#is this what it feels like to fall in love with a fictional character

[liondrakes]

On Chosen Identity and the Optics of Authenticity

by Sivaan of Candlekeep

Blurb: A personal essay in which I discuss the nuances of having a chosen identity. I also break down my thoughts on perceived “seriousness” or authenticity within the community regarding choice.

Choice is a complicated subject within the nonhuman community. Whether or not it's fully accepted depends on who you’re asking. If you ask me, I’d say yes but also no.

I say "fully" because there's plenty of individuals who'll say that they support or recognize their peers who chose their identities, but only if they identify this way under a broad label (like nonhuman) or a specific label like otherlinker. Calling oneself a chosen therian or chosen otherkin strikes a chord in complete strangers who feel like it's their duty to "correct" the language of other complete strangers.

Chosen identity is usually acknowledged in one of two ways:

It's "valid", but it's not as important to an individual as identities that aren't chosen.

It's "valid", but it's not as serious as identities that aren't chosen.

Neither approach treats our experiences with as much grace or understanding as other experiences.

It adds insult to injury in seeing discussions around our "validity" in general (i.e. asking if we even belong in this community). There's more of that than any discussion around what it's like for us to choose or the significance of choice in our identities.

I’ve addressed my grievances before in Involuntariness, Voluntariness, and the Stigmas in Between, but I decided to revisit my thoughts in an organized piece. I also decided to discuss my relationship with choice. I’m collectively quoiluntary. In being quoiluntary, my relationship with origin doesn’t fall neatly on either side of this framework.

Personally, I experience all manners of origin but I’ll be focusing on the identities I’ve chosen in this essay. I’m only one person, and although it’s not guaranteed, I hope that my experiences can at least open some minds when it comes to chosen identity.

Starting off, I’m proud to be a Badger of Mossflower Country. Mossflower Badgers are archetypal in their existence, to say the least. Our depictions are comparable to that of fantasy dwarves. We’re renowned for our smithing, battle prowess, and hardiness. I may not apply every aspect of us to myself, but I love being a Mossflower Badger nonetheless.

Mossflower Badgers are somewhat anthropomorphic european badgers who’re among the most prominent tribes in Redwall, alongside mice and otters. I specify Mossflower because the Mossflower Woods is the general vicinity of most Redwall stories.

Moreover, not all Badgers dwell within Salamandastron, a notable badger stronghold typically occupied by men of the species. After all, the first badger that readers meet is Constance, a Badger Mother of Redwall. I personally prefer the position of “Badger of Salamandastron”, though. I am no lord nor lady, but I’m fond of this stronghold as a reader and as someone who chose this identity.

I’ve always admired these strong and noble folk. As a child, part of me even wanted to be a badger within Brian Jacques’s Redwall series. It’s like when kids muse on which Warriors clan they’d be in while taking quizzes or making characters. If I could choose to be in any tribe, I’d be a badger in a heartbeat.

A couple months ago, Redwall was one of the few childhood favorites I revisited through audiobooks. Those feelings resurfaced, except this time I knew I could become a Mossflower Badger if I wanted to. This identity started as a link. Soon after, I shared my introspections on this link in a Tumblr Community, specifically the Alterhuman Community.

Unlike most of my links, it became a part of my identity fairly quickly. I suspect it’s because of my familiarity and resonance with this fictional group. Those feelings have been around since my childhood.

One thing to take into account is that I incorporate another identity into this one. I didn’t choose to be a honey badger, but I do perceive myself as a semi-anthropomorphic honey badger when I am a Mossflower Badger. As I’ve mentioned earlier, Mossflower Badgers are exclusively european badgers in appearance. This makes sense given the settings of Redwall. Redwall takes place within a fantasy woodland based on the environments of England or Scotland if I’m not mistaken.

While I technically don’t belong in this environment, that never stopped me in being a Mossflower Badger. Technicalities are nothing against my convictions, and one thing about choice is that you are often your own master.

My appearance doesn’t define me as a Mossflower Badger. My character does. I am steadfast in my values. I support the agency and freedoms of all creatures. I’d rather go down swinging than bow my head in submission, than to sullenly accept plight at the hands of another. That’s just being humane on paper, but in relation to Redwall, that’s also the makings of a tried and true badger.

Furthermore, there’s an experience among Mossflower Badgers that’s not exclusive to them but happens to them so much that it reminds me of myself. Mossflower Badgers tend to carry a mental condition known as Bloodwrath. It intensifies the emotions, abilities and tolerances of an individual, essentially causing them to enter a berserker state. Often triggered in battle, it’s a traumatic ordeal for anyone who undergoes this state. It’s not completely without its setbacks in battle either, for it can cause someone to struggle with differentiating between their friends and their foes. It’s also very difficult to control. Not all badgers carry this condition, but it’s still quite common amongst us.

I don’t experience berserker shifts, per se. However, I do have schizophrenia-based disorders which affect my perception of self; this includes my perception of my species. In revisiting the Redwall series, I liken Bloodwrath to my own struggles with particularly intense or overwhelming bouts with psychosis. Obviously, I didn’t choose to have said experiences but I do think choosing to be a Mossflower Badger helped me reflect on those experiences on my own terms.

Though, I must specify this isn’t a copinglink. This is just another reason why Mossflower Badgers resonate with me so much, hence my decision in becoming one.

Much like Mossflower Badgers, some of my links formed simply because I wanted to be them. While there’s usefulness to terms like copinglinker and funlinker, I also feel like they’re more boxes to put on myself. It’s not often that I refer to my links under those specifics. I have exactly one copinglink, and I only label it as such because I believe that’s how that identity will stay. It exists to cope with a very upsetting point in my life which I won’t get into.

As for the rest of my links, I had only two supportlinks. Besides those, my links didn’t really need those labels since their reasonings tend to be a bit more nuanced than what’s proposed for otherlinkers.

I link Colossi because Shadow of the Colossus is not only my favorite game ever, but it is a game that has deeply inspired me as a creative. I chose to be one of its titular enemies to grow closer with the game I love.

This is a choice not made for fun, for aesthetics or for support, but made out of love and passion for something. There’s nothing wrong with the aforementioned reasons, of course; I just want folks to understand that choice isn’t limited to those avenues.

I linked the Starlii, an open species, because I really liked the species concept. One could argue that this started as an aeslink, but reading about them in detail made me more invested beyond their looks. I wanted to further explore this species and their lore but not exclusively through original characters and ‘sonas. To do so, I chose to be a Starliian.

With this link, I also realized it serves as an outlet for my connection with the sun. I’ve never had a word for that connection as it always felt like an impasse between being and not being. Being a Starliian helps me bridge that gap by being someone pulled from solar energy but not being a sun myself. This realization ultimately caused the Starlii species to transition from a link to a formative part of my identity.

Despite already having a non-chosen identity from Creatures of Sonaria, I linked two species from said source for completely different reasons. Funny enough, I don’t play Roblox whatsoever.

The Fleuralis species became the first of two supportlinks. I originally chose to be a Fleuralis because I wanted to express my leonine nature within its source. However, the reasons behind my choice soon changed. It was less about asserting my leonine nature, and more about leaning into a more imaginative, fanciful side of myself. I linked this species to better embody myself as a fantasy creature. It worked so well that it eventually became a part of me.

The second was the Verza species. Their dreamlike space aesthetics were nice and all, but what led me to linking this species was their presentation. I was drawn to the Verza because, for a lack of better words, they were very gender to me. I’ve been meaning to explore other means of presentation, such as androgyny and femininity, while being a transmasculine individual. They’re avenues of selfhood I’ve wanted to forge for myself but always struggled with to some extent.

I chose to be a Verza to tap into those qualities. The Verza species was an ideal model outside the standpoint(s) of cisnormativity and orthohumanity, respectively. I experimented with this species from a queer perspective, and doing so made me feel a whole lot better about myself. Eventually, it transitioned from being a supportlink to simply being me.

I am an otherlinker not for my chosen identities, but for my struggles in saying with confidence that I am (x) by choice. Many of my constels come about because of involuntariness or vagueness. Additionally, I don’t get to choose what I shift into either. My polymorphism pretty much resets each day and takes the shape of my constels or core identities at random. I can choose a new species, no doubt about that. Embracing the choice is the hard part.

I’m so used to either knowing and not having a say in it or not knowing at all and letting things be as they may that it’s difficult for me to adjust to my choices. I’m an otherlinker because linking allows me to process those choices and build up my confidence.

If the process wasn’t so difficult, I probably wouldn’t call myself an otherlinker. There would be no need to. I could just specify which identity came about in what way if I felt like it. At the end of the day, I am who I am.

As is the case for chosen therians, otherkind, and nonhumans. They are who they are. Simple as that. I know that idea gets under the skin of some folks, but I implore them to ask themselves why it bothers them so much.

Someone choosing to be otherkin or a therian doesn’t inherently mean that they think all experiences involve choice. Someone choosing themselves doesn’t inherently mean they proceed with this identity in a disingenuous manner. These concerns boil down to people’s perceived “seriousness”.

The topic of “seriousness” has confused me for longer than it should have. What does it mean to have a serious identity? Identity is a nuanced subject. Who cares about its tone? I love having in-depth discussions about my experiences, or the experiences of others, with my peers. I also love joking around with my partner, saying “You wouldn’t hurt a little guy like me, would you?” during a badger shift and seconds before she snipes me in Splatoon. I love writing essays and poetry about my identity, but I also love Wet Beast Wednesday like any other blogger.

Voluntary identities are approached with the perspective that they aren’t given much thought. Chosen therians, otherkind, etc. are thought to be extremely laidback about their nonhumanity and go about their choice(s) without consideration. Meanwhile, their involuntary peers are thought to treat nonhumanity with the “seriousness” and complexity it holds as an experience.

Not only is the former’s behavior a non-issue, this approach is a false equivalency. Plenty of involuntary therians, otherkind, etc. have blogs and make posts that are lighthearted. You’ll find an infinite number of memes, shitposts, and reblog bait (ex: “Share to turn someone into a dragon!”) in our tags. Some are also shapeshifters, polymorphs, polykin or polytherians, and constelic nonhumans with many identities of their own. These qualities are not unique to voluntary members whatsoever.

I understand not relating to that sort of content. It’s not my speed unless I see something that actually humors me. That said, I don’t make it my problem. All of us engage with the community differently. I shared my thoughts with my partner a while ago, and I said something in passing that I feel is still relevant now. Perceivable “seriousness”, or lack thereof, is just another way to stress about authenticity.

Authenticity is a hurdle for any community. It’s certainly no stranger to us. This applies to both personal contexts (ex: “Am I still (x) if I (x)?”) and general contexts (ex: What are your thoughts on (x)?) among nonhumans.

Personal contexts come in the form of second-guessing oneself. It’s common to see a new member questioning every single detail about themself and worrying if it is the “right” or ��wrong” means of experience. Some will find themselves in a community where they feel like they belong, but don’t want to “overstep” and risk being invalidated or ousted. They pour a lot of focus into what is the “right” or “wrong” way of being instead of focusing on their own journey. Regardless, that journey can still get caught up in concerns regarding validity.

The bridge between that and general communal contexts comes in the form of discourse. Old discourse is kicked up, and old stances are put into place to determine who is and is not one of us. I’m coming up on three years of being in this community, and for the first year or so, I wasn’t all that active. Most of my involvement started in early 2024, and despite the recency, even I’m tired of the tit-for-tat nature of our discourses.

This usually happens out of concern for KFFs (folks who “kin-for-fun”), trolls, and misinformed newcomers affecting the community. Even so, KFFs typically frequent fandom spaces and don’t associate themselves with us. They are hecklers, not participants. A multifandom blog asking their mutuals to “kin assign” them is not the same as someone who chose to be a werewolf. Moreover, a troll is a troll. I know our community has faced its fair share of assholes poking around, but someone identifying as a therian by choice isn’t enough evidence to go off of. As for misinformation, sharing resources and information is always welcomed. You can do that without trying to nudge someone out of a label.

In this case, folks tend to do this by nudging others towards using otherlinker. Otherlink/er is often used as a default for chosen identity, but it’s up to the individual whether or not they want to label their identity as such. I support spreading information about other labels in our community, but I don’t think insisting upon said labels helps anyone.

It’s like trying to nudge someone who uses synpath into using otherhearted instead. You have a general idea of what they’re talking about, so what difference does make it in telling them to use something else?

Some believe it’s to prevent confusion or conflation with words and their meanings, but I think folks are “helping” from a place of bias and aren’t aware of it. There’s so much emphasis on having a serious approach to identity that involuntariness, or intrinsic identity to some, is basically put on a pedestal. If there is any way to “prove” or assert the authenticity of your identity, it’s to experience it without choice.

It’s a perspective that I’ve grown bitter towards, even as someone with involuntary identities of my own. To me, this is a product of approaching involuntariness and voluntariness like a binary. This also comes from a place of respectability. Even if folks are loudly and proudly nonhuman, the ways in which they distance themselves from those who chose to be nonhuman leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

No one wants to be associated with “fluff”. No one wants to approach others’ experiences with fairness. Unless, of course, they linguistically separate themselves from therianthropy and otherkinity by calling themself something else.

They’re “valid” but only if they don’t label their experiences as we label ours! (This is sarcasm.)

Cringe culture is supposedly dead up until someone chooses to be what they want to be. Suddenly, they’re associated with all the bad actors one can list at the top of their head.

There’s a lot of “You’re so valid!”-posting but not a lot of substance coming from it. People want more weird and unapologetic nonhumans, but still struggle in accepting someone who creates their own identity. People want their peers to show how they’re “truly” are a part of this community. Yet, what we really need is to seal those old wounds.

We need to reconsider how we approach experiences outside of our own. Community isn’t just about the similarities we share but the diversity that brings us together as well. It’s about recognizing those differences and embracing them. There is beauty in innately being someone or something, but there is also beauty in choosing who you are and in having your own experiences outside of either concept.

Ask us about our experiences with choosing our identities and how we facilitate those decisions.

Ask us about our experiences fluctuating between or existing beyond the framework of voluntariness and involuntariness.

Don’t let it stop at the contexts of origin either. This applies to other stigmatized experiences as well. Physical nonhumanity, clinical zoanthropy, and endelity, to name a few. Reconsider holding discussions on someone’s right to be here. Instead, open up discussions alongside each other. How do they feel as members of this community?

If they’re comfortable sharing, ask them about their experiences. Their voices deserve to be heard just as much as everyone else. It’s not hard to do. It should be common sense, if anything.

If we focused more on understanding each other, regardless if we relate or not, I feel like this community would be a more welcoming place.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

For any skeletons who play video games, S/O friend encourages them to play a 1-player horror game. Though S/O is willing to try it, they warn the skeletons ahead of time that because the horror game gives you the option to hide if the killer happens to see u S/O will hide and never come out, S/O admits there a scardy cat when it comes to horror games.

It just takes a little encougment to get S/O to leave the room and continue with the game... even though as soon as they see a glimpse of the killer/ hear the killer or the music changes, they immediately go back to hiding... the killer has to be waiting to ambush them as soon as they get out they just know it.

Would skeletons help carry S/O through the game? Are they both getting jumpscared? Would skeletons take over while S/O watches them play? How will it go?

Undertale Sans - He would take over... If watching you having the scare of your life wasn't that funny. Sans is pretty much watching you play with a bucket of popcorn, really entertained right now. He's mostly watching you and not the TV because your reactions are hilarious. He can't get over your face every time you get jumpscared.

Undertale Papyrus - Papyrus is also focused on the game, but despite his best intentions, he's definitely not helping. Papyrus thinks the game is too easy and keeps trying to convince you the puzzles are way harder than what they're supposed to be, which leads to you running in circles again and again instead of pushing a damn lever. You're both getting jumpscare a hundred times, but Papyrus refuses to take the controller as he insists you're the one who needs to solve the puzzle because it's not fun otherwise. He also won't accept you cowarding away as an answer. You just want to curl up and cry.

Underswap Sans - Blue loves horror games, they're really exciting. Unfortunately, he also loves watching you get miserable every time you get jumpscared... And he's jumpscaring you as well. He can't help it. Every time he sees you extremely tense, he lunges at you, making you scream in fear. Bonus point when it happens at the same time as the monster on the screen. He can't get bored of this. You hate him so much right now.

Underswap Papyrus - Honey is even more terrified than you are. When you're not fast enough to hide, he takes the controller from your hands and runs into the nearest closet himself lmao. You're stressing him out. His soul can't take that game for much longer! And damn he was right. At the first jumpscare, he screams at the top of his lungs then passes out on your lap lol. Good luck to move now.

Underfell Sans - He thinks you're exaggerating a lot and that the game is not that scary. That's when you say that if it's such a smartass, he's the one who should play. As usual, Red is all big mouth and everything until he actually has to do the things. Taunting is one thing, playing for real is a second one. Oh, he's going to do it, because he's no chicken, but you can see him get paler and paler by the second. At the first jumpscare, the controller flies through the TV and Red jumps to hide behind the couch, all puffed up like a scared cat. You can't stop laughing. Well. He's pouting now.

Underfell Papyrus - Edge doesn't understand what's the big deal. It's just a game. It's not real? It's not even that scary. He's judging you so hard, wondering what happened in your life to not make the difference between fiction and reality. After an hour, he's tired of watching you struggle, sighs loudly, takes the controller from your hands, and finishes the game in half an hour. See? That's not that complicated. Why are you overreacting like that?

Horrortale Sans - He's no help. Watching your character run away on screen, it's... *yawns* tiring... him... up. After ten minutes you feel a big weight on your shoulder as Oak collapses on you and falls asleep. No jumpscare or scream will wake him up. He's too far gone. You feel so lonely right now.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's frustrated that you keep hiding. He wants to know what's next in the story! You're so slow he's shaking! Please, for the love of Asgore, let him play. He can't stand seeing you hiding every two minutes or so, or passing in front of important objects without seeing them. PLEASE. HE BEGS YOU. FOCUS. You didn't know Willow could be that affected by a video game, that's kind of funny.

Swapfell Sans - Ah, he loves supernatural shit. No, he doesn't! You can see him jump even more than you do every time something scary happens, and that's the second time he almost impale the TV with a bone. He's doing his best to not look affected by what's going on, but that's all a facade. It's actually too much for him after an hour and he leaves to do something else lol. That night, you notice he locked the door of your room and put the wardrobe in front of it, just in case.

Swapfell Papyrus - You swear he's running straight into the killer to see you get jumpscared. Rus is not scared at all, he thinks that's hilarious how scared you are and he can't help but ruin the game for you either by making funny comments during the scary moments or scaring you on purpose when you give him the controller. He loves gaming with you. You two should do that more often.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Wine doesn't want to play because he thinks it's too cliche the monster following you is a monster. That game is making fun of monsters and it's not even realistic. Everyone knows monsters can hear well and so hiding in closets won't save you. To prove it to you, later that day, he jumpscares you by jumping out of a closet, making you scream in terror. ... Wait, you didn't hear him? Are humans stupid??? How did you survive for this long without any survival instinct? That seems ridiculous.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee is playing the same way you are, except that when he gets jumpscared, he drops the controller and refuses to play again before at least two hours lol. That's two days now you're in the same corridor. You can't move on because you have to sneak behind the killer and none of you want to do it. You end up giving up that game and go to play Mario Kart instead lol.

[winchesterwild78]

Daddy’s Girl pt 7

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (wife), Dean and Reader’s daughter, other characters from Supernatural

Warnings: court proceedings, angst, fluff, slight smut, mention of sexual assault

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This chapter will touch on the sentencing of the jackasses, how the family is navigating life and other twists and turns. 

This is a work of fiction and does not follow the Supernatural storyline. I do not own the rights to the characters used.

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

I moved back into the bunker but not our shared bedroom. I slept in the spare room down the hall. Most nights I stared at the ceiling longing for Dean. My heart was still broken from the cruel words he flung at me, the anger he had towards me. 

We had appointments with a therapist. Delilah, Dean and I had our own, then a family appointment and of course one for Dean and I together. I was scared the cracks in our foundation would open up and swallow us whole. 

The day we were due back in court for the sentencing I woke up early. I took a shower and walked quietly to the kitchen. Turning the corner I gasped softly. Dean was sitting at the table. His green eyes flicked up to mine. He looked exhausted and sad.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” My breath hitched and my heart clenched. I missed hearing him call me that and meaning it. “Good morning, Dean. Are you ready for today?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He shifted in his seat and there was a crackle of tension in the air. “Hey, um, do you think you and I can sit and talk later?” He asked in an unsure way.

I took a deep breath, “Dean, I think we should wait and talk with the therapist. They can help us with communication so we don’t end up saying things we’re going to regret later. Hurt each other more.” 

Dean took a shaky breath and nodded. He stood and walked over to me, cupped my face, “For what it’s worth I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for Delilah. I spoke out of anger. I love you and I can’t lose you.” 

I leaned into his touch, “I love you too, Dean. I never stopped, but we have some work to do.” He nodded and let his hand slowly fall from my face. The warmth on my cheek lingered. 

A few hours later we were sitting in the courtroom. I held Delilah’s and Charlie’s hands. Dean sat on the other side of Delilah and held her hand. 

The judge came in and discussed the trial and what the charges were. “Since both defendants showed a lack of remorse, and it has come to light this attack was not the first one I feel it is my duty as an officer of the court and a sworn protector of justice that I sentence both of you to the max time and you two will have to register on the sex offender registry for the rest of your lives. Bailiff, please take both of these young men into custody where they will be transported to the regional jail.”

We all let out the breath we were holding. The boys were crying and their mother’s were wailing. Delilah looked at me and I leaned over, “Don’t feel bad for them. You did nothing wrong. Daddy and I raised you and Charlie to take accountability for your actions, this is how they take accountability.” 

She nodded. I made eye contact with Dean and he offered a soft smile. I craved his arms around me, his lips on mine. I just wanted us to get back to the way we were. I missed my husband.

The next few days we spent time together as a family. The distance between Dean and I was growing. Sam, Eileen and Jody came over more often and tried to help. 

Today Dean and I had our first therapy appointment together. I was nervous. All the hurt from the past few weeks was taking a toll on us. The ride to the therapist office was quiet. 

When we arrived, Dean walked around and opened my door out of habit. Walking into the building, his hand graced my lower back. Again, habit. It made my heart flutter, a smile formed on my lips. Almost like there was a spark of hope igniting between us. 

When we walked into the room the therapist invited us to sit wherever we were comfortable. Dean and I sat on the couch, but opposite ends. I noticed she wrote something down. 

She started telling us about herself and then invited us to tell her about our marriage and what brought us here today. She already knew about Delilah, but she didn’t know what happened between us.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his spot. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. “Well, the stress of what happened to Delilah really got to all of us. Dean and I didn’t handle it well, and things were said that led to our separation. When I got into my accident I wasn’t living at home. Waking up in the hospital I saw my babies and Dean. Leaving the hospital I decided to move back home.” 

“I see, are you two sleeping in the same room?” I shook my head no. She wrote something down. She looked at Dean, “So, Mr Winchester, what do you think happened that brought you two here today?” 

Tears filled Dean’s eyes and my heart broke. “It’s my fault. I got so angry at not being able to protect my baby I took it out on my wife. I’ve always been able to protect people. She didn’t deserve the things I said to her. It wasn’t her fault and I told her it was. None of this was her fault. I’m a coward. I got scared and lashed out at the one person I knew who would always love me. She’s seen me at my worst and helped put me back together. I guess I just assumed she’d always be there no matter what. Now I’ve lost the love of my life forever.” 

I gasped softly and the therapist looked over at me. “Mr Winchester.” “Dean, please call me Dean.” “Okay, Dean, tell me when you first knew Y/N was the one. Tell me about the moment you fell in love with her.”

Dean smirked a bit and I looked over at him, wondering if it was the same day I was thinking about. 

“We had just finished a particularly grueling, um week at work.” I smirked at his choice of words. “We hadn’t been dating long, but had been working together for years. The two of us decided to get away for a bit so we went to a friend’s cabin. Y/N didn’t know because I blindfolded her. When we got there I had blankets spread out on the floor, our favorite takeout and pie. Had to make sure my girl got her favorite pie.” 

I smiled thinking about the day. A warmth filling my body.

“Candles everywhere. I went to start a fire and the wood was wet. I ended up chopping wood. She doesn’t know it, but I saw her watching from the doorway. The soft smile that ran across her lips, the way she bit her lower lip.”

I clenched my thighs together thinking about his cutting the wood. His shirt was tight against his body, the flexing of each muscle with the swing of the ax, and the way his strength was on display. I remember how it turned me on and made me feel. Like this man could protect me and anyone else that came along for the rest of our lives. 

“When the fire was lit, I put on some music. I don’t know how to dance, but I knew how much she loved it, so I tried. I took her in my arms. I still remember the way her eyes looked at me. So beautiful, so full of love. We danced and I lost my footing. We tumbled onto the blankets, me hovering over her. Her hair falling in her face. I gently brushed her hair back, looked in her eyes, kissed her lips softly and that’s when I knew. When I knew I was in love with her and would never love anyone else for the rest of my life. I knew she was going to be my wife, the mother of my children. That was the day I told her ‘I love you’ for the first time.” 

By the time Dean finished, tears were streaming down my face. The therapist told us it sounded like there was still a lot of love between us. This tragic incident in our lives tried to create a wedge. So, she gave us some homework, “I want the two of you to spend time together. Just the two of you. No children, no family. Just the two of you. You two need to get back to what made the two of you fall in love. I want you two to go away for a long weekend, or a week. Y/N, I want you to start by moving back into your bedroom with Dean. If this is going to work you have to be back in there.” 

I nodded. We thanked her and left. Walking to the car, Dean’s hand was by his side. I looked over at him and slid my hand into his, our fingers intertwined. He looked at our hands then at me and smiled. 

The drive home wasn’t as tense as the drive there. We talked about the homework and how we would figure out how to get away for a little bit. He took my hand and held it tight, “We will figure it out, baby. I want to make us work. I want to fix us. I will never forgive myself for hurting you. I love you, sweetheart.” 

“I love you too, Dean. I want us to fix us too.” He kissed my hand. We drove home and when we got home I walked to the spare room and started to gather my things. 

Dean came to the door and leaned against the doorframe. “Do you need any help, sweetheart?” I looked up at him and shook my head. He walked towards me and cupped my face, “I’m so sorry, baby.” His forehead rested on mine. I looked up at him, our eyes met and he leaned closer to me. I leaned up and our lips met softly. 

He pulled back and looked at me. Tears in his eyes and tears in mine. His hands moved into my hair and pulled me closer to him and his lips crashed on mine again. The weeks of separation, the anger, the pain, all slipping away. 

We pulled apart when we heard someone clear their throat. We looked at the door and saw Sam. “Well I see therapy is going well.” He chuckled. “Actually yes. We have homework that we need to talk to you and the kids about. First, my beautiful wife is moving back into our room with me.” 

I grabbed my things and walked past Dean and Sam. Sam smiled at me as I walked past and he squeezed my shoulder. 

Walking into my shared bedroom with Dean I felt a sense of peace wash over me. I felt more of the shattered pieces coming back together. 

“Okay guys, we need to talk to you all about the homework our therapist gave us. She wants mom and I to go on a long weekend away. Just the two of us to refocus and work on us, our marriage. So Sammy, if you don’t mind could you keep an eye on them?” 

“Yes, of course.” Jody looked at us and smiled, “Well guys, you’re welcome to use the cabin if you want, and I’ll keep an eye on the kids when Sammy can’t.” 

I hugged her, “Thank you. The cabin sounds great.” Delilah smiled and looked at Sam and then at Charlie. 

“We will figure out a good time for everyone so we can get away. I want to make sure schedules are lined up so nobody is inconvenienced.” 

Sam stepped closer to me, “Y/N, what would inconvenience us the most is if you and Dean separate. Y’all should go this weekend. That gives you a few days to get things in order.” I nodded.

Once it was settled I walked into the kitchen to start cooking dinner. Dean came in and leaned against the doorframe watching me. I was standing at the stove when I felt his arms snake around my waist. “Is this too much too fast? I can let go if you want me to.” “No, Dean. It’s perfect.” I leaned back into him. 

My heart beat wildly in my chest. I craved him. He spun me around to face him and he tilted my chin up, “I will always love you. You are the love of my life and I am so thankful you’re my wife, my partner, the mother of my children. Thank you for giving me a beautiful little girl and a devilishly handsome son. I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the man you deserve.” 

Delilah stood at the door and watched us. She loved watching us and seeing the love between us. Her heart ached at the pain there was between us and she was determined to help fix it. Knowing our love story, and how we needed to get away she talked to Sam and Jody about recreating the magic of that weekend where Dean and I fell in love. Sam and Jody were all for it. Charlie offered to help too. 

Jody and Sam went ahead to the cabin and got it ready. They met with the local florist to have flowers delivered to the cabin the day we were supposed to arrive.

Dean helped me finish cooking dinner and the four of us sat at the table like we used to. I couldn’t help but smile looking around the table. 

“So daddy, can we have a movie night like we used to?” Delilah asked, batting her eyes at Dean. He chuckled, “Yeah, pumpkin. That sounds perfect.” 

The four of us sat around eating and talked. Delilah said she was glad I was back home where I belonged. “I am too baby. I missed you three so much.” Dean lifted his eyes and looked at me. He smiled softly. 

Delilah took notice and looked at Charlie, “Hey rugrat, let’s go get the cave ready for movie night.” “But I’m not done eating.” “Bring it with you.” She said more sternly. She glanced between Dean and I and Charlie nodded. 

He grabbed his burger and headed out of the kitchen with Delilah.

Dean and I chuckled. “She’s not subtle.” He smirked, “No she’s not. I wonder where she got that from?” “Her daddy and Uncle Sammy.” Dean laughed. That deep, head tilted back, full of joy, belly laugh that I missed. 

“I missed this, Dean.” “Me too sweetheart.” “I’m going to clean up the kitchen before we start the movie. I should be long.” 

I stood and Dean stood. He took my hand in his, “Y/N, tell me we will get through this. I can’t lose you.” 

I took a deep breath in and slowly let it out, “Dean, we will get through this as long as we’re both willing to put in the work. This, tonight, is a big step in the right direction.” 

He nodded and cupped my face, “We were interrupted earlier. Care to continue what we started?” 

His green eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sunlight. I smiled and leaned close to him. I placed my lips softly on his and my hands found the back of his neck. Dean sighed against my lips. Each time we kiss feels like parts of the cracks start to heal.

The two of us finished cleaning the kitchen and made our way to the Dean cave holding hands. Charlie and Delilah saw us holding hands and exchanged smiles. 

Settling in for a movie, Dean offered me his arm and I slid in next to him. A small olive branch to help mend our relationship. He kissed my head and pulled me close. His fingers draw delicate patterns on my skin. 

Delilah was on his other side. Her usual place since the day she was born. Even as she’s gotten older, her relationship with Dean has gotten stronger. It has changed to grow with her, but there will never come a day where she won’t need him. 

Even in the midst of all of this pain, I am thankful she and Charlie see us working hard at mending our relationship, not just throwing it away. She’s been able to see Dean as a protector and a fighter, and someone who will always be there for her.

I looked over near the end of the movie and saw Charlie asleep on the floor and Delilah asleep against Dean. Dean’s eyes were closed too, his lips slightly parted like he was asleep. I smiled and started to get up slowly. 

With his eyes closed he smirked, “Where are you going?” 

I giggled, “I’m going to get blankets to cover the three of you up.” “I’m not asleep, besides, I’m not missing the first night of you back in our bed.” I chuckled softly, “Fair enough, but I need to cover them up before we do.” 

I stood and he slipped off the couch, carefully laying Delilah down. We grabbed blankets and put them on the kids. Dean turned off the tv and the light.

We went to our bedroom. The door closes behind Dean with a click. I walked to my dresser and pulled out some clean underwear, and an oversized shirt. “I’m going to jump in the shower before bed.” Dean smirked, “Okay sweetheart. Enjoy.” I nodded and walked into the bathroom. Part of me wanted Dean to come in and the other part knew it wasn’t a good idea yet. We still had so much work to do before we had sex again. No matter how much I wanted it. 

When I finished my shower I walked into the bedroom and saw Dean leaning against the headboard. He was shirtless and in his gray sweatpants. The ones that drive me crazy without him even trying. He smiled at me as I bit my lip. “Did you enjoy your shower, sweetheart?” “Yeah, I did. It was great.” 

He pulled the blanket back on my side and motioned for me to slide in. I climbed in the bed and he slid down, taking me in his arms. “Baby, I hope you know I’m not expecting anything. I’m just glad you’re back where you belong. Sleeping right next to me.” 

“I know, Dean. I’ve missed sleeping here. I love you and I know you’re not expecting anything. I do want you, more than anything, but I think we should wait.” He nodded his head in understanding. “Come on sweetheart, let’s get some sleep.” I nodded and snuggled closer to his side.  

Drifting off to a better sleep. Better than I’ve had in a while. 

The next morning Dean and I were packing and planning our trip. I was excited and a little nervous. Dean and I hadn’t been on a trip alone since before Delilah was born. 

“Okay, so you two are going to be okay with Uncle Sammy and Aunt Jody? You have everything you need, right?” 

Delilah smiled, “Relax mom. We are going to be just fine. You and dad need to focus on you two. Don’t worry about us. We are in very capable hands.” I nodded. 

Dean carried out bags out and I noticed the way his biceps flexed under his shirt as he walked past. 

My breath hitched and I licked my lips. Delilah smirked, “Dad’s a total babe, isn’t he mom?” My head spun and I looked at her. My face flushed red, “Delilah Rose!” “What?! I can see how you look at him mom. I hope one day I have a love as great as you two have.” 

I cupped her face, “You will sweetie, I promise.” 

Dean walked in and said “She will what?” Before I could answer Delilah smirked and said “Oh a husband that’s a total babe like you so I can undress him with my eyes like mom just did you.” 

Dean laughed loudly and I covered my face. “That is not what I said.” “You didn’t have to mom.” She winked at me. 

Dean flashed a smile at me and walked over, taking me in his arms, “You were undressing me, were you?” I hid my face in his chest. He smiled as he pulled me close. 

We said our goodbyes and we took off in the Impala. Dean grabbed my hand and interlaced our fingers. “Ready sweetheart?” I nodded and he hit the gas. 

As we drove closer to the cabin, memories of that weekend played in my mind like a silent movie. I looked out the window and over at Dean and smiled. He’d steal glances at me and his memories of that weekend ran through his head too. 

Since that weekend, we’d been through so much, getting married, having babies, raising them, now we were faced with the prospect of our marriage not surviving if we didn’t put in the work. 

Dean was willing to do whatever it took to keep his marriage going. 

I was staring out the window and saw our favorite take out place. Dean saw it too and pulled in. I smiled. 

“Should we eat here or get it to go?” I asked softly. “I think we should get it to go.” I nodded. 

We walked in and ordered the food. Not much had changed in the restaurant. More dust covered items hanging from the wall, the carpet was worn, but the woman behind the register was just as sweet as she had been. 

She remembered Dean and I and asked how we had been. Dean beamed with pride when he told her about the kids and how we were getting away for a romantic weekend, just the two of us. 

She smiled, nodded and held up her finger. Dean and I shared a confused look. 

She returned with a small bamboo plant and handed it to Dean. “This is for good fortune, growth and resilience. You two will be okay. I see love. Strong love.” She smiled at us and Dean thanked her. 

A few minutes later we were back in the car with the food. 

I sat with the plant in my hand thinking about her words. She was right, there was definitely strong love still there. 

We pulled up at the cabin as the sun was beginning to set. Dean and I started to carry things in and as we walked in I gasped. 

There were blankets spread out on the floor, battery operated candles everywhere, and beautiful flowers on the counter. I looked at Dean and smiled. 

Walking to the kitchen I put the food down and grabbed the card attached to the flowers. I read it and smiled. “What does it say sweetheart?” 

I read it out loud: “Mom and Dad, we hope you love the flowers and the blankets. We want you two to be as comfortable as possible while you’re falling in love again. We love you both. Love Delilah and Charlie.” 

Dean smiled, “Those sneaks. I bet Sammy and Jody had a hand in this too.” I smiled, “probably.”

We unpacked the food and Dean carried it to the blankets. “I’m gonna start a fire.” He stood and grabbed some wood. “Huh, there isn’t enough for the whole weekend. I’ll have to chop some tomorrow.” I giggled, “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.” 

Dean looked at me and smirked, “Well then I guess I better put on a show then.” I touched his arm, “I can’t wait.” 

We ate dinner and talked. Remembering the therapist’s advice about talking about us and not focusing all our energy on the kids. At first it was hard but we eventually started talking about us and how we fix our relationship. We laughed and we cried. 

Dean stood and walked over to the record player. He turned on Led Zeppelin’s Since I’ve Been Loving You. He offered me his hand and I stood and took it. 

We swayed and he held me tight as he sang along to the lyrics. As the song ended he dipped me and I smiled. “We made it without falling this time.” “Oh sweetheart, I never stopped falling.” 

My heart fluttered and I gasped softly. Dean leaned forward and kissed my lips. 

Lifting me up he walked me backwards towards the blankets that covered the ground. The light of the fire casting shadows around the room. 

He gently laid me down and hovered over me. “You’re more beautiful than the first time we were here. You’ve given me an incredible life and two amazing children. I love you more than anything. I’ve loved you since the minute I laid eyes on you and I still can’t believe you chose me.” 

I looked up at him. His eyes full of love and regret. Dean leaned down and slowly kissed my lips. The kiss healing more of the cracks in the foundation of our love. I knew he was sorry and he regretted everything he said. It still hurt, but our love was worth fighting for. He was worth fighting for. 

My hands found the back of his neck and I pulled him down. The kiss between us turned heavy and needy quickly. 

Dean’s hand slipped down and to the hem of my shirt. He stopped and I nodded against his lips. 

His hand slid under my shirt and left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

Within minutes our clothes were discarded and Dean was hovering over me with lust filled eyes. His eyes scanned mine for any sign of hesitation. I saw his question and cupped his face, leaned up and kissed his lips. “Dean, I’m ready if you are. I love you and I want you.” 

The look in his eyes quickly changed back to need and want. Positioning himself between my thighs he lifted my legs and pushed in slowly. 

My fingers grabbed his biceps and my head tilted back as I moaned his name. 

His head found the crook of my neck as he stilled. “Baby you feel so good.” 

We made love over and over until we were both exhausted. 

“Dean, that was incredible.” I rolled over and kissed his lips. “Baby, I love you so much and I’m so sorry I hurt you. You didn’t deserve anything I said to you. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had left me for good.” 

I placed my hand on his cheek, “Dean Winchester, you are the love of my life. Yes you can be an ass sometimes, but I could never nor would I ever leave you. I understand why you did it and I forgive you.” 

Dean’s eyes filled with tears and they silently fell. “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart.” “Yes you do. You deserve me, our children, Bubbles, and the beautiful life we’ve built together. Don’t ever forget that. You saved the world. So you, Dean Winchester deserve so much more.” 

Dean pulled me in his arms and threw a blanket over us. “Want to sleep out here tonight?” I snuggled closer and nodded, “I’m quite comfortable right here.” 

The two of us fell asleep, our bodies tangled together in front of the orange glow of the fire. 

The next morning we woke up to the sounds of the birds singing and the sun shining through the large ceiling to floor windows. 

Dean stretched and looked at me. “Good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?” I smiled, “Better than I have in a very long time.” He kissed my lips, “Me too, baby. Well I better go chop some firewood. Want to watch?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I smiled. 

“You better believe it.” I giggled as I stood up with the blanket wrapped around me. “First I’m going to take a shower. Want to join me?” 

He grinned and as I took off down the hall he came bounding behind me. Our laughter and giggles filled the cabin. When Dean caught up to me he pulled me in his arms and kissed me. Our chests rising and falling, trying to catch our breath. “Sweetheart, I love hearing you laugh. It’s been too long since I was the cause of it. Thank you for not giving up on me or us. I love you.” I placed my hands on his firm chest, “Dean I’ll never give up on you or us. I love you too.” 

Back at Jody’s house the kids were settling in for the weekend. They decided to hang with Jody and the girls since Sammy and Eileen were working late. Jody noticed Delilah was very quiet over breakfast and pulled her to the side to talk to her. 

She hadn’t had a chance to talk to her alone since all the stuff happened with Jaxon and Adam. 

Delilah was sitting on the bed in the guest room and was on her phone. Jody knocked on the door, “Hey sweetie. Can I come in?” Delilah nodded. 

“How are you doing, baby girl? I know a lot has happened lately.” Delilah shrugged, “I guess I’m okay. I just feel so guilty mom and dad are having problems. This almost broke them. They have always been so in love and they almost split up because of me.” Her tears started to fall. 

Jody grabbed her hand, “Hey, no. This isn’t your fault. None of this was your fault. I don’t care if you snuck out and danced naked in the streets, he had no right to put his hands on you. Neither one of them did. As far as your parents, sweetie, they will work it out. I’ve known your dad for years and he can be a jackass sometimes, but he is head over heels in love with your mother. He’s going to do whatever he has to in order to make it right.” 

Delilah took a deep breath, “Thank you, Aunt Jody. This is just so hard.” “I know honey. I went through the same thing. I was about twenty and went to a friend's party. I remember getting a drink, and then the next thing I remember was waking up to a boy on top of me. I screamed and fought, but I passed out again. The next morning I woke up naked and bruised. I was so ashamed, but therapy and a great family helped me through it. You have that right here. So many people love you and are here for you. You’ve got this sweetie. After all, you’re a Winchester.” 

Delilah smiled and hugged Jody. “Thank you, Aunt Jody. Thank you for telling me and reminding me what I have.” 

Sam had stopped by to check on the kids and to make sure they had everything they needed. Charlie asked Sam if he could talk to him for a minute and Sam nodded. 

Sam and Charlie went outside and sat on the porch. “What’s up buddy?” “Uncle Sam, no one will tell me exactly what happened to Delilah. All I know is it was really bad. I just want to know so I can help her.” 

“I get it bud, but it’s not my place to tell you. Just be there for her and help her when she asks for it.” Charlie nodded, “Okay. Thanks Uncle Sammy.” 

Sam ruffled Charlie’s hair, “Anytime buddy.” They stood up and as they got to the door Charlie turned and looked back at Sam, “Uncle Sammy, I might not know exactly what happened to Delilah, but I can promise you nothing will ever hurt her again. I’ll make sure of that.” 

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[bloogers-boogers]

THIS. I’m glad you’re feeling more free to discover new things about yourself! It feels nice to have control of your own path without someone dragging you to theirs. I discovered a lot of things about myself that I never consider having, happening or experiencing when I decided to stop listening. However I’m lucky I was never forced to be religious I was lightly encouraged to follow one if I wanted to however I was never put in schools or forced to go to church. It was all willingly, there was a point in my life that I went leaping into different religions (to find some sorta place to belong to, to feel understood?) until I felt comfortable in one (christianity) but as much as I felt comfortable in the church I was at, I never felt connected to the words of the bible. Or the belief of a god. But they’re moments I do question it, from the religions I’ve been, there certain things I kept following without much of a care. Just cause it doesn’t hurt to believe in something if it gives a good message? Makes you do good. This is the idea I followed most of my life when it came to religion. I may have a hard time believing in whats shared from different beliefs but I do believe in good faith. I no longer follow a religion however if I’m asked I would simply answer that I haven’t been connected to god in a while. Im not saying I stopped believing but im also saying im not really interested in talking about it. But that doesn’t stop that I was surrounded by people with conservatives views and opinions that affected the way I thought as a child. A reason to why im also careful in how I say I don’t believe in religion, MAYBE a god, but not religion. They’re people who’ll force it to you with corrupted ideals,beliefs or whatever (like fucked up people) which entirely goes against the whole message of god. Who are we to judge someone based on their race, gender or sexuality. If god were real I doubt he’d care, he loves all his children. Base on the church i was at I was told you’re only ready to be forgiven if you’re ready to accept god into your heart. Nothing else. I wasn’t pushed to accept him, to be there or to follow a way some pastor declare were the right things to do. There was no rules but to respect others, be kind, and spread the word of god to anyone who needed it. Everyone was welcomed there. The moment they changed pastor I immediately felt a different vibe from the previous, I felt pressured to speak about the lessons we were being taught about and I didn’t like how he’d preached. I wasn’t comfortable. It felt forceful. Religion felt like a joke and god felt so far away from me. So I bailed, I was already distancing myself from that church because of other problems and this just made it easier for me to leave.

And now I just follow what my heart wants to believe! I believe in whatever the afterlife takes me to, in the meantime I enjoy what life offers me. Or at-least try to. The moment someone uses god as an excuse to be an asshole I cringe so hard because fuck no. Those are beliefs from man, not god.

So yeah, I don’t care if it’s a sin to obsess about fictional characters (nswf drawings, smut fics, sexualizing a character, fantasying about said character, etc), not following a religion, to explore myself, be queer! Have no idea what the hell am I in gender terms. Call me weird, tell me I’m going to hell! I don’t care, it won’t change how I think or see the world. I feel comfortable in how things are currently within my thoughts of faith. That’s what matters.

I’m happy that you’re in better more comfortable place ❤️ sorry for the long ranting! I didn’t think I’d fall back into talking about my religion problem

Adamsapple has made more comfortable in exploring sex topics, be more comfortable in my body (explore it further), being more open to showing off some of my skin, not feeling ashamed in feeling sexy or wanting to, but also like made me more comfortable in drawing sex. Something I thought I’d never stop feeling ashamed or embarrassed on doing. If this ship has damaged my brain it also damaged my insecurities and conservative beliefs taught as a child that have only brought me unhappiness, shame and anxiety. I love you Lucifer and Adam 🥺❤️

[animentality]

I know hunger games is good, I just can't put myself through a sad dark dystopian world where things are sad and dark and suck and everyone hates each other and everyone dies.

Like I could watch the news...

[puppppppppy]

reading life changing fanfiction of a subjectively underwhelming source media is a special kind of hell

[lady-tortilla-chip]

.

[expressionless-fr]

I wouldn't be here if it wasn't because of him.

[babsaros]

How did you know you were gay?

ah, couple reasons i guess. some that only became obvious with like 15 years of hindsight, and only after pulling myself out of the deep dark pit of compulsory heterosexuality.

like. classic symptoms of lesbianism include shamefully staring at the floor when you pass the women's underwear racks in the department store, even though you're not quite sure why you're uncomfortable. that sort of thing.

i have memories from early elementary school of accidentally glimpsing down a girl's shirt at recess and then bottling up that feeling and refusing to think about it. any time i had a crush on a boy, it was from an extremely idealized and safely non-actionable distance. the one time i did have a boyfriend, it was just my guy best friend from middle school, we dated for barely a school year before i ended it and the most physical intimacy i was ever comfortable with was holding his hand when we walked to class. i went to a different school's prom because a guy i was kind-of friends with asked me, and spent the whole night uncomfortably avoiding eye contact.

basically i started questioning my sexuality towards the end of high school, when i noticed myself getting like. jealous about my guy best friend's girlfriends?? like. i wanted to date them. i wanted to steal them from him lmao. i thought girls were pretty and soft and nice and cute and i was too afraid of being a predatory creep to do anything about it besides have far-fetched daydreams, but there was no heterosexual explanation. like, i hugged a girl i thought was pretty one time and it did things to my brain. that memory got locked in for life.

i identified as ace/pan early on, but again- compulsory heterosexuality. the idea of being with a guy romantically or sexually was never actually appealing. i had just been told that was what i was supposed to want my entire life, and the movies do a great job of selling that fantasy. but really i was just a lonely depressed helpless romantic teenager that wanted to be loved lol.

a large part of why i identified as asexual was because i was so sex-repulsed by the idea of penetration, honestly? (which i have since gotten over, but specifically Only with girls. the idea of having sex with a man still icks me out, and my preference is definitely femme-presenting ppl) a bit of it was probably also because i hadn't unpacked gender yet either. it made it very difficult to actually imagine myself having sex with anyone ever lol. this is gonna sound so cringe to say, but reading gay smut did awaken things in me.

in conclusion, tldr, i just like to think about tits and kissing women sometimes, idk. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[hanaasbananas]

its been like three days since I finished reading perfect marriage revenge WHY am I so desperate to reread already

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

These are a couple doodles from yesterday, Gideon as a younger teen, before the growth spurt, maybe 14? He's discovered he's a vampire, and has a lot of recovery to do, since he's severely blood deficient.

I'm gonna let myself explode about my vampire gideon ideas, under construction, under the cut: (I don't write fanfiction, I just throw up my ideas on a tumblr post, apparently :'D)

This is what I love about tumblr - it's a place where I can throw the doodles (something that isn't finished *artwork*), and let myself be really delusional about fictional characters. So I'm gonna take a moment to ramble about the ideas I have for Gideon as a vampire.

If you're a fellow Gideon Head, HI THERE... anyway, here's my thought process on a potential vampire-gideon backstory???

I've always liked the idea of gideon being a vampire, and also becoming a much better person when he's older. And that got me thinking, maybe those two things are linked. Maybe the vampire thing is somehow tied into his reformation.

But I tend to lean towards building my ideas off canon (as opposed to making an AU). And if gideon was a vampire, and knew this during the events of the show, it would have come to light at some point. So, either he doesn't know he's a vampire, or he becomes one later. Becoming one later works narratively, but he's already so vampiric, with the white hair, pale skin, sunscreen, evil, etc. So I'm like, let's go with that.

So, gideon has gone his whole life without knowing he's a vampire, and without drinking blood. I'm thinking that being a vampire in this case (my gravity falls fan version of what a vampire would be) wouldn't adhere to typical vampire conventions. You don't NEED to drink blood to survive.

Here's the idea I got yesterday: after the events of weirdmageddon, gideons experience motivated him to become a better person. It was the awakening, basically. But in the subsequent years, he's still a little shit. Maybe he's in juvenile detention, or prison again. But now, he has the self awareness to know that what he's doing is wrong. This is where my ideas get a little fuzzy, so bear with me. Bud has his suspicions, and as a last resort, puts gideon on some sort of mission trip type of cross country trip, when he's in his teens. And along the way, maybe at the end, there's this secret group of vampires that open gideons eyes to what he really is.

Basically??? Without blood, gideon is very evil. He's an evil little shit. This may not be how it is for every vampire. Maybe some grow very sickly without blood, just get hungry, etc. The effects of blood deficiency vary from vampire to vampire. But Gideon becomes very unhinged. And he'd essentially been Blood Hangry for his whole life. That being said, some of it was just his personality that he needed to work through, but drinking some blood helped a LOT. Blood isn't food for him, it's more like his medication.

Once he has that discovery, he spends a long while, I'm thinking maybe even a year, just recovering from the deficiency. He's almost always drinking blood to keep up his levels, and he's very rarely seen in public to keep the vampire thing a secret. That's what these drawings were supposed to be, him in his pseudo bedridden state. This period in his life would be one big blur; mostly spent binge watching soap operas and being all cozy. In contrast to his usual suit + tie, he's dressing for max comfort: sweatpants, sweatshirt, a knit hat over his ridiculously big hair, and always wrapped in a blanket. Not sure if somehow he feels cold when drinking blood?? But for some reason, I feel like he'd always be wearing like 10 layers and laying under a heated blanket or something.

Eventually, he'd only need to drink blood about once a month for maintenance.

Character development wise - even as an adult, Gideon isn't sure if he's truly a good person. Is the blood deficient version of himself the true gideon? Or is this well adjusted man who he truly is? And there's an issue of the chicken and the egg, too. Gideon was born a vampire. Did these genes activate because he was predisposed to being evil? Or did the vampire thing happen by coincidence? Does being a vampire make him evil, or is it the other way around? He doesn't know, and he never will.

The one thing I'm not sure I like about this idea: i'm worried that I'd be writing off his villainous personality as an illness that can be cured with a thing. Obviously, it would be better if he faced that head on, and figured out how to be better. So I'm still grappling with that. But for now, this is an idea I'm entertaining. Of course, I think it would be interesting if there was a plot point where his usual source of ethically sourced human blood was compromised for a time, and he had to grapple with his personality going topsy turvy.

It's actually embarrassing how much I just wrote???? If you've made it this far, wow, I applaud you. I guess this was just my idea of having a good sunday night, writing down my silly thoughts on gideon gosh darn gleeful. Let me know your thoughts too!!!! I'd love to know if you have any ideas, or questions, or ways to strengthen this potential backstory.

[kianamaiart]

No offense to the magical girl story you're doing, but I'm not sure about it. It's looks good, and you've put effort into it, but I'm just not fond of magical girl stories, like, why do they always go for the teenage girls and not, you know, adults, particularly ones who already understand the concept of responsibility and sacrifice. But good luck.

That's fine. If you don't like the genre, you don't like it

I thought about playing with the idea of an adult magical girl (magical woman?), similarly over it, but it was giving like... bitter millennial vibes which isn't what I'm going for LMAO.

With an adult it felt like "ah this is her job and she hates it haha she's so relatable". But I wanted my story to feel more like "Oh this girl hates her job, which makes sense she's a baby she shouldn't even have a job or all these responsibilities actually". Since this series is somewhat of a parody of the genre, I feel like leaning into the tropes is important. Teenage girls having this burden of protecting the world is one of them.

It also falls into the themes of being a "gifted kid who people have a lot of expectations for" that I want to explore. Growing up too fast sucks, Aika's aware of that and trying to reclaim her childhood

That's why I'm doing it but in general, I think magical girls are usually teenagers because the genre is generally marketed toward tweenage/teenage girls. A lot of film and fiction is either made to sell a fantasy and/or to inspire. What I love about magical girl animes is that they aim to teach little girls that you can to be feminine and strong. Not that I don't think you can't do that with an adult character but we all know it's nice to see characters that are like you, whether it be race, gender, sexuality and in this case, age. A child doesn't know what it's like to be an adult so seeing a kid like them doing cool shit probably resonates more. Then on the flipside, an adult can remember what it was like for them to be a kid/teenager. So having a younger protagonist can still be relatable or even nostalgic for an adult. I think teenage characters just cast a wider net of appeal/relatability for audiences.

I would love to see more media tackle broader age ranges also, but also I get why high school is an, admittedly overused, but popular age range to write.

[strangersynth]

bc you have things to say doesn't always mean you needa say them let alone it also doesn't always mean it's your place to say them kwim

[suiana]

(yandere! demon harem x gn! human reader) (reader is human)

"i think it's working! i see their shape-"

"cursed satan! our blood sweat and tears are finally paying off? we'll finally see a real human?"

"kya kya kya! I'm so excited!"

your ears ring loudly, your hands clutching the sides of your head as you let out a soft whimper. what the hell just happened?! one moment you were in your room lazing around, the next a magic ring formed below you and now you're... in hell?

is this hell? did you die?

you weren't quite sure if it was. it certainly looked dark and eerie with the current setting you wer ein Right now having skulls everywhere. but seeing the horribly demonic creatures in front of you talk in minecraft enchantment table confirmed everything you suspected.

that you were dead. probably.

"u-um... am i dead-"

"huzzah! the human has been summoned! they're so tiny!"

"oh my satan below! look at them..! they look just like an angel..."

"kya! i want to eat them! look at their confused face!"

you stare at the three demons who were surrounding you, blinking slowly before you let out a shaky sigh. were they talking about how many sins you've committed? the amount of times you jerked off to fictional characters? is that what the book in their hands were? a list of all your wrong doings?

you immediately submerged yourself in a depressive state, frowning as you begin to silently regret all your life choices up until now. damn it, you should've jerked off one last time before you died-

meanwhile, the demons were discussing what dinner they should give you.

"kya! do you think that the human will enjoy goat broth with human meat?"

"no no! allow them to eat elven tarts first! those are nice!"

"you fools, we should ask them first."

one of the demons mumble, arms crossed across his toned chest before the other two demons nod excitedly, turning towards you. their grimoire was immediately throw away, hitting a poor skull off the shelf.

oof.

anyway!

"ahem... human, allow us to introduce ourselves... we are-"

"kya! demons!"

"yes! and we're so excited to have you here!"

"worry not, you aren't dead. we just summoned you because we wanted to have a human for our experiment."

the three of them suddenly talk in english, eagerly looking down at you with wide grins. you wouldn't have been so thrown off if not for the fact that their teeth were so sharp and they looked like they were about to chop you up for their so called 'experiment'.

you gulp nervously, opening your mouth to ask them what type of experiment. but it looks like they read your mind or something.

"kya! it's a love experiment! don't worry!"

"yes! don't you worry too much cute human! we will never ever hurt you! maybe love you too much though..."

"mn, that's right. we are just conducting an experiment..."

the calmer of the three pauses mid sentence, approaching you as he suddenly bends down to your height, his demonic appearance closing in on your face. your heart races, feeling his hot breath on your skin before you feel your mind go blank at his words.

"where we see how long it takes for a human to fall for three demons. specifically three that are obsessed with said human already."

...

huh?

just... what the hell was going on?!

[2hightocare]

PRINCESS TREATMENT ✷

“In a world of boys’ he’s a gentleman” mini series—

Synopsis: Jungkook simply does everything to make you happy..

Genre: established relationship!

Warnings: pure fucking fluff… (seriously makes me wanna jump in oncoming traffic) jungkook is a bright green flag, he’s love language is “acts of service” (can be read as a standalone but I recommend reading the first part)

a/n: we all deserve oc and jungkooks kinda love.. I’m turning this into a mini series since a lot of people enjoyed it🤍

for @ohsweetmimosa !!

Falling in love was always something that you wanted, your face has always been shoved into pages of books, wondering when it would be your turn to experience that type of love. Your mom would always tell you that your expectations were too high and that no man could ever be as perfect as a fictional man.

Until you met him.

There were no words in the dictionary to describe him. No words to describe how beautifully his eyes would sparkle whenever he would tell you he loves you, the way his thumb would caress you whenever you would hold hands, or the way he would kiss away the tears that would escape your eyes.

You a hundred percent believed God made men, and sent Jungkook as an apology.

“When did you learn to braid hair…?” You curiously ask, with a slight hint of jealousy in your tone, making Jungkook laugh behind you as his fingers thread the three strands of hair repeatedly. “Watched a YouTube tutorial,” he chuckles, trying so hard not to pull your hair.

“What for..?” You stare at the mirror in front of you with the goofiest smile plastered on your face, watching your boyfriend with no shirt, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he carefully braids your hair with his lip between his teeth.

“You always braid your hair but then complain your arms hurt from keeping them up for so long soo… why not make myself useful.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

Your heart did a cartwheel, might have exploded in your chest from how fast it’s beating. But nothing new. You were so accustomed to the feeling of butterflies flying in your stomach whenever he would do or say something to you.

He drops the most beautiful phrases anyone has ever told you so casually, like it was normal. But that was your normal since you met him.

You would hear your friends talk shit about their boyfriends, how they did something or what they didn’t do, but you really just never had anything bad to say about Jungkook. He basically took "Princess treatment" to another level.

You never had to ask for flowers, never had to pull out a chair, never had to open a door, never had to enter a car freezing... because Jungkook being Jungkook went out twenty minutes earlier to turn on the heater before you would get in.

Never had to worry about leaving your wallet at home when the only thing in your bag is lip gloss. Never having to turn on your brain whenever he was around.

Locked doors? Where are the house keys? Did you leave your curler on? Jungkook got it.

“That’s so much better than mine,” you point to his ice cream as your eyes widen from how the creamy flavors melt into your mouth. “So bo—mb!” You muffle out from the mouthful of ice cream shoved into your mouth.

“Let me try yours,” he opens his mouth, waiting for you to send a spoonful of your cookies and cream into his mouth. “Here comes the airplane! Brrr,” you try making airplane noises as your hand does a weird twirl before inserting the spoonful of ice cream into your smiley boyfriend.

“Mhm,” he nods his head, humming loudly, watching you smile at him.

“I actually like yours better, baby. Let’s trade?” Jungkook hands you his small cup of ice cream as you nod happily, while you hand him yours.

Jungkook watches with the biggest smile on his face while inserting another spoonful of the creamy content as he watches you eating the new ice cream flavor enthusiastically, hearing you rave about the new book you have just finished reading and how dumb the main character is.

Jungkook's heart aches, sizing double its size, beating hard in his chest. Your cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold outside the car. You both didn’t care about eating ice cream in the middle of cold December; you guys took it as a challenge on who would get sick first.

He laughs at the lighthearted jokes you threw at him, while you take another big spoonful of the chunky ice cream that was his not so long ago.

Little did you know that he really didn’t like your ice cream flavor.

When Jungkook first met you, he knew from the start that he was a goner. The way you smile at him, how your eyes will have a small glint on them whenever you look at him, or the way you would scrunch your nose if you found something funny or cute.

It took him by surprise when you pulled the move on him, thinking you found something disgusting when you first did it.

“I will literally eat you right now!” You scrunch your nose at your smiling boyfriend who’s slightly kneeling for you to be able to see your initial carved into his haircut.

“So that means you like it?” Jungkook stands up and spins to face you. You stare up at him, his dimples on full display looking down at you with your cute outfit he helped you pick on FaceTime.

“I fucking love it baby!! I have the urge to crawl inside your skin,” you bite your lip containing the laugh you’re trying hard to contain, failing miserably when Jungkook raises an eyebrow with a smirk on his face. “That’s… cute,” he replies before kissing off the little nose scrunch he loves so much off your face.

“Is that like your ‘cutie mark’?” You quip, your arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders. “Cutie mark?” He asks, a hint of interest in his voice while he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“You never watched My Little Pony?” You fake gasp, eyes widening.

“I’ve heard of it, but me sitting down to watch ponies with superpowers… yeah, no.” Jungkook squeezes your waist as he explains.

“You suck,” you roll your eyes playfully sticking your tongue out before entangling yourself off his arms and making your way to the couch.

“Come big baby, we are watching My Little Pony.” You pat the empty couch space beside you.

He watched every season... all nine seasons with you.

Jungkook just wanted to make your life easier; you were always known for being “Miss Independent” in your family and amongst your friends, but here you were letting a man put your heels on for you.

“Too loose or…?” Your boyfriend looks up to you from his kneeling-down position in front of you.

“You look really good on your knees, sir.” You say instead with a sly smirk on your face, ignoring his question. “Pshh,” he rolls his eyes as he chuckles, tying a bow on your lace-up heels.

“Since when do you not flirt back?” You pout watching your boyfriend repeat his actions on the other foot. “Since we are late... and can’t be any more late.” He looks up with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Psh, okay.” You blow out in defeat as your boyfriend chuckles underneath you.

“Come on princess, let's go!” He stands up, giving you a hand for you to stand up off the bed.

The long rides to your guys' destinations were your favorite; Jungkook had given you the “passenger princess” award ever since you set foot in his car. He even installed a light-up mirror on your sun visor whenever you needed to fix your hair or makeup in the car.

Jungkook would listen to your little playlists. He still remembers when you explained to him that each playlist has a different emotion, which made him laugh. Now, anytime you played a song, he would ask you what emotion you were feeling right now.

“What emotion are you feeling right now baby?” He squeezes your thigh as he stops at a red light. The reddish hue illuminates your guy's face. “In love,” you turn your head to the side, staring at your boyfriend who’s already looking at you.

His eyes twinkle as he stares at you, a big smile adorns his face. As you mirror his actions before leaning in and giving him a kiss on the lips, his eyelids immediately flutter close.

“‘Cause I got my mind on you... I’ve got my mind on you.”

Plays softly from the car speaker; you smile into the kiss. “I love you.” He whispers softly. “I love you.” You whisper back.