#he deserves to get beaten up sometimes

[malkaviian]

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

[ruminativevagrant]

An assortment of facts about Adam Lanza

Adam's low self image issues began showing during elementary school. he would write the words "loser" and "ugly" on his hands, believed that "everyone else in the world deserved more than he did”, and would hit himself as punishment when he thought he made a mistake. He would sometimes come home with bruises that he would refuse to explain, and Nancy almost sued SHES because she thought he was being beaten by other students.

One of Adam's middle school creative writing assignments got rejected for depicting violence, and he was made to write a poem instead. this poem was apparently so beautiful that it made his father cry.

Adam wanted to be a hamster for halloween as a kid, but they couldn't find hamster costumes, so nancy made one for him.

Ryan remembers Adam being a lot closer with his father as a child. Adam and Peter would routinely spend hours playing with legos in the basement, making up stories and games.

Adam developed an interest in political and economic theory early on and used to be very talkative about these subjects, as Peter recalls: "man, that kid, you couldn't shut him up!"

When Adam was sixteen, he made a meme of Karl Marx (huge beard), Lenin (small beard), Stalin (mustache), and Mao (clean-shaven), with the caption, “Comrades, we must rectify the faltering facial hair standards.” and Peter thought it was so funny that he got T-shirts made of it.

Adam carried a black briefcase instead of a backpack in high school. To avoid other people in the halls he would either turn to walk in the opposite direction, or press up against the wall and clutch his briefcase to himself "like an 8 year old who refuses to give up his teddy bear". He was described by his highschool advisor as "a very scared young boy" and by classmates as being quiet but extremely intelligent, "he was the smartest person I knew, he was probably a genius"

Adam would constantly express his anxiety to his mother, that he felt frightened and unsafe both in public and at home. Nancy told psychiatrists that his fear was so severe that it physically paralyzed him. When being interviewed by psychiatric professionals, Adam sweat through his shirt and was holding back tears throughout the sessions.

One time Peter had mentioned to Nancy that Adam had stopped to tie his shoes when they had been hiking, and Nancy expressed surprise and bewilderment to this.

Adam would have panic attacks in middle school that were so severe that he had to be sent home. In high school these were replaced with "crises" he would have in class, where he would be overwhelmed with hopelessness, give up whatever he was doing and "shut down".

Adam's teacher were advised to keep an eye on him because he "couldn't feel pain", as Nancy had informed them that he might not stop doing something even if it's hurting him.

Peter recalls that as Adam entered his teenage years he would often state how much he missed being a little kid.

Adam routinely checked and compared weather conditions across the country, he wanted to live in Washington because it was the most overcast state and Nancy entertained the idea of them moving to seattle together.

After Adam stopped talking to Peter in 2010, whenever Nancy brought the topic of his father up to Adam he would begin crying profusely and withdraw.

Adam once told a friend that he was "bulky" when he was a child, and that he had fat cheeks, comparing himself to a hamster with its cheeks stuffed.

Adam would sometimes play ddr for up to 10 hours straight, where he would enter what was described as a "trance". Workers at the Danbury theater recall him being unresponsive at closing time, and they would have to unplug the machine in order to get him to stop.

Adam identified as asexual but denounced the label towards the end of his life, claiming to be confused about his sexuality. On a university application form asking for a gender marker, Adam wrote "I choose not to answer".

Adam wanted to own not only hamsters, but also mice. He specifically wanted a brown deer mouse and a white fancy mouse. He would routinely watch youtube videos pertaining to rodents and rodent care, and would give advice in the comments.

One of Adam's top favorite movies was Willard, a movie about an isolated young man who lives in a large house with his mother and befriend rats. In this movie his mother dies in her bed, and the story culminated with him using the rats to enact revenge on an authoritative boss, killing him. Adam also owned a copy of the book that the movie is based on.

[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

[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.

[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.

[shadowsviper]

Hello! Here to say hi! Your post appeared on my scroll and I noticed you have just one, so I figured you might be new around here! Welcome to Tumblr! I hope you find your crowd soon enough! 💖

In the meantime, do you mind telling me something about Jason Todd? I've never been too deep into DC, but I recognize his name. I'd love to hear your headcannons/thoughts about him! 💖

Hi! Thanks for welcoming me :) I've actually been lurking on tumblr for a while before I finally got the confidence to start writing.

Here's a short basic rundown of Jason: Jason Todd is the second person to take the mantle of Robin after Dick Grayson. Batman caught him stealing the wheels off the Batmobile in a dark alleyway one night and took him in. He was more rebellious and he didn't like Batman's moral code. Fans actually voted to kill him off in the series. Jason would be beaten by the Joker with a crowbar and left to die with his mother inside a warehouse with a time bomb. He would later be resurrected by Talia Al Ghul in the Lazarus Pit and took the mantle of Red Hood. He would use guns and violence when it came to crime fighting. When he found out that Batman didn't avenge him in any way, he felt betrayed and let his anger out on Gotham's criminals. He believed that they deserved a worse punishment.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jason Todd Headcannons

He loves to bake, especially cookies. He'll bake other pastries every now and then, but his go to is cookies. It's something he'll never admit to his family, other than Alfred. He'll drop off some to his brothers sometimes with an insulting note; he would say they're poisoned just to mess with Tim

Whenever he has free time, he's in the library. Sometimes he'll be at the public library if he doesn't want to see his family. Other times he'll be in the Manor looking at whatever new books Alfred and Damian bought

It's actually canon that Jason likes to read books like Pride and Prejudice, and The Art of War, among many others

He loves to bother his brothers whenever he can

He loves to swing by GCPD when Dick is working just to mess with him. He might even go as far as faking an emergency just for the emergency to be him wanting to say a quick fuck you

Dick has banned him from coming within a 20-foot radius of GCPD. He also threatened to arrest him if he got close

It doesn't stop Jason. He has yet to be arrested because they technically can't arrest a dead man

He'll mess with Tim at any time. His things will slowly go missing; his mugs, coffee, important papers, you name it.

One time when Tim left his place unattended, Jason moved everything an inch to the left. It drove Tim crazy. More crazy than he already was considering he hadn't slept for the past two days. He'll get Jason back one day

What he does with Damian is a 50/50. Sometimes he'll spar with him for fun. Just a quick training exercise or he's actually trying to kill the demon spawn, who knows. Other times they're both reading silently in the corner of the library.

They won't talk about it after

Definitely broke into Wayne Enterprises way too many times

He had no reason to go in. He just wanted to bother Bruce or Tim. Or both

Definitely both

Has been escorted out multiple times with Bruce watching with his head in his hands

That man is stressed lmao

Definitely picks up Damian from school with white girl music blasting at full volume. The bass is cranked up to the point where you can feel it inside the school

Damian hates it so much because his classmates find Jason pretty cool and they keep trying to talk to him about Jason

Later banned from picking Damian up from school

[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.

[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.

[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!”

[amoosarte]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐄, 𝐌.𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍

SUMMARY ! in which Max never cared about what happened to him on the track but when he sees them crash, his heart broke, he had ruined their dream.

FACECLAIM ! gender neutral, WARNINGS ! mention of suicidal thoughts, blood and traumatic things ahead !

Max never cared for his life, he wouldn't care less what happened to him on the track. The antidepressants that sat on his dresser just kept him in check, long enough for him to put a barrier.

He thought of other things, he will not deny, he's thought of ending it short but when his little sister did it before him, it made him snap.

He never liked hospitals, hated the gut wrenching feeling they gave. Max was almost a regular there because of his sister, she wasn't suicidal, he thought. She was just weak, not the healthiest. but it wasn't her fault.

His life was perfect, he will admit, his life was filled with things many people could wish for, but he himself was traumatized on the way as well.

Max was special, his sister described him. He was a gentle soul that had just been misunderstood most of his life, he's never been allowed to expression emotion off the track. She regretted making him scared, he didn't deserve that but she was just tired of it.

She was glad after that day, he started to take of himself, she didn't like it was because of her but it was something.

After the incident, Max expressed more towards his sister, called her before every race, just for her to pray for him, begging god to take care of him on the track.

Max gripped the steering wheel on his car, his eyes burning holes into the lights as they flashed. red, red, red, green. Then he took off from his first place spot.

Max never cared for his life, he wouldn't care less what happened to him on the track. But he did care for the other, he would try to drive ahead sometimes, try to get away from the crowd, not to cause accidents, but it was also apart of the job.

Las Vegas was difficult, a very risky race track. Max however was prepared for it, he always was. However when he was sparks fly during the 40th lap, his heart dropped.

You had hit a manhole, making him step on breaks not wanting crash into you but he did, causing you to hit another manhole, resulting in your car being flipped, then harshly shoved into the barricade, only to spin off the track.

Christian was on the other side of comms, telling Max that there was a red flag in the air. Max's blood ran cold, you got hurt and it was all his fault, he immediately put his car in the pit lane.

Max could only see what was happened in the television inside the garage, his engineers stood in shook, scared and speechless. Max was scared, he genuinely looked pale.

"It seems as Red Bull Driver Y/N has been in a fatal car crash near turn 14th, my god.." Max eyes widen, your car was beaten, turned over and they couldn't see you.

Three harsh turns, the dark navy blue car was roughly scrapped on, the front wing was pulled off, now the only thing protecting you was the halo. But you didn't move.

Max could see every driver watch in horror as they try to pull you out of the car, they could see blood spill out of your track suit. They pulled your numb body out as they held the wound, calling emergency over.

Your helmet was pulled off, only to see strokes of blood reek down. Your eyes were open but you couldn't feel anything, your were simply motionless.

Max could see Christian rush off to help assist, and take you to the hospital, then they moved on like it was nothing, they were back to racing in a matter of seconds.

He placed 3rd that race.

And I won't, see you again...

He never liked hospitals, hated the gut wrenching feeling they gave him. The first he saw was you plugged up to the life support machine, you having needles poking in your veins, then your dead eyes.

Max felt compelled to apologize, he wanted to apologize.

He could see your eyes follow him as he sat near you, placing a vase of flowers near a filled table of them already. He bit his lip and held back tears as you still smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, I really am." Max words broke you, as you saw the boy cry for the first time. Your okay arm held his hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's not your fault Max, it's just my bad luck."

You could see it in his eyes he still felt guilty,and it broke your heart. "Max, I don't want you to blame yourself, it was an accident." You squeezed his hand tightly once again, making him nod. After a few more minutes of you comforting him, he asked again.

"Will you come back, will you be okay?" You didn't have the slightest clue if you were, but the boy in front of you was dying to know, he was stressed and sorry, so the best thing to do was to lie.

"You know I always bounce back, don't worry dude." You jokes a bit making him feel reassured. You hated lying, but you knew damn well this was over for you.

You knew it was over the moment Christian came into your hospital room, giving you a sad look on his face, his face said it all, and you let your wall crumbles down, and let the water drip down.

It had been a week since your crash in Las vegas, now it was now the day before the second to last race of the season, and your announcement was released.

"Hello everyone, today I will be announcing what will be of me for the rest of the season. First things first, I will not be joining F1 again. Take this as my announcement of retiring."

"Some other things, This accident was no ones fault but mines, I will not blame my teammate and my friend for this accident. It was simply and accident."

"I want to thank everyone for being so kind to me these past 2 seasons, you were all wonderful and I'm glad I could experience it with you all. To my team who opened their arms towards me and welcomed me in, you were all wonderful to be around, these seasons of working together, I’m grateful to you all, to my teammate, it was a pleasure working with you, I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I were given another chance.”

“To my fans, thank you for supporting me through this journey. To be loved by many people is a blessing and you were all there to see me at my weakest and my strongest, I pray you all understand why I’m doing this.”

“I leave wishing all love and accomplishments and acceptance, I’m just another driver that will pass by, thank you for giving me a chance to live my dream, even if it was just for a while.”

With that the video cuts and there was no more of you.

To say the least, everyone was shocked, I mean they could sense that something was going to happen to you, but you retiring was something that no one could see coming.

Many drivers had called you, messaged you, expressing their feeling about this, and how they were going to miss you.

Max on the other hand didn't take the news okay, he was back into a rather depressing state, it little space he could never get out of, no matter how many antidepressants he took.

He wouldn't lie, he felt like the bad guy in this story, he had taken your dreams away. Yet again here you were not blaming him, he felt like it was his fault but it wasn't.

He had called you the day of the race, needing to tell you he was sorry one last time. Only to hear you forgive him and not to blame himself because in the end it was accident.

It only took a while but he could hear you cry on the other line, sobbing lightly, still reassuring him. You wouldn't lie anymore, you were hurt.

Racing had been your dream since you were little but now you were forced into retirement because your brain didn't work normally anymore, Because the lack of skill.

If you were a bit better you'd miss that manhole, and you would be finishing your second season. To finish your dream, but everything that's good comes with a price.

Max could only stand still on the podium, where he stood at P1. He raised his trophy, hoping you knew this was for you. Everything he would be doing was for you, because he wanted you to live your dreams through him.

You're not a person, You're my friend..

MENTIONS ! @landitolover, @moneygramhaas, @d6za1, @ch3rryknots @louvrepool

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉, ⟢ more!

[writertothemaximum]

Yuuji with a tall (pushing it at 198cm) scary transfer student from America who's kind of a punk but he's sweet sometimes (mainly only to yuuji) perchance?🧐(N/sfw)

ヤンキー・Yankee: Pt. I

Yuuji x tall delinquent male reader

content // Reader comes from a strict American family, canon-typical violence, reader is a juju tech transfer student, reader is a bit depressed, Reader is smitten™️, (yuuji is too), very wholesome, pre-relationship

note // read part two here! (nsfw)

-When your family moved to Tokyo for “business” related reasons, nothing could have prepared you for the culture shock. The language was one thing, but there were all these social customs that were just implied. No one said anything bluntly to your face, even if they did speak comprehensible English, which a lot of people did. Was it because you were an outsider? Was it because you were American?

-Maybe because of this, you found the life of delinquency easy. Maybe it was because you were 6’6” and no one was going to fuck with a dude twice their height, because nothing meant a quick trip to the hospital like getting into a fight with you.

-But people did. And you busted their faces in. It’s what they deserved. One time you broke your fist on someone’s nose. It was worth it. You got suspended and grounded by your parents, but so what? You never provoked people, they just came at you, and it was within your right to defend yourself. Isolation wasn’t caused by ostracization, it was caused by defense, and in your opinion, there was a lot to be defended.

-One day, your parents told you that you were getting transferred to a select school a little bit outside the city. A strange man (who was surprisingly close to your height) came by the house, offered to fist-fight you, and for the first time in your life, you got your ass whipped.

-It was a this point that you realized that the “imaginary friends” you had been seeing since childhood were called “curses,” and that maybe there was a place in the world for your violence. It had just been an outlet, maybe now you had a purpose.

-Very quickly, you realized that Jujutsu Tech also wasn’t home. A part of you wondered if anywhere in Japan could be. Before you were even given your own dorm room, you were sent with another student for a “trial run.” He didn’t talk to you much, and it took two hours into the thing before you even learned his name. It was like your parents had sent you to military school, and in a sense, they did.

-That was until you met Yuuji.

-Yuuji wasn’t like the other students. In many ways, he was like you. To no surprise, many of the students at Jujutsu Tech were also former delinquents, Megumi included—But Yuuji was different. He had blood on his hands, but there was no way you could tell. From the moment you met, he actively talked to you, tried to get to know you, treated you with respect, that’s just how he treated everyone, that was Itadori Yuuji.

-It’s not like no one had ever given you the kindness of humanity before, but Yuuji was different. Why wasn’t he afraid of you? Why wasn’t he intimidated? Maybe he was and he just never let it on, maybe it was because he’d beaten up kids just like you when he was in middle school, you didn’t really know. But it wasn’t just that. He was sweet he was funny he was kind. You were a friend, just like anyone else.

-Yuuji liked watching foreign films, and would invite you to go watch them in the city if any theaters had showings (and since it was Tokyo, they almost always did). After the movie, the two of you’d walk around and discuss what you liked, what you didn’t. One time, Yuuji asked about your home. He asked if you missed it, and a part of you did. A lot of you did. You didn’t talk to your friends anymore since everything had changed. Would they even believe you, anyways? Fighting monsters, living in what felt like another world?

-Yuuji understood you, he always did. That’s what’s so charming about him, is that he can feel what you’re feeling. At that time, he gave you a hug, and told you that he can’t send you home, but he can do his best to make Tokyo your new one. Maybe there’d be a piece of home here, maybe you could find a quiet spot, surrounded by the greenery of your youth, and the two of you could sit and chat while the memories flooded in.

-That was the first time you had cried since you moved abroad, and you vowed to make it your last. Somehow, Itadori Yuuji had weaved into your heart, and you weren’t about to give him up anytime soon.

If you liked this story, please give the post a reblog, or send me another request :)

Thanks for reading!

// read part two here! (nsfw)

[luveline]

Hopper requests? Say less…😂 How about something wholesome with El? Like Hopper was worried about El warming up to reader but he ends up having nothing to worry about?

I love your writing by the way!

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1k

Hopper loves El like any father loves their daughter, any parent their child, which is to say, he loves her and he knows her flaws. She’s a great kid but she has her problems, just as he does. 

She’s angry sometimes, and she can’t cope with things she doesn’t like, and honestly, she’s allowed to be mad at the world (or at least he thinks so), but again, he loves her. He has to teach her that she can’t always get what she wants, even when she deserves it. 

He’s a little tough on her. He’s been a bad dad to her, sometimes, he knows that. He doesn’t deserve her, but he’ll keep trying. 

He doesn’t deserve you, either, but he has you. 

He’s not expecting you in his home, though. He’s barely mentioned you to El —he didn’t know how she’d react. It hasn’t been that long since her last outburst.

“What does that mean?” she asks. 

Your shoes are by the door, he’d know your beaten up sneakers anywhere, and El’s talking to someone with their head turned away from the door. It’s dark, the only light from the TV and the weak orange kitchen lamp, but he can tell it’s you. 

“What does what mean?” you ask. 

He panics and relaxes, a paradox of behaviour as he closes the door softly behind him. His head races with thoughts of what El might do without a pep talk before meeting you even as his hands itch to be on you. He hasn’t seen you for a few days, which is a few too many in his book. 

“Respect.”

“You and Hop must’ve talked about respect before.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Well, some people think respect is earned, and some people think you should have it anyways. I think it’s both, you know? It’s kindness and… politeness. You respect your dad by keeping your room clean, and saying thank you for dinner, and he respects you by saying thank you for keeping your room clean, and making you dinner. Though he should pretty much always be making you dinner. Does that make sense?” 

He can’t not be soothed by you. The way you’re talking to her melts his heart. 

“No,” El says succinctly. 

Hopper holds in a laugh. 

“Um… okay. So, I respect your dad–”  

“Hop?” 

“Yeah, baby,” you say gently. “Sorry. I respect Hop because he’s a good man. So I try to be good to him. He respects me for some reason,” —you notice him and give him a flirty, sweet, slightly nervous smile— “so he opens doors for me and tucks my chair in at the dinner table.” 

“He puts my coat on the hook for me.” 

You nod happily. “Right! That’s respect. And love, too.” 

“You’re here?” Hopper asks. 

El turns to him with a timid smile to match yours. “I let her in. She did the knock.” 

“I didn’t realise it was secret,” you explain. “You do it sometimes, on the side of the car door. I couldn’t get you at the station, I thought you were home–” 

“It’s okay.” He leans down to drop a kiss against your crown. “S’fine,” he says into your skin. “I can see you’re all introduced.” The secret knock isn’t even really in practice anymore. 

“She’s your girlfriend?” El asks him. 

Hopper doesn’t answer. Girlfriend feels odd sometimes when you’re older, because you’re a lot more than what the word might imply, but he likes the idea of it, too. “I wanted to introduce you on Friday. You know, the special dinner I mentioned?” 

“Right. Why I need to clean my room,” El says, frowning. 

“Exactly.” Hopper pats her back where she’s sat across from you. 

“Now I don’t need to anymore?” 

“No, you do,” Hopper says. 

El frowns deeper. “Because I respect you.” 

“Maybe one day.” 

El’s only recently re-entered society. She’s stressing Hopper out, what with it being summer soon and her growing curiosity for the world, and he’s worried she won’t get along with people because she’s behind in terms of experience, but mostly he’s sick of arguing with her about leaving the bath water in and how much sugar she’s allowed each day.

He’d hoped to explain things to you in better detail. El’s a special case. She needs more patience than most kids (and maybe she doesn’t always get it). He didn’t doubt you’d be good to her, and it’s still a shock when you reach across the table to hold her hand and she doesn’t yank hers away. 

“I can help, if you want. It gets overwhelming sometimes,” you say. 

“How come you don’t help?” El asks Hopper. 

“Because you don’t need help putting your clothes in the laundry, kid, you just don’t like doing it.” 

“What Hop doesn’t understand is that we’re girls and we have better stuff to do,” you say, stroking the back of her hand with your thumb. 

You have dinner together, and you watch a movie. Hopper can’t believe how well it goes, or how much El seems to like you. She sits between you and Hopper on the couch in demonstration of her lack of tact and he can tell you don’t care. He doesn’t care either. In a way, it’s nice to spoil El with affection she’s not used to having. Joyce is always, always kind to El when they see one another, but that’s not often. He hadn’t realised how badly El wanted some motherly attention, or how quick you are to give it. 

He should’ve guessed. You’re nice to him, and he’s an idiot. 

“I wish it was longer,” El whispers. Hopper looks over her head at you. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling her hair in a circle around your finger. “It looks so pretty like this.” You ruffle her hair and tuck it behind her ear. 

El shivers at the touch. “You think I'm pretty?” 

“Doesn’t Hop tell you you’re beautiful?” 

“No,” El says. 

Hopper winces. You just smile and wrap an arm around her shoulders. She’s small enough for you to squeeze. “He doesn’t tell me much either, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think it,” you whisper. “How could he not, huh? You’re beautiful.” 

“You’re both real pretty,” he says with a sigh, spitting it out now to get it over with. “Notice how nobody tells me I’m pretty and I don’t complain?” 

“You’re handsome,” you say, grabbing the top of his shoulder, and rubbing it kindly. You lift your chin for a kiss and he gives it without thinking. 

“Oh, ew,” El says, ducking away from you both in disgust. 

“It was a peck!” Hopper says. 

“Gross.” 

“Go make yourself some ice cream, kid.”

She hums happily and jumps up off of the couch. You laugh as he pulls you into the space she’s left behind, sighing as he hugs you tightly to his chest. “I think she likes me,” you say. 

Hopper snorts. “You think?” 

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Thinking about disabled AK!Jason tonite with a disabled s/o

Let's be fr this man could/should be an ambulatory wheelchair user but he won't because he doesn't know that's a thing and wouldn't think he deserved it. If you're an ambulatory wheelchair user maybe one day you manage to lovingly bully him into just TRYING it and it is life changing

He uses his ambulatory energy to do Red Hood shit nbd

if he doesn't use a wheelchair he's got at least 2 braces--shoulder and knee

Baby has chronic pain, arthritis, chronic migraines from being beaten

Missing some teeth too

take this boy to your neuro or your ortho!!!! he is totally unaware he does not need to live like this. better living through chemistry

let's get him some therapy too

you WILL have to go to his drs appointments with him. mans WILL freak the fuck out for ANY medical procedure, has very serious medical abuse trauma. if he can see how your drs help you he is much more likely to go if he can see that you are benefiting from your providers and that they haven't harmed you

if you're scared of drs he will FULLY stand behind you. probably not that healthy tbh but he gets it

having a special Migraine Protocol for each of you (it's basically just a snack and a drink, blue light filter glasses, a sleep mask with headphones for that special Migraine Playlist)

make your own pain scales and talk through frequency of pain bc when you have constant or near constant pain it fucks up your ability to quantify it so making your own pain scale is helpful (he probably uses shakespeare plays or authors. like a 5 for jason is twilight, because you can see some problems but it's fun and fluffy but when you start looking closer OH NO SO MANY PROBLEMS)

pain meters on a wall near the kitchen so you can know what you're working with

CBD patches

the AK suit is basically a giant brace/mobility aid so you help him figure out how to adapt it for his red hood persona, how to make it lighter and allow for greater ROM

will remind you to do physical therapy

resistance bands ALL OVER THE HOUSE

learning bodywork techniques

AT LEAST once a week using a special oil or lotion to work into some of his bigger scars to make the tissue more mobile

giving him a back/neck/scalp/face massage

after a while obvi that's a lot of trust he's putting in you

NOT deep tissue. don't hurt him more. you can have effective therapeutic massage without hurting a person

trager work involves basically shaking a limb and letting the weight of the muscle do all the work but it feels weird the first time and he'd just start laughing at you

specially if you do his glutes

but it feels really nice so he stops laughing and it does help his lower body pain

putting magnesium lotion on each other's neck and shoulders

start to ask each other "are you angry or in pain?"

hand massages

teaching him to stop pushing through the pain

one of his knees is basically bone on bone so you always know when the weather is changing

if u both have bad knees u just don't even when the weather is changing. take some pain meds, use your topical pain reliever of choice, prop those joints up and snuggle in bed. watch a youtube series or he can read to you

heated blankets as heating pads supremacy

occasionally he'll be in pain and the kind of pain where you feel like you're going insane, so as a distraction he will go online and buy a bunch of weird pain-relieving gadgets and you'll spend a week trying them out

(sometimes his pain fog shopping spree is blind boxes, or nail polish, or statement shirts)

all of his siblings know to come to your place if they get beat tf up because your medicine cabinet is UNreal

you're about to give cass or steph a Controlled Substance Pain Reliever and you pause "this is technically drug dealing, isn't it? dOn'T teLL rEd hOOD" jason is literally patching them up right next to you

soft blankets

reminding each other it's ok to take it slow

he's constantly tearing into the other rogues for not having ADA accessible lairs (except Ivy who successfully argued that the plants make it ADA accessible which will do. FOR NOW.)