#i can barely watch one show these days

[starfire-s]

this can’t be the same brain that used to watch 10 kdramas at a time

[shidoukanae]

Hello to the Buddyfight fandom it's been a hot minute but god do i miss this show and have been making fanart for it in the background so i thought i'd post to tumblr too ^^

I swear every year I end up coming back to this show and wishing that it kept going, that it got rebooted, that i could just erase my memories of this show and just watch it all over again from the beginning to enjoy everything once again from Tasuku's own sense of justice twisting against him to Gao's suffering of PTSD and how heartfelt it was handled.

There's something very special about this show that I haven't been able to find replicated elsewhere. It has the most perfect world to exist (so much so that i'd love to be isekai'd into it if i could!!!) and while i have my own gripes with it (hi S3+) i honestly sometimes wish i could go back to my high school years of watching this show just to relive it all again :'D

Anyways!!! I hope there's still people out there who enjoy this show even ten years later who'll like seeing new funny artwork for it!

I wanna add too that i'm hoping to create a rewrite of FCBF (ft. seasons 1-3 + Ace) or at least create more artwork for my interpretation of it and its world!

Because, sincerely, this show is one of the few that, for all its flaws, hasn't disappointed me in the years that've followed unlike many other things i've seen and i wanna try to keep the spirit of it alive while I can thanks to that. And if there are any fans still in existence who love it, i wanna provide some food while its once again in my orbit because damn do i adore this show <3 <3 <#

[wildshadowtamer]

i think more fans need to revisit their source material sometimes. just. remind yourself of the actual character your talking about.

[teeth-cable]

Have you seen The Amazing Digital Circus yet?

If so, what's your opinion on it?

I LOVE TADC! It’s my favorite indie show at the moment! There’s just so much I like about it but my main ones are

1. The setting and execution being unique. A horror-like project taking place in an late 90s/early 2000s digital game is not a new idea and same goes with characters being stuck in a purgatory however it’s how the artists reinvent those idea that makes it new. The digital Circus made its own aesthetic that makes it stand out from other projects with similar concepts and designs. When I first watched the pilot, one of many things that stuck out to me was how new the story ideas felt. I couldn’t think of any other pieces of media similar to TADC beside for surface-level comparisons. The TADC created its own aesthetic and knows what it wants to be and I like it!

2. Soundtrack. Speaks for itself, the soundtrack for the pilot is so good especially Your New Home. That song is very catchy and emotional too. It has such a unique melody, everytime you hear the first few notes you instantly recognize it. It does a great job highlighting the dread and existentialism crisis of Pomni’s situation. I recommend to give it a listen if you haven’t.

3. The characters dynamics. I just love how the characters interact with each other. The majority of the jokes comes from characters’ interactions and dynamics and how well everyone plays off of each other. The best example is Jax with everyone, Jax is a funny jerk who likes bullying his peers. It’s funny to see what creative ways Jax will bully the other people whether it’s being sarcastic and making quips at them, or though goofy pranks and how the characters react because of their contrast in personality. Every character beside Jax is openly stressed or worried in someway while Jax, at first seem like a chill layback dude.

4. The characters differences. I adored the differences between each character from how they talk to their poses. After watching HH and HB, I learned to have an appreciation for character differences. It’s just refreshing to see characters allowed to be different instead of the same tired reused tropes and repeating the same type of dialogue again for every character.

5. Mystery and lore. There is so much to explore in the pilot, it’s make you wanting more. When going in to watch the pilot, I made the mistake of thinking the series will be predictable. I didn’t see how they could make this premise work because by the end of it, Pomni will go insane but then I watched the pilot and was speechless. The pilot does a good job setting up questions for the audience to ask. If Caine lied about the exit, what are other things did he lied about? How long has the cast been stuck in the circus? Who are these people? Are they previous game developers? Who were they in their previous lives? What is the company’s motivation to create the headset? What are the abstractions in game? Are they viruses to the game program? Who were the former cast? What horrors has Kinger seen to be as paranoid and easily frighten as he is now? Do the abstractions still have a consciousness? You just want to find out more about the lore to solve the many mysteries in the show. I find it impressive Gooseworx was able to stir up the theorists because they have admitted in an ask, there are already theories floating around that are almost right about the show.

One problem I did have for the pilot were the scenes containing the Gloink Queen. The pacing of the pilot was fine until we got to her then it was slow. I feel it dragged longer than it needed too but beside that, my issues for the pilot ends.

I can’t speak for the fandom on other platforms but the tumblr one is great! Most of the time everyone is being respectful towards each other and I love seeing what creative theories, AU, fanfics, and art the fans created. The only people causing drama are the anti-shippers, and it’s just dumb. All of the cast are adults, if age gaps ships makes people uncomfortable, that’s valid but they shouldn’t make it into other people’s problems. Gooseworx themselves admitted they don’t care for romance and they don’t want fans in the fandom getting harassed over shipping.

Overall despite what issues I had for the pilot and fandom, they’re overshadowed by the positives and I can’t wait to see the full show and the fandom’s growth.

[shirogane-oushirou]

no promises anymoooooreeeee i'll appear online when i appear online 😭 every time i say "ooh i think life is almost done being overwhelming!" it. becomes even more overwhelming in the dumbest ways. all i can manage rn when i'm not stressing myself into a shut-down state is staring at the wall while listening to youtube essays + mindlessly crocheting.

i might queue up ppls art and fics w/o commentary in the tags... i want other ppl to see what all of my cool friends have made, but i genuinely can't think right now with this monstrous brain fog. i'm really sorry, just. yeah. maybe i'll think of some way to make it up later!!! once the dust has settled!!!! but until then i wuv u and miss u. smiles.

[venting in tags including familial manipulation and ableism. i. didn't mean to write all of that, thiss was originally going to be a main blog post but. aaaaaAAAAAA!!!!!

also no need for replies or anything, i'd turn them off for just the one post if i could kjsndkn, i just needed to get things out and go eep jsjndsfdn ok bye bye bye bye!!!!]

[lohstandfound]

ignore this.

learning to shut up when i dont have anything new to say to the discussions my mutuals are having about the treatment of the female characters in this show and fandom

even though ive just gone ahead and rambled in the tags a bunch of bullshit

[katarascape]

I'm trying to watch Alone Australia rn and girl. Girl i Cannot

Like idk, maybe i was expecting too much but for people to be freaked about the sound of the trees on day one. Day. One. GIRL. You are meant to be living on country alone for MONTHS, and you're acting like you've never even been camping in your own back yard. Girl i can't

[mars-ipan]

i think it’s crazy how often an adult cartoon will get popular and then jewish people will point out that it’s antisemitic and like every time i think “oh it must be kind of subtle for this many people to not notice” and then it’s the most overt in-your-face “the writer of this plot point believes in the illuminati” shit

[icewindandboringhorror]

this is not the exact one I watched but I saw one of these "dish scape" things at someone's house who actually has TV (like they pay for dish/cable instead of just watching stuff online) and I think they're meant to be relaxing atmospheric stuff that you mostly ignore, but I sat there for 35 minutes watching absolutely engrossed.. further proof that I genuinely think my brain is incapable of experiencing boredom lol..

[smokedcapybara]

Me, who literally just sweeps for a living: ah nice the weekend I can rest and hopefully engage in some hobbies

Mom, who spends all day almost every day at home just sitting on her phone: could you sweep the apartment?

[mrs-han]

Hi Mama Han! 💜 Please know my Happy Birthday wishes are meant to be sent the day of your birthday and not before 🙏 (in my country is considered bad luck to greet someone for their birthday days before 😅)

I thought of asking for something sweet like MC making Jumin sleep on her lap on the days at his penthouse when he obviously didn't sleep, but THEN I remembered this video:

https://youtu.be/d_sa4Ur04QU

And the masterpiece that was "The Trilogy of the Marias" with Thalia and I thought: Jumin's route, but as a Mexican telenovela with the funniest tropes we love from the medium (the rich boy, the poor girl, the evil stepmom, AMNESIA, lost relatives, Soraya! Pick your choice! )

Basically I hope you can write something you can have fun writing 😊 and Happy Birthday (in a few days)

Omo, hello Darling!! *huggu*

(Don’t worry, I totally understand — my family will only say it the day of, too! I got caught saying ‘Happy Birthday’ to my father the day before his birthday, and I got LOOKS.)

AND OKAY UM, MEXICAN TELENOVELAS?! Omo. Omo, I just got an idea based off of a show modeled after a telenovela 😂 if you know, you know! (My mom loves that novela, by the by 😂)

Okie!! Here goes!! And ¡¡¡Muchas gracias por tu petición!!! Siento haber tardado tanto ><

Jumin had never attended a unisex baby shower before. His father’s more lucrative partner insisted on a gender-neutral theme, something Jumin heavily admired. The colors were very pleasing to the eye.

But as the party progressed, Jumin couldn’t stop noticing the combined glow and irritability of the mother-to-be. She kept complaining of the room being too hot, or too cold. She had even thrown a gifted pair of slippers at her husband’s head at one point.

“Ah, sweet love.” Standing next to his best friend, V casually leaned against Jumin’s sturdy figure. “Take it in, Jumin. One day, that will be us. At the mercy of our dear —”

“What the hell is this?” The mother-to-be demanded, lifting up a pair of slim-fitting jeans. “Who would buy me this now?! Do I look like I can fit into jeans?!”

V awkwardly lifted his glass to his lips. Jumin bit back a laugh.

“Hey Jumin, she’d like jeans, wouldn’t she? She can wear them after she gives birth, right?”

“Honey, try to calm down —”

“How can I stay calm when some idiot thinks I can fit into a size two after this?!”

Slipping out of the room like an eel between rocks, V set his wine glass down and exhaled shakily.

“I’m not an expert, but —”

“Shut up, Jumin.”

Laughing softly, Jumin’s eyes fell to his blurry reflection echoed in the wine’s dark red color.

“Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?” V asked.

“About?”

“Settling down. Having kids.”

Jumin was ready to object, but his best friend was right. His mind did wander to the possibilities of siring heirs one day, but that meant meeting a woman and…

Ehm.

Still. Jumin’s age combined with the lack of an heir to the Han family name got to him.

A little bit.

“I have no interest in dating anyone at the moment, much less marrying them. Children are, unfortunately, a very distant goal.”

Finishing his wine, V smacked his lips, much to Jumin’s chagrin. “Sure, if you stay in your bubble.”

“Sure, I should be just like you,” Jumin scoffed. “Rambling to the park attendant about the speeds of rollercoasters and eventually throwing up in the nearest trash can once the ride is over.”

“… You said you’d never bring that up again.”

“It’s safe to say that you and I aren’t siring any heirs anytime soon. Women repulse me, and you, well —”

“Yes, yes, I’ll probably puke all over the next woman I talk to. Right?”

“… No, but why not.” Jumin grinned.

V’s eyes grew as a thought came to mind. “Ready for a crazy idea?”

Jumin took another sip of his wine. “Why not, the night is still young.”

“Let’s donate sperm tomorrow.”

Spitting everything up, Jumin’s eyes bore into V. “Are you — what? Why?”

“Well, like you said. We aren’t having kids anytime soon, and with how much busier our lives are going to get, it’s not a bad idea.”

“V, do you really —”

“We’ll be giving the gift of life to a couple. Or a well-off single mom!”

“… I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“Come on, Jumin. We both know you’re going to say yes.”

“Doesn’t it bother you? There will be a young man or woman that will one day look like you, or me. We aren’t in the private eye, Jihyun.”

“Who cares about all that. Why are you so worried?”

Jumin felt the uncomfortable churn of jealousy over V’s more carefree nature. “I… well, there’s no harm in checking it out —”

“I already made an appointment for us.”

“You wha — delete it.”

A shame V refused to listen. The following day, Jumin found himself sitting in the waiting room of a sperm donor facility.

“No, that’s literally impossible.”

“Ma’am… I’m sorry, but…” laughing nervously, the doctor looked at you, then at the paperwork in her hand. “The results prove otherwise. When was your last period?”

“Uh, a I’m a little late, but —”

“How late?”

“Two, three weeks? Look, I shouldn’t be pregnant. I can’t be pregnant, I’ve never had sex! I’m here for the results of a Pap smear, not to —!!”

You cut yourself off. You had to, or the swirling sensation you felt would eventually tip you over.

The doctor’s eyes gradually widened. “… You… were the Pap smear appointment at 0900 hours on Tuesday?”

“Yes!!”

“… Oh!” Her laughter almost calmed your nerves.

Almost.

“I confused my appointments, you see… I had an artificial insemination appointment with another client… forty-five minutes after you… I must have gotten you two mixed up…!”

“Are you kidding me?!” You yelled. “How could you confuse the two?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t — I had a lot on my mind that day! You see, I had —”

“Oh my God, I don’t want to hear it!!” Throwing your hands up, you couldn’t stop focusing on the anxious churning in your stomach. Hell, maybe it was the seed suddenly aware that it shouldn’t be there.

“There are options for you to take —”

“You know what, you’re done. I want a new doctor.”

“Ma’am, it’s the end of the year… and if you want to schedule an appointment with a new provider, you need to wait until after New Years…”

“After New Years.”

“And our staff at the front desk is going to inform you that the wait will be about two months out…”

You had never been more furious in your life. Sliding off of the examination chair, you (tried to) take as many deep, controlling breaths as possible. You were too afraid to ask about your options, and while abortion was the most reasonable, this doctor would probably end up giving you cyanide to injest.

“If I may,” the doctor voiced timidly, raising her finger.

You shook your head, agitating the budding headache against your temples. “I really don’t want to hear any suggestions, thanks.”

“No, you see… the sperm donor asked that I inform him of when his sperm was ever used —”

“His sperm should have never been used.”

“Nevertheless… would you like to know…? Who…”

The timidity of your doctor’s voice frustrated you further. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt I’ll keep it.”

“Which is reasonable, given the circumstances! But, I’m wondering if you, too, would like to know… given you may not keep —”

“Fine. Who is it.”

She stared at you, fumbling with her fingers. “Are you familiar with Han Jumin of C&R International…?”

You stopped breathing. Your fingers tingled, your throat went dry, and your jaw clenched so tightly that you felt your teeth grinding rigidly against each other.

Han Jumin. The heir to the massive business conglomerate, C&R. Of course you knew him. Well, not personally. You were currently reading one of his books, The Successful Path of a Certain Man, for your Business Intelligence & Analytics final.

He was a business magnate, a flawless negotiator and the role model for business majors everywhere.

And you were inseminated with his seed.

“I have to go.”

“Um, wait — ma-am!”

Ignoring your doctor completely, you grabbed your coat and rushed out of the facility. It was too much for you to absorb, and you had so many questions.

Like, what was the Han Jumin doing at a sperm bank?

How would you go about suing your doctor?

Why did you schedule your first freaking Pap smear towards the end of the year?!

You wanted to go home, curl under a huge pile of blankets, and disappear from the world.

But something else captured your attention. A ping from your phone.

Unknown: … Hello…? Can you see this?

[stripesysheaven]

.

[purring-tiefling]

not vent but vent. like. i think i would attribute anything negative to venting. anyways it's in the tags

[uygfiug]

putting in 3 times the required effort only to barely get a passing grade

[preserve-or-raze]

my tags got out of hand

i keep thinking about hobbies and how i often spill over myself to pick up new ones. i have adhd, i end up trying something for like a month and then just getting far enough in it that i move on, satisfied.

and that should be fine; but it's never fine.

i am a pretty decent artist; but i can't just make art for my dnd campaign, i should be selling dnd maps and character designs and scene setting pieces. i can't just make my friends matching earrings, i need to get an etsy and ship them internationally and take bulk orders. i make pretty good props and decorations and use them to throw my friends parties - but i should be running a party planning business and start taking paying clients and networking and putting my skills to actual use.

for some reason, i never figured out the specifics of pottery. it was a fun class and i enjoyed myself - and still, i'm embarrassed, years later, that i put in all that useless effort. everything i make has to be stunning. stellar. i should have applied myself more. maybe i'm too lazy. maybe i'm broken and selfish and needy. actually creative people would have kept going; they would be bettering themselves at every possible opportunity.

we find ourselves in this trap, even accidentally: we need to commodify our time, because it is a commodity. if we spend our efforts and our time not earning, isn't that the same thing as burning free money? and god forbid you ever take up a hobby that ends up being more expensive than you thought. you sit in your car and you look at the receipt and in your head you hear a conversation that isn't even happening - your mom or your friend or your partner all saying oh great. not this shit again. it's always something with you, and it never actually means anything.

i have realized this horrible thing, recently - i'll get excited to start a project, pick up a new hobby. and then i just... stop myself. i start thinking about the amount of time it will take, and how it'll look in my monthly budget. what if i can't even produce a good enough final product. sure, it's exciting to think about how i could make my friend her own custom dice. but i'm just polluting the earth if i don't get it right. better not bother. better not try.

restless, i get caught in the negative space. the feeling that oh god, i want to create. and that horrible sense - yeah, but i don't have the time to just put to waste.

[inkedells]

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.” 

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it. 

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

 You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again. 

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.