

It was one place that you always seemed to feel comfortable no matter where you two were “don’t start with me ms world champion.” It didn’t take him long to see that is joke didn’t land in the way that he wanted it to “think you’ve been on a long flight.” He announced taking your suitcase from behind you letting his one arm stay wrapped around your waist. 

Being back around him already was having an impact on you as you felt like you were melting into his touch “thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, one you swore he couldn’t hear. But instead he smiled as he nodded opting to keep his newfound joy to himself. 

In all honesty you were surprised when you saw his apartment, the ride to the building was just enough time that you were both able to catch up on life. But now you were stood in an apartment that had not one but two properly decorated rooms “when did you decide to get a bed?” You cocked your head remembering to the time where he had only an air mattress on the floor for weeks.

It made him pull his eyes into a sharp line “ha ha very funny.” He placed his keys in the bowl before his eyes shot to the grey couch in front of him “but my mom came and decorated the place.” His confession made your lips form into an o shape.

You clasped your hands together “I knew it!” A laugh left your lips as you were happy to hear that you were right “yes now would you like to come sit and tell me why you picked San Diego over New Jersey?” Jack had let it slip to Trevor how irritated he was that you didn’t want to see your brother but instead his best friend. 

Trevor tapped the cushion next to him motioning to you to join him on the couch “I needed to get away.” You confessed as you shrugged “Jack means well but he thinks reserve is such a great position for me.” Your scoff wasn’t missed as you shook your head. 

The boy felt bad as he knew your brother hadn’t shut up about your achievements “you deserve to be on a team.” Trevor disagreed with your opinion “and I will always let you come back here to avoid your brothers.” His words made you smile. 

He watched you pull your feet on the cushion “be careful because soon you won’t get rid of me.” You joked as you let out a giggle “hey at least you know how to cook.” Trevor shrugged making you scoff. 

You threw the pillow behind you at him resulting in his laugh echoing off of the walls of his apartment “I would not cook for you!” You shook your head “you wouldn’t have to do it every day.” The boy countered as he smiled. 

The two of you got the chance to just sit there in this peaceful silence “but on a real note could you cook tomorrow night?” He began as he scratched the back of his head “I have practice late and I don’t think either of us can be doing restaurants two nights in a row.” He explained as your stomach growled on cue “you want dinner now?” Trevor teased as he smiled running his fingers over your knee.

You wanted to act like you were but as the last thing you had was the cut up fruit you had for breakfast and the overpriced bottle of water from the airport “let me get dressed.” You were in dire need of a proper change out of your winter clothing for the warmer weather that the west coast sported “and y/n.” Trevor called out as he watched you walk to the guest bedrooms door. 

You cocked your head as you nodded “I’m glad that you’re here.” His confession was so sweet that if any of the other boys heard him, Trevor would have been chirped at forever “me too.” You smiled ad you walked into the guest bedroom letting the door shut behind you. 

When Trevor left for practice you found yourself at a mall. The boy said he was going to be gone for hours with a game prep session right after which gave you both ample time to shop for groceries and window shop. Part of you had been left irritated as there was a new headline that again called into question your abilities as a driver if all you were getting was a reserve role. 

It was just another tap at your sanity that was only left feeling worse after last night. You had woken up in the middle of the night needing a glass of water when you heard Trevor. He clearly had a video open of some sort as you could hear both foreign female and male voices. But what got to you about it was that it was porn. 

Trevor let whimpers and moans fall from his lips that were enough to make you squirm as you had been feeling sexual frustrated. The last time you had sex was well over six months ago and your fingers and brush handle could only do so much for you and it wasn’t enough. 

So when you walked by Lotions and Lace it was as though your thoughts had been answered. You had never made the jump to sex toys before but with your only other current option being your brother’s best friend it seemed like the better of the two. Your eyes settled on the first vibrator you found as it was hot pink and on some massive display case. 

Before you knew it you were back at his place with dinner in the oven as you stared at the bag in front of you. The box that held the vibrator peeked out from the corner, with some over exaggerated message about pleasure on it that made your cheeks grow warm.

Your foot tapped against the floor as you looked to your watch and then back to the box, before your eyes settled on the door to Trevor’s room. He had shut it before he left but you could still hear the faint moans from last night as you let your hand form a fist as your thighs pressed against each other “fuck it.” You grumbled grabbing the bag from the table as you headed to your own room. 

You didn’t bother with shutting the door behind you. Since you could feel the wet patch forming on your panties, and you swore you were going to have at least twenty minutes before Trevor came home. Your leggings were stripped from your legs as you pulled your panties down with them making sure to kick both items of clothing away. 

The buzzing noise echoed in your ears as you trailed the head of the vibrator over your clit as your thighs spread “fuck.” You whimpered feeling your thighs begin to squirm. 

The picture of Trevor’s moans played in your mind as you caught your lower lip between your teeth. Your eyes screwed shut as you began to tease yourself enjoying the feeling of pleasure that you hadn’t felt in years “please Z.” The whimper fell for your lips as you began to picture him on top of you. 

Trevor smiled as he walked back into the apartment as the smell of chicken in the oven invaded his nostrils “y’know the offer to come live as my chef is still on the table.” He joked thinking you were sat in the living room “god.” You moaned feeling your eyes roll back into your head. 

It was enough to make the boy freeze as he realised what was going on. He felt wrong letting his eyes trail to your room but somehow he couldn’t find a way to stop himself. Your moans echoed in his ears and as his cock grew harder in his shorts. 

He let his bag drop to the floor as he cleared his throat “I’m so close Z.” The whimper made him walk closer to your room as he wondered if he heard you right “feel so good Trev.” Now he knew you were talking about him. 

The boy took more steps to your door until he finally let his eyes stick in the opening of the door. You were a heavenly sight as you were in a strappy top and nothing on your bottom half was bare as you continued to tease your clit with your new toy. 

Trevor couldn’t help but grunt as you moaned letting your body squirm against the sheets. The sudden noise made your eyes shoot open to the door where the boy stood “hey pretty girl.” You continued what you were doing as you watched him stare at you. 

He smirked watching your free hand travel up to your breast “need more.” You moaned again starting to feel like you were getting close “you think I’d just let you get to come that fast?” Trevor sucked at his teeth as he crossed his arms. 

Your face dropped as he laughed “c’mon you’d have to beg if you want anything more.” The boy explained walking closer to you “want you to make me feel so full.” You begged feeling tears form in your eyes as he smirked.

The boy stood his ground “so is that why you decided to act like a little slut and fuck yourself on my guest bed?” His words made your cheeks turn red as you nodded “needed it so bad.” You confessed as you watched him hover over you. 

His hand dropped to yours as he helped control your hand wanting to get you to come “be a good girl and let go then.” He took control of your vibrator as he tilted it closer to your clit “fuck!” You groaned arching your back as you drove your hips closer to the toy.

Trevor watched in awe as pleasure shot through you reached the high “god right there!” You whimpered feeling your thighs shake as they began to clamp together. 

He didn’t let it stop as he watched he’d you continue to fuck yourself through your orgasm “please Z enough.” You shook your head trying to pull away from him “you think you have been a good girl?” He asked seeing tears stream down your cheeks from the overstimulation as your cunt burned.

As you stayed quiet the boy finally listened pulling it away from you “holy shit.” Your chest heaved as you pushed your hands through your hair “you still with me pretty girl?” Trevor toyed the toy off as he helped you sit up straight “felt so good.” Your confession was quiet as you stared at the ground. 

It made him smile as he ran his fingers under your chin “c’mere doll.” He muttered as he cupped your cheeks pulling you closer to him “think it’s about time I get to taste you.” Trevor dropped his head to kiss you.

The kiss was needy as his tongue grazed across your lower lip “mhm.” The hockey player let out a grunt as you straddled his lap given yourself the upper hand. 

You propped yourself up by your knees as the taste of his kiss had remnant’s of the Gatorade you assumed he drank after practice “fuck baby.” Trevor let out a grunt as he watched you grind your hips into his. 

He let his hands travel down to your hips trying to stop you “I’m gonna need you to behave before I come in my fucking pants.” He warned shaking his head as he looked down to the new wet patch that was forming on his pants “you’re no fun.” You let your lips form a pout as you kissed him once more before you slid onto the floor letting your knees rest on the cool wooden floor. 

The boy swore he was dreaming as he watched you sit there “think it’s time I make you feel so good.” You cooed sending him a smile as you ran your hands up his sweatpants “fuck please baby.” He begged propping himself up as he placed his hands behind him.

You tugged at his sweatpants pulling them down with his boxers. His cock sprung out as it hit his torso “you look so pretty.” You mumbled licking your lips as you felt your mouth water “it’s all for you doll.” He confessed biting at the inside of his cheek when your hand wrapped around his cock.

You pumped them up and down a few times before you watched his precum ooze out of the swollen head “fuck don’t tease me.” Trevor groaned watching your head drop to the point where you were mere millimetres away from him “ask me nicely.” You let out a dry laugh looking up at him. 

Your hand began to speed up leaving him quiet  “not so brave are you know big boy?” You cocked your head as you grazed your thumb over his head picking up the precum leaving Trevor to watch as you brought your hand up to your mouth wrapping your lips around the finger. 

Your tongue swirled around it letting out a moan as you could taste the saltiness on your tongue “please.” Trevor found himself jealous of your finger and he couldn’t believe that he was willing to admit that too “since you asked so nicely.” You nodded smiling to yourself as you slipped your thumb from your lips watching the trail of spit break from your mouth. 

The hockey player didn’t need to say anything more as you wrapped your lips around his cock “fuck you’re perfect.” Trevor let out a grunt as his hands went to your hair. 

You hollowed your cheeks out as your nose hit his pelvic bone trying to take as much of him as you could. The boy watched you look up at him through hooded eyes “keep sucking that cock f’me.” He mumbled as you fell into this steady rhythm.

He was in awe as the sound of you gagging echoed in his ears as you tried to take more of him each time you let your mouth take more of him as you tilted your head trying to open your throat. Trevor swore it was pure heaven as he began to bring his hips up to meet your face trying to get himself closer to that high. 

Last nights efforts felt like a distant thought as Trevor had spent it picturing that you were instead around his cock, rather than his own hand “I’m gonna.” The hockey player let out a grunt as your hand replaced your mouth once more “go make a mess for me Z.” You cooed kissing his lips again. 

The taste was addictive as he tried to stop himself “just want to make you feel so good.” You mumbled locking your eyes with his as he nodded “want to taste you before you fuck me so good.” Was the last thing that left your lips before you dropped your head again. 

Your pace was brutal practically sucking his cock like it was a lollipop “Jesus y/n.” Trevor grunted as his head fell back when he came letting his release coat the back of your throat “you’re a fucking god.” He mumbled blissfully unaware as you let his limp cock fall from your lips. 

You felt some of his release ooze from the side of your mouth “taste so good.” You mumbled bringing your hand to pot it back into your mouth. He swore that if he wasn’t still coming down from his first orgasm he would have come again. 

Trevor cleared his throat when you crawled back into his lap “wanna be a good girl and swallow f’me?” He asked as he cocked his head letting his hand wrap around your throat when you nodded. 

His hand caught the feeling of the release going down your throat “fuck you’re a pretty girl.” He muttered running his finger over your lower lip “I need you Z.” You pleaded letting out a whimper as you felt his cock beneath you. 

As you clenched your cunt the sensation made you both squirm “what do you want baby?” He asked cocking his head as he began to grind your hips against his. 

It made you hiss “your cock.” You got straight to the point as you felt your eyes flutter “ask nicely.” He taunted reminding you of the antics you played earlier on. 

You swallowed back a moan “I wanna feel so full of your cock.” You whined biting at your lower lip “want you to fuck me like you mean it.” You pleaded letting a shaken breath leave your lips.  

That was all he needed as he picked you up “Trevor!” You squealed wrapping your arms around his neck “just want to fuck you properly doll.” He explained with a smile laying you down on your sheet. 

He pulled his top off of his torso  before he was left with the sight of you already naked as you stripped out of your vest “think you already knew you were gonna get fucked real good tonight.” Trevor smirked kicking his sweatpants off as he found himself crawling to get closer to you “gonna let me fuck you raw?” The question came more so because he didn’t have any condoms on hand or in his room and he knew he wasn’t going to risk going to the store to get more, letting this opportunity slip past him.

You nodded running your fingers over your breasts “wanted you.” You whined making the boy smirk as pumped his cock ensuring that it was hard again “and now my pretty little girl is gonna get me all that easy huh?” The boy let out a grunt before he situated himself back between your legs “if you won’t Z I am sure that the little toy down there could do me just fine.” You snapped as your eyes pulled into a sharp line.

It made him laugh how he could get under your skin so fast even as your nipples peaked due to the cool air that the fan in your room created “no need to get all angry on me now doll.” Trevor clicked his tongue as he ran his cock over your clit resulting in a whimper leaving your lips.

He repeated the action twice more watching as his tongue darted out of his lips from pure concentration “just fu-ck god!” You practically jumped out of your skin as you felt him thrust his cock into your cunt letting his hips meet yours as he gave you no time to adjust. 

The boy smirked letting his head come closer to yours as he halted his movements taking in the sight properly “it’s just me.” He smirked running his fingers up your torso letting his hands cup your breasts ‘fuck off.” You grumbled as his head dipped to your shoulder.

His lips nipped at your tender skin “now that is no way to talk to me when you’re currently full of my dick.” The boy sucked at his teeth as he shook his head enjoying how he could hear just how much his actions left you stagnating your breath “please move.” You pleaded feeling your cunt throb as your walls hugged his cock.

It made him smile as he let his arms go on either side of you trapping you where you were “fuck baby.” He moaned driving his hips away before he pushed them back towards you setting up a painfully slow rhythm, like he wanted to torture you.

Your hands found themselves on either side of his cheeks “and here I was thinking that this mouth was good.” His chain lay flat against your neck as his forehead rested against yours “bout to get me stuck on this cunt.” The possessiveness in his voice made your cunt clench around him as your legs wrapped around his waist resulting in him reaching a deeper part of your core.

His lips grazed yours in a lousy effort to muffle his moan ‘but maybe you would like that?” When you didn’t answer his question immediately he began to increase his pace treating you like you were all of a sudden the last girl he was going to sleep with on this planet “want to be here forever.” You cried out as your breasts began to jolt against his skin with each thrust.

The desperation to come all over again hit you both as if this wouldn’t have been your second orgasms of the night “wanna make you never leave this apartment.” Trevor confessed letting his teeth tug at your lower lip making you whine in pleasure “just fucking make me cum first.” You grumbled letting your mouth form an o shape as he hit your thigh with a soft slap.

Trevor shook his head growing irritated at this new found attitude  of yours as he was trying too give you everything that you should have wanted “you want to be a brat and I’ll leave you without that fucking toy.” He warned honestly in half the mind to break it as you clearly weren’t going to need it whilst you were still with him.

His pelvic area grazed your clit making your eyes flutter as you drove your hips up desperate to feel that all over again “thought you liked this cunt too much?” You quipped back through gritted teeth trying your best to ignore how your legs began to shake “didn’t say I needed you to cum first though doll.” The warning was in genuine as you both knew he was going to make sure he fucked you through your own orgasm before he even thought about his own.

The sound of skin slapping was enough for you to break “please let me cum and I’ll let you fuck me whenever you want.” If the boy wasn’t currently the closest thing he has felt to pussy drunk he might have actually laughed at the offer “even on the boat?” In a drunk game of confessing things to the boy, you had let it slip that you had some fantasies about a guy fucking you on the family boat if you two took it for a night cruise. But of course it would only be someone who you liked enough to meet your brothers.

You nodded feeling his hand slide between your two sweaty bodies “anywhere you want.” You mumbled writhing your back against the sheet when his fingers came into contact with your clit “you like that don’t ya pretty girl?” Trevor teased feeling your cunt clench around him once more.

A whimper left your lips as he arched his back allowing his lips to latch onto your left nipple with his tongue swirling around the sensitive bead “please let me cum Z.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as he nodded “go make a mess on my cock.” His order came as he moved his attention to your other breast topping you over the edge when he locked his eyes with you.

It made you screw your eyes so tight that you swore you could see stars “fuck fuck fuck!” You chanted writhing your body against your sheet and him as he continued his actions of rubbing his fingers against your clit until your cunt began to clamp down on him in these random bursts trying to milk his cock.

As much as he enjoyed getting to fuck you raw he didn’t want to have to deal with the consequences as he pulled his cock out of your cunt letting his release spray across your lower stomach when his hand began to pump at his cock “god.” He let out a grunt watching the damage he had done like it was an art piece.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes as you smiled “it’s just me.” You mumbled making him laugh as he ran his fingers through your hair to push it out of your face “think I should get you in the shower before we get some dinner.” The smell of the chicken came back to you as you heard the smoke alarm go off “The chicken!”