#or i write something completely different to be posted first

[genderqueerdykes]

hi um. i’d like to ask you for some advice, since it seems like a lot of people come to you when they need it. i’m a trans girl who’s been taking estrogen for 2.5 years but. i’m just so disappointed and unhappy with what hrt has done for me. i feel like i’ve been completely taken over by doomerism from me constantly comparing myself to other transfems both online and irl, and from spending too much time on trans reddit (i’m sending you this ask instead of writing another vent post on r/mtf). through this i’ve convinced myself that i will never be happy with my body, or that i’ll never have real boobs or a feminine body at all. i really really don’t want to give up hope, but it just seems so far out of reach, and i’m stuck down here in this inky abyss. what do you do in dark times when you need to regain hope, but you can’t do it yourself?

first of all, i wanted to say i'm sorry that you're feeling this way. medical transition is a very finicky thing. there is no way to predict what will happen and when, so it's okay to feel just. completely bummed the hell out when you're not seeing the changes you hoped for yet. i definitely see how it can be crushing, especially when you know your body needs to look a different way for you to be happy. it's important to consider people look a lot different irl than they do in photos and videos. camera lenses can only capture so much. pictures and videos can be edited. it's hard to compare yourself to something like that

& i did want to say that you're definitely not alone! there are a lot of girls in your exact situation. with everyone responding to HRT differently, you'll see girls who get changes right away, and girls where it takes a long time. changes with HRT generally happen very slowly, way slower than the eye can perceive, so it's okay if you feel like nothing is happening. your body just may need more time to adjust

have you ever increased your dose? if not, that is totally an option! you may also want to look into progesterone if you find that you're not happy with your breast growth after some time. it's best to look into progesterone first to make sure it's right for you, as it will affect more than just breast growth, but i wanted to throw it out there as an option! if you're not on an androgen blocker, this could also potentially help you

for both estrogen and testosterone HRT, it can take a minimum of 5 years for people to begin seeing the effects they were desiring. 5 years, minimum! that's a very long time, comparatively, you are very early on in your journey. the effects you want to see may just come along further on down the road. i know it's easy to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to others. it's good to remind yourself that they are not you, they do not share your genetics. they look like them. you look like you. it's okay that you don't look like those people- they're not you.

it doesn't make you any less of a woman just because you haven't seen these changes yet. there are plenty of women who look just like you, cis, intersex, trans, genderqueer, and otherwise. there are many cis and intersex women who don't "pass", and it doesn't make them any less of a woman: the same applies to you, and every trans girl. dysphoria can be a real pain in the ass and make things harder than it needs to be. it's okay to not be content with where you're at now. it's okay to be frustrated that you're not seeing the changes you want to right now. many, many trans people feel just the same way you do.

you may feel awkward and uncomfortable right now because you're literally in a transitional phase. think about when teenagers go through puberty, about how awkward they look and feel. cracking voices, bodies that are "in the middle" and not fully developed. that's what you're going through at the moment, and its okay. it just takes time for things to fully settle in.

what i would suggest is trying to find ways to do some self care that affirm your gender that don't involve your appearance. validating yourself in other ways is extremely important. building yourself up takes time. if you feel insecure about how you look, it's okay. you can start building your confidence in your identity and gender in other areas of yourself, first, then move on to your appearance. try to spend time with people who respect you for who you are, no matter how you look. try to surround yourself with people and things that affirm you

i hope you start seeing those changes you want to see soon. if you need more advice, feel free to ask! if any other trans girls on E have any advice for the asker, or relate to the experience, please feel free to chip in with some feedback on this ask, or by sending an ask! due to being intersex, i was taking estrogen and progesterone despite not wanting to, so i was not cataloguing what was changing or anything like that, so i can't speak from personal experience there despite having been on E HRT in the past.

take care of yourself for now. try to go easy on yourself, you're still in your coocoon. the day where you emerge as a butterfly is on its way, it just takes a little time. please feel free to come back any time. i hope we can get some good insight for you

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

you write "enemies to ____" SO WELL. and i've had an AU daydream stuck in my head for a month that is violet as a second year scribe pulled into the revolution bullshit first because jessinia and liam started banging, but mostly because of the suspicion of it all

Oh thank you!! That’s such a fun daydream. Unfortunately, I don’t actually ship Liam and Jesinia, so a full fic with them in it would kick my ass, but you should try your hand at it!!!

Have this drabble as inspo (620 ish words, canon compliant, set during IF part one except Xaden is there because I wanted him to be):

“It’s second year rider business, Jes. I’m sorry.”

Violet peeks her head around the archive’s shelving unit just long enough to watch Liam’s fingers move, then settle. She should retreat back to safety. She should prioritize not getting caught. But she needs to know what Jes says back.

“Last time you had ‘second year rider business,’” Jesinia retorts, hands moving so sharply, they recruit her arms and chest for emphasis, “you came back bloodied and bruised.”

Violet can just make out Liam’s sad smile over the top of Jesinia’s head. The sight of it—that private sweetness—is almost enough to make Violet want to hide back in the stacks. Instead, she settles for pulling her hood higher over her head. If Liam happens to look her way, he might not recognize her if her hair is tucked under the cream fabric.

“A different type of second year rider business,” Liam admits. Somehow, his body language conveys his guilt without any of the usual signifiers. His hands are heavier, his motions softer.

Violet needs to know what it means.

The worst part is, Violet actually likes Liam. He doesn’t have that typical aura of rider arrogance, and he’s so good to Jesinia. If only he wasn’t a liar. Then, he’d be perfect.

Violet fiddles with her hood once more, covering as much of her head as she can. She steps backward, meaning to hide herself behind the shelf once more. She’ll come face to face with her books, and she’ll find one to inconspicuously pull off the shelf. When Jesinia returns from her boyfriend, she’ll be none the wiser to Violet’s scheming, just as it should be.

But, as she spins to face the shelves, there are no books in her line of sight. Instead, her vision is filled with darkness, a black shirt on a broad black chest.

She tries to swallow down her gasp, but she’s too slow. He hears it, and he smirks, relishing her surprise.

“Eavesdropping, Violence?”

“Deserting your post, Riorson?”

His smirk stretches even further across his face at her accusation. Her hate for him flickers in her chest, a twin flame to her annoyance, her invigoration. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m here on dragon business.”

She crosses her arms. He is not in her archives on dragon business.

“Riders aren’t allowed this far back,” she counters, eyes narrowed on him.

He merely cocks his head. He enjoys her scrutiny, too. “Mairi’s back here.”

“Yes, well, we like Liam. He gets special privileges.”

He doesn’t, actually. Jesinia’s completely fucked if any of the other scribes catch on to her study-dates. Of course, Jesinia’s completely fucked in plenty of areas. If her boyfriend’s schemes involve Xaden Riorson, traitor’s son…

Violet can’t think about that when the man is right before her. It’s dangerous. She intuits that much from the sight of the swords on his back.

He plasters a hand on his chest. “You don’t like me, Violence? I’m hurt.”

She’s not sure why his teasing gets her, but it does. She rises onto her toes and slams a finger into his muscled chest.

“I know you’re up to something,” she hisses, “and I am going to find out what.”

His eyes take her in, appraising her in her scribe robes.

“I’m sure you will, Violence.” He steps back, out from under her finger, and nods at someone over her shoulder. Violet spins to find Liam and Jesinia, watching the show. Her cheeks flush pink. She’d rather look at Riorson, so she spins right back around. He’s still smirking at her, bastard that he is. She hears the smirk in his voice as he adds, “Be sure to let me know when you do.”

She watches him leave, Liam at his side. She is going to figure him out.

[mryoyo000]

Wicked book and musical: on Glinda (SPOILERS)

I waited a bit to write this until hopefully the Discourse™️ has settled a bit but I wanted to say something about Glinda in the novel “Wicked” vs. the musical/movie.

SPOILERS

One thing I’ve seen people talking about regarding the book vs. the show is expressing disappointment regarding Glinda as Maguire depicts her, versus how she is changed for the show. Glinda in the musical follows a fairly typical kind of character arc, beginning as the archetype of a superficial, popularity-obsessed rich girl, who grows in depth and maturity over the course of her life (kickstarted by her relationship with Elphaba) and by the end has become, if not the primary heroine of the musical (which is Elphaba), a character who we see has earned her title as the Good Witch.

I said this in my precious post, but again it bears repeating that “Wicked” the book and “Wicked” the movie have not only completely different target audiences but also completely different goals as stories. I’m not trying to criticize anyone who saw the show or movie first, and felt disappointed by the novel—or really anyone who didn’t care for the novel in general—but I think that some of the criticism the book has gotten recently, after the movie came out, doesn’t take into account that in many ways, the book and the musical are completely different works with the same character names and broad plot outline.

So I’ve seen some people expressing disappointment that in the book, Glinda “regresses”, that she’s racist, that she’s not actually a good person, etc. And I can definitely understand how this rubs people the wrong way—whether in comparison to the show or even just to the Oz books or the 1939 movie in general. Glinda in pop culture is about as synonymous with good as the Wicked Witch of the West is with evil, and seeing her depicted in such an unflattering way is probably not what a lot of people anticipate or necessarily enjoy reading.

(In my previous post I already addressed a different criticism, which is Glinda’s comparative lack of presence in the novel—she’s the POV during Elphaba’s time at Shiz and then largely fades out of the story before a final confrontation. I maintain my stance this is what works for the book, which saves Elphaba’s perspective for the end after showing us all of the people she’s lost first.)

But it is true that in the Maguire book, Glinda’s “goodness” is a cynical punchline for a character who, in her reunion with Elphaba, has become this:

[Glinda speaking] “‘Yes, I had been at an orphanage on the shores of Mossmere, and for a lark I thought I’d go to the game park—they have dragons there now, and I’d never seen a dragon—so I was scarcely a dozen miles away when the storm hit. We had terrible winds even there; I cannot imagine how a ceremony could have been in progress in Center Munch. In Mossmere there were whole sections of the park closed to visitors due to the fear of falling trees and escaping Animals—’ ‘Oh, so they call it a game park, with Animals?’ said the Witch. ‘You must go, dear, it’s a lark…’”

and this

“Glinda turned yellow-pink. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I was fond of Fiyero and he was a good man and a fine statesman. But among other things, you will remember he was dark-skinned…’”

Knowing about Elphaba’s history with Dr. Dillamond and general involvement with the cause of Animals makes Glinda’s casual mentions of Animals in game parks that she visits even more unpleasant. And while it is definitely indicated that Glinda was in love with Elphaba, I don’t think her comments about Fiyero here are some sort of deflection to hide her feelings about Elphaba—this would be overly convoluted and anyways Glinda could have denied the suggestion of an affair without making a racist comment.

Glinda here is an archetype that I think many people are familiar with especially in current discussions about society and politics: the idea of the supposedly “benevolent” elite, doing lots of public charity and good PR, while actually aligned with the forces of oppression out of convenience and material benefit. Elphaba explicitly calls her out on this:

“‘You are working in collusion with the Wizard to render Munchkinland ready for annexation,’ said the Witch. ‘You have no agenda of charity, Glinda. At least don’t fool yourself. Or are you really under some rusty spell of Madame Morrible, after all this time?’”

Glinda’s “goodness” in Maguire’s telling is the exact opposite of Elphaba’s “wickedness”—one is rewarded and praised for her participation in the Wizard’s regime where the other is ostracized and eventually treated as a criminal for her attempts to rebel and resist. The book “Wicked” is in some ways a story about failure, and while Elphaba’s lifelong failures are the focus of the story, Glinda adds to that thematic focus—she is yet another disappointment in Elphaba’s life (in addition to Nessarose, and Boq, and her father, and so on) and one that stings in particular because she could have been better. She was better, at one point. And Glinda has failed herself, too.

In the quote above, there is a nod to the suggestion that Glinda and Elphaba’s fate and even their actions as adults may have been influenced by Madame Morrible’s spell. But Glinda herself says to Elphaba: “‘I’m no pawn…you do have some choice.’” In that very same scene, in fact.

I can’t blame people who dislike the novel for being quite cynical and pessimistic in its outlook of humanity, but at the same time that cynicism is what drives a lot of the characterization. Glinda in the novel is not the friend to Elphaba or hero that she is in the musical, and she isn’t meant to be. Viewing the book primarily as a political satire, Glinda fits in well as a parody of a particular kind of figure, and it’s both intriguing (in my opinion) and controversial that Maguire uses a character so strongly associated with goodness to make that point.

[raileurta]

Well this post got me thinking about how the humans would react to Raf's death. It also would not be pretty to say the least.

⚠️ Trigger warnings in the tags ⚠️

Both Fowler and June are devastated at the loss. He was just a kid involved in war he shouldn't have been anywhere near. I bet for the longest time they would blame the Autobots for the loss and resent them for it. They would also become extremely overprotective of the other kids. Especially June who was already protective. This whole thing made her lose complete trust in Arcree's ability to protect Jack. (The femme bot doesn't blame her for it) She would try to keep Jack away from the base for any excuse. Logically she knows he is technically safer there but her heart is too scared of being away from her kid. Fowler also can't help but agree with her. He is much more aware and strict about the kids now too. He was even tempted to sorta kidnap them and send them to a secret base in Washington or something. For now he is going to have the kids being monitored 24/7.

Jack is depressed as hell to say the least. He blames himself for not being able to protect Raf. He was the one "meant" to stop their trio from being hurt and he failed. It cycles through his mind constantly on what he could have done to prevent this, how he could have been better, why wasn't he better?

Jack visits Raf's family a lot and tries to help them any way he can. He feels like he has to atone for his failure in some way. Then when that doesn't work to help free himself of the guilt he would resort to "punishing himself." I'm pretty sure you can figure out what that entails..... 🔪

Jack also is much more aggressive about preventing Miko's reckless behavior. He will tackle, and even restrain her to prevent her from potentially getting herself hurt. They have many arguments now and aren't really on speaking terms. He will text her a lot though just to see if she's alive, Miko will always respond no matter what.

Miko at first just went into shock. Her mind went into a complete shutdown. For two days she barely spoke, ate, or just did much of anything; once the shock wore off though she exploded. She ripped off the posters off her walls, broke everything in sight, screamed, cursed out the world, and even smashed her hand through her mirror. Once the adrenaline wore off she clutched her bleeding hand and sobbed. She doesn't know how long she sat there crying but by the time she was done her hand had stopped bleeding and she was covered in dried blood.

Miko stared at her arm the glass embedded in the skin, and felt nothing but seething hatred for Megatron. It wasn't the kind of usual fiery animosity she held towards the man but a freezing loathsome whirlwind that had frozen itself across her entire body. This wasn't some superhero show anymore, where the hero would defeat the villain in a spectacular explosion of power but a cruel war that was going to end with the excruciating death of Megatron.

She planned, rewrote her plans, researched, planned again and did more research. For one of the only times in her life Miko didn't rush into something. Megatron was going to die and there couldn't be any way he would survive or somehow come back from death again. Miko had to make sure it was perfect, Raf deserved it she almost religiously thought. Early into her plans Miko recruited Bumblebee into helping her. The scout hated Megatron just as much as she did. Bee told Miko everything he knew about how Cybertronians could be hurt and the ways to do it. The autobots always feared transformers tech landing in human hands and they had a great reason to do so. Humans had remarkable twisted minds that could think of things that would disturb even some of the most callous of bots.

Miko is no different, especially when she is motivated by pure unfiltered hatred. It took many sleepless nights and three months of preparation but they finally had everything ready. They just had to wait for the right opportunity. By this point bumblebee's anger has calmed down slightly and he was now starting to doubt if they should really do this. The consequences could be disastrous.

You see Miko had realized scraplets or the rust plague couldn't really hurt her so she could easily use them to defeat Megatron. So she has been breeding scraplets, training them, and trying to selectively breed them so they would be able to resist the plague. Miko had the scraplets micro dosed with black energon so they would crave the stuff and be more powerful. Bumblebee would obtain metal for them to eat and he tried to make sure the other autobots weren't catching on. Once they could get on the nemesis Miko would command the scraplets to infect as many bots as possible. They had made around 100,000 of these suped up mega disease scraplets so there's basically no way anyone is escaping uninfected. They were basically sentencing every decepticon to death.

Bee questions whether Raf would want this and Miko just replies,

"It's not about whether he would want this or not but what Megatron deserves and he deserves to die. If I have to kill every decepticon to do it? So be it. I don't care what happens to them, every bot on that ship is a horrible person. "

He reluctantly agrees with the reasoning and continues with the plan.

After the ship would go down a infected wounded Megatron escapes the scraplets his priority would try and cure himself. When he tries to make it he's in for a horrible surprise; while they were preparing the scraplets they had also set out to purposely destroy ingredients essential to the cure (They of course made a lot of vaccines themselves) Any place he might look for the ingredients he would just find a data pad stating,

//Start message

"Hello Megatron, you may not remember me but I do. My name is Miko nakadai, and I was a friend of Raf, the human charge of bumblebee that you mercilessly had killed. He was just an innocent child but you didn't care, why would you? You're the powerful evil overlord of the decepticons, the bot who strikes fear to every Cybertronian who knows of you. Humans are nothing but organic trash that would be crushed under your foot. That's not going to be the case anymore. You're going to care, you're going to see what you have done, and you will regret having ever laying a figure on Raf. You shouldn't have messed with humans and you especially should have not messed with my friend.

If you don't want to die from the rust come to the coordinates X"00'X0.x" alone and we will provide you a cure. Also don't even think about contacting the other Autobots or you can kiss that vaccine goodbye."

//End message

Megatron then would come to meet Miko and Bumblebee. They would talk/integrate Megatron about Raf. Then Miko would pull out the apex armor, activate it and fight Megatron with Bee. If all goes well they kill him (maybe torture him a bit before that) and drop his remains on Raf's grave.

When they do get a hit on the Nemesis location they slightly panic and rush to get things in order. When they are ready the ground bridge opens and as they are about to leave they hear Ratchet say,

"I should stop you shouldn't I?"

The old bot is standing behind them looking at the ground bridge location pinned in on the nemesis. Miko and Bumblebee don't know what to do for a second before Ratchet's words register in their minds.

Should? They think.

Ratchet monologues for a bit about how stupid, dangerous, this is and how he should stop them from doing it. But..... he opens his servo to look down at Raf's broken glasses. He just can't. Ratchet looks at them tears streaming down his face. The same look of pure hatred in his eyes and demands to be there to help kill Megatron. Miko and Bumblebee look at him, they both just simply nod.

Nobody had said a word about it but they all knew no matter what happens Megatron has to die. Even if that means destroying themselves in the process.

They enter the ground bridge together.

Wow that sorta mini fic came out of nowhere. I'll leave it up to your imaginations on what happens next. Thank you @lets-try-some-writing for the inspiration.

Follow me if you want to see the future stuff I write. ✌️ 

[whatdidtheydotomygirljinx]

the problem is that it's so hard to really analyze anything about arcane, and draw any conclusions about the story, because of the way it was written and conceived in the first place.

to the people who're like "yeah season 2 was bad, but season 1 was a MASTERPIECE in story writing and PERFECT in every way", that's just not true. the cracks were already there in season 1. there's multiple things, especially overarching ones, that just don't add up, and several ways that the story progresses that seem like odd choices. the thing was that, to me, the rest of it was all so good... the small details, the contained scenes were so well done, so detailed, so touching, that i really believed that maybe those cracks were just hiccups after all, and it's not a big deal, and maybe they'll even make a lot more sense and all get tied up with a nice little bow in season 2 (ha)

to me, at this point, it seems obvious that the way season 1 came into being was that these three idiots (who should never be allowed to write anything ever again) wrote a script, that was so terrible that riot had to bring in help to fix it for them (cause they were that incapable) and then someone got handed their slop and told "save this as much as you can, but keep the main points the same", and save it THEY DID! but the overarching plot is still the original one. which is why there's this dissonance all across it.

season 1 often seems like it's trying to tell two different stories at once. the example that comes easiest to me is jinx's transformation from powder to jinx post time skip. to the people i know irl who watched it, me included, the difference between these two is jarring, to the point that it just doesn't seem realistic that powder would change that much. this is what most people's reaction to her transformation was. like, sure, she changed... but jinx is almost a completely different person. and we can sit here and analyze all we want, and say yeah, but look, in ep2 min37, powder laughs when an enforcer is hurt, so that shows that she is indeed attracted to violence even at this age, but like... first of all, im at this point fully convinced that these details were put in specifically for that, to attenuate the valley that is between powder's character and jinx's, and I also honestly feel embarrassed that i even have to do all of this at all.

other notable examples are whatever is going on between jinx and silco in their relationship. like, yeah, he was actually a good father to her... but actually, there's something weird going on between them... but actually, no... he was better than vander, but actually he was worse than vander and was actually the cause of everything bad in jinx's life..... and on, and on, because the literal story itself never actually makes up its mind on what it wants the relationship between these two characters to be. same as it never makes up its mind on whether powder was a cute, innocent kid who was just manipulated by silco, or if powder was born like that and was just looking for an opportunity to release her inner jinx. same way as it never makes up its mind on whether vi is a devoted sister, who would do anything to get powder back, as she herself says, or if she actually thinks this new enforcer chick she just met is kinda cooler, as her actual actions would indicate. does silco adopt jinx because he sees himself in her, or does he intend to use her as a weapon and then later on grows to actually care about her? there comes a point where "this is a complex story" just becomes an excuse for "we were actually working with three different ideas at once and we never really decided on which one we were gonna do and we kinda just prayed it would all work out somehow"

the one thing that arcane season 2 has on season 1 is that it doesn't suffer from any of these weird identity issues. it's bad and simplistic but it's bad and simplistic in its entirety and it doesn't ever seem interested in being anything else. the story has no continuity or congruence issues, except of course for the ghost of season 1 that haunts it, and especially haunts the writers, who so far have displayed nothing but dismay for the story that actually made this show so acclaimed, and have done all they could to bury it as much as possible in season 2.

now, personally, im a big death of the author truther. even more so in cases like these, where we're dealing with teams of people. power struggles happen in studios, and in writing rooms, and at every level of production. and these three people that have taken credit don't seem like the most emotionally (or intellectually) mature individuals.

so, to solve all these issues, just know that when im discussing or analyzing arcane, im going off the interpretation of the events that serves the story the most, and that leads to the most meaningful narrative and the one that is most worth telling. all of this weird lee and overton slop that snuck in im gonna be completely ignoring.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Update: It went well! I said things that I have not said in stand-up before, and people laughed at it! That was a big barrier for me. When I first tried stand-up a year ago, I told one story across the whole six minutes and people actually laughed at it, so every time I performed after that, I thought, I know people will laugh if I tell that one story. But if I try something else, it might be terrible. So I just kept refining that one story. Cutting it down to pull the punchlines closer together, adding new jokes to replace the previous filler. I think that story has now turned into a pretty strong and tight six minutes (as opposed to how it started, which had to be padded a lot to be able to do a whole six-minute set with only one story).

I had exactly one other bit that I did a few times last year, and worked well the first time and then badly but then well again. And I added some stuff to that too. But I just tacked it on before jumping into my original story.

Two nights ago (when I wrote this post) was the first time I performed without telling any of that original story. Which is why I was freaking out in the bathroom beforehand, thinking that I'm not sure I'm able to actually write funny stuff, maybe I just happened to hit on one funny story and that's it, I'll try this other thing and confirm that women are not, in fact, funny.

Weirdly, I'm more self-conscious about the other comedians than the audience. I want the audience to find me funny, but if they don't, it's not the end of the world since I won't see them again. What I'm really scared of is the comedians at the back of the room, who will hear me try this, and I don't want them to think, "Wow, how could she have been so stupid as to think that could possibly be funny?" And then never book me for a show again.

But that did not happen! The audience liked it! I did one completely new thing that lasted about 4 minutes, and then found a quite smooth way to transition into that "second bit" that I'd done before, and it worked again. But the new story worked too! I now have a third bit! A year and a half after I first performed comedy (though I've been very off and on with it so I've not actually performed many times), I have finally gotten myself a third bit. It's extremely slow progress. But I think at this point, I could probably fill a fifteen-minute set without much filler. I haven't - I did six minutes the other night, and the longest set I've ever done is seven minutes. But for the first time, I feel like I could do over ten and not run out of stuff to say.

It also felt like a bit of a breakthrough, getting the idea that new things I try will not always fall completely flat, and making me feel more confident about the idea that next time I get to perform, I want to try a couple of other new ideas that I've been thinking about for a while. I'm excited about this. I've got the rest of my life - job, living situation - relatively stable, and I can try other things. Also the two guys who run that night are really nice and told me that I should request spots there more often. Then the next night (last night) I went out to a different local comedy night, just to watch, it was actually a lot of fun and several of the comics told me they liked my stuff and I'm excited about it.

Anyway. Things are good right now. I'm off work for the school holidays, which means I have two weeks of freedom and also a third stand-up routine. It's a good day.

Fun fact about being the only woman on a comedy bill: if you're nervous before your set, you can pace in the women's bathroom and know that no one will come in there.

Source: Am posting this from a comedy venue's women's bathroom. If I die tonight, it will confirm the views of any audience member who thinks women aren't funny.

[sendpseuds]

just finished nearly 6000 words of straight smut and suddenly feeling very insecure about writing the other two perspectives...

[batsplat]

wait, is there a dovi/jorge feud???? i didn't know this!! also thank you so much for all you do for this community ❤️

not the only ask I've gotten about this and... look, rather than doing a proper write up that would take forever, I'm just gonna give my top ten fun... facts? bits of trivia. tidbits related to the two of them. quite long tidbits, on second glance. the highlight reel, if you will

(1) that time andrea dovizioso made 14 year old jorge lorenzo cry

the two of them already raced each other before the start of their grand prix careers, competing for the first time in 2001 in the cev when dovi was around 15 and jorge around 14. in riveras tobia's biography, here's jorge talking about their first fight:

I led the way at the start and Dovizioso and I escaped. It was our first head-to-head encounter, the first time we raced each other. My dad had heard that Dovi was a really clever rider and he warned me before the race. But just like in 1998 at Jerez, with Olive, I acted like a dummy and pushed for the whole race. I kept looking behind me to see the bastard still there! It was impossible to shake him off, he was watching me the whole race until the last lap. Three comers from the end I could hear his engine getting closer and I saw his shadow to my left, but he didn't come past. I thought to myself "This guy is going to try something in a second!" I decided I had to on a tighter line and close the door. Sure enough, Dovi went wider through that comer and then dived up the inside. I didn't close the door in time and tried to get in his slipstream, desperately hoping I could get him the next corner, but I ran wide and he won. I came back in tears, I didn't even want to go to the podium, I felt so cheated. I'd been on the limit for the whole race and I felt like I deserved the win more than he did.

so that's a nice and positive start! there's something charming about how even fifteen year old dovi was an absolute menace on last laps

also about that race:

'Jorge beat Dovi in Braga but in the previous race at Most, what a tantrum!' recalls Juanito, laughing. 'He didn't even want to go to the podium, he was crying like a baby! I can still see Dani (Antatriain) talking to him, trying to convince him. In the end he went but he didn't want to look at anybody.'

(2) the photo finish

in 2004, they were rivals in 125cc - a year in which dovi claimed the title and jorge was p4 in the standings. in the very first grand prix ever at the lusail circuit (pretty eventful weekend, you have to say), jorge and dovi crossed the line at the exact same moment

(3) dovi's top three favourite career win

dovi and jorge progressed through the categories at the exact same rate, and after their 125cc rivalry they continued fighting in 250cc. they were title rivals in both 2006 and 2007, with jorge's aprilia winning out both times against dovi's underpowered honda. (the general pattern was that dovi clawed back a bunch of points from jorge in the wet - jorge, with perhaps the exception of a few years in the premier class until around 2013, has never been much of a wet weather racers, while it's always been one of dovi's strongest traits.) for dovi's 300th career start in 2019, he was asked what his top three wins were - and one of his picks was from way back when in 2007

I'd recommend the race! which... well, I did in the race rec post - and I can only reiterate that these two kids do not acknowledge each other, not good vibes at all

(4) jorge's thoughts on young dovi from 2008

Jorge has a lot of respect for Andrea Dovizioso and feels that his two 250cc world titles have even more prestige because he had to beat the Italian to win them. 'You wouldn't label Dovizioso as fast, particularly, but he's much faster than he looks. He doesn't set many pole positions but he is always up front in a race, fighting to win. He is very intelligent and you can't trust him an inch on the last lap. He has been faithful to Honda, he has great belief in them. His negative side is that he tends to play the victim too much. He'll say that if his bike had a better engine or if it was a bit faster he would win. He's even said that if he was on the same bike as me he'd give me a hiding. I think he looks for excuses too often sometimes, but as a rider and a person I don't have a bad word to say about him.'

some dovi traits read as very familiar, from how he's a better racer than qualifier to the intelligence to the last lap prowess. as for jorge saying dovi plays victim too much? well

also this:

ER: Don't you think that Dovizioso wanted to be World Champion too in 2006 and 2007? Don't you think he gave everything to achieve it? JL: He will think he gave his maximum but he will be lying to himself because nobody does that. Nobody gets close to their maximum, not even me. He will think that he didn't win because he was riding a Honda. There are very few sportsmen who will say, I deserve what happened to me and there are no excuses. I didn't know how to do any better and I've done things wrong.' That is the only way to be the best, the only way. People who make excuses don't get to the top. I know riders who haven't made it for just that reason.

plus ça change

(5) jorge's thoughts on young dovi from 2018

when they were doing their thing as ducati teammates (bickering), here is one of the things jorge said about dovi:

dovi's been trying to undermine jorge's morale his WHOLE career... even when they were but teenagers... love it when you can really tell someone's been sitting on something for over a decade

(6) "also lorenzo is not my friend"

both of them moved up to motogp in 2008, jorge with factory yamaha and dovi with satellite honda. dovi had a very strong rookie season and finished in p5, only sixteen points behind jorge in p4 (who after a promising first few races had spent a lot of time that season crashing). after that, their fortunes diverged. dovi did not have a particularly happy time in the factory honda team and needed to do some shrewd negotiating to be retained by them for 2011 in that three-man squad, while jorge of course won the championship in 2010

here's a deep cut from 2011, a season where much of the excitement and drama was caused by marco simoncelli alone. jorge had exchanged tense words with sic in estoril, one race before simoncelli was responsible for a crash where dani broke his collarbone. the crash and sic's subsequent penalty meant that the three-way fight between jorge, dovi and valentino became one for the podium, with dovi and valentino eventually grabbing the two remaining spots behind casey. but during the race, jorge had executed a... questionable manoeuvre on dovi, one that did have some similarities to the sic/dani incident. given jorge's strong previous comments on racing standards, unsurprisingly the journalists pounced on this incident in the post-race presser and ask the podium sitters about it. here is the clip:

in this clip, dovi essentially says it was a dangerous move from jorge, but he wasn't sure what jorge's intent had been and he needs to watch the footage again. valentino (who had been the most outspokenly critical of sic of the three of them earlier in the presser) takes the opportunity presented to him to have a bit of a potshot at jorge. he says that dovi doesn't have the best relationship with sic but jorge had done something pretty similar in the race... at which point dovi goes "also lorenzo is not my friend"

which, you know. not exactly a major incident, but I find it very charming dovi felt the need to clarify that, actually, he doesn't like either of them. valentino also adds that by jorge's own standards, surely he too should have gotten a penalty. not exactly a meeting of jorge's biggest fans hm

(7) mapping eight-gate

well I can't leave it out, can I

so in 2017 jorge switches from yamaha to ducati and does not have a great time of it. a lot of weekends, he's just too slow, other times he shoots to the front of a race at the start (typically not great news for the rest of the field in his yamaha days) and then chews up his tyres before gradually dropping like a stone back through the field. at some point that year it became a bit of a running gag - especially when you saw he was the only big name to be picking a soft tyre and just went... buddy we ALL know how this is gonna end....

while this was happening, his teammate dovi was for the first time in his premier class career in championship contention. an extremely close title fight throughout the year with five protagonists until pretty late in the season, it eventually went to a title decider in valencia between dovi and marc. you know, the kind of year where every point counts. the race where marc put a bit of daylight between himself and dovi was phillip island, with marc winning a great dogfight out front while dovi had a bit of a horror show of a weekend. this meant that a lot would have to go right for dovi to have a chance of still winning the title... and sepang was already a match point race for marc

ducati had not won a championship since their 2007 title, courtesy of one casey stoner. after that year, their bike became steadily less competitive every season, reaching a nadir around the 2011-13-ish period. so by the time 2017 rolled around, they wanted this so so badly - even if they wouldn't have expected dovi to lead the charge. dovi had only narrowly beaten out iannone in the 'who's going to be fired for our shiny new lorenzo hire' contest of 2016, and really it was supposed to be jorge who was carrying ducati's dreams on his shoulders. but, never mind, they were throwing everything behind dovi now... no stone left unturned

which brings us, of course, to the subject of team orders. this discourse really took off at the penultimate race of the season at sepang, but was already brewing before that - and in phillip island, satellite ducati rider redding had been told early in the race to let dovi past

here from marc at sepang:

dovi had been in great form all weekend at sepang - and with his wet weather prowess being what it was, really there shouldn't have been any need for team orders at all. but he got a sluggish start, and the race unfolded from there... until eventually jorge was in first, dovi was in second and marc in fourth. in those positions, marc would have clinched the title there

and then, jorge got a message on his dashboard. suggested mapping: mapping 8. pit boards and dashboards and all sorts of boards will feature various codes during races, most of them completely innocuous - but of course they are a healthy source of all sorts of conspiracies. the timing of this one was certainly... notable, and speculation immediately started about how it might be a way of telling jorge that he should swap positions with dovi

jorge didn't end up letting dovi pass - it is questionable whether he really would have done so with what would have been his first ducati win on the line. in the end, he made a mistake that let dovi through so that dovi claimed the win anyway, keeping himself in mathematical contention in valencia. and jorge did say afterwards he was keeping dovi's title hopes in mind, kind of

jorge also said he hadn't gotten any message indicating team orders, and of course nobody at ducati confirmed that mapping eight did have anything to do with team orders

for what it's worth, this is what dovi said about their relationship at this stage:

lovely! let's see what the vibes are like a few months later

anyway, onto valencia. this race was pretty boring despite being a title decider, but the jorge/dovi bits were just unequivocally the weekend's most enjoyable aspect and rather nicely spiced up the whole thing. dovi's chances were always slim going in, given he'd have to win the race and marc would have to barely get any points at all... but still, you never know, right? marc could always crash (narrator: he did almost crash). jorge plays coy early in the weekend about the whole 'helping dovi out thing', and basically just started putting in place...? ... very specific conditions...? under which he'd help:

so during the actual race, dovi got stuck behind jorge in p5, with marc ahead of both of them. valencia is traditionally not a fantastic track to overtake at... so even if dovi had been faster, it's not like he'd have an easy time clearing jorge and cracking on. but they were beginning to drift further away from dani in p3 as ducati watched on, increasingly unamused by what was happening - and the tv cameras were of course kind enough to repeatedly show the ducati box looking deeply unamused. again, they went for the good old mapping eight message, which, hey, that could mean anything! they sure did keep showing it to jorge though, almost like he wasn't paying attention to it

eventually, they abandon all subtlety and go for a pit board message that does just straight-up tell jorge to swap positions. jorge kept ignoring the messages, lap after lap, and he never ended up letting dovi past. eventually they both crashed and marc claimed the title with a p3 finish, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway, but... still. the feeling was that this might things rather awkward inside of ducati

publicly, ducati was extremely keen to smooth over the whole controversy, saying they totally weren't mad at jorge blatantly ignoring team orders. jorge had, after all, explained to them (and the media, repeatedly) that he had totally been intending to help dovi by dragging him closer to dani

Giving his take on events, Lorenzo acknowledged that he ignored Ducati’s instruction because he felt Dovizioso’s chances would be boosted by having him directly ahead. “Even looking at this [dashboard] suggestion, I keep pushing until the end, because I knew it was the best thing for me, for Ducati and for Dovi,” said Lorenzo. “I helped him to improve his pace by one or two tenths, to be as close as possible to the first group. My intention was, and it was the case, that we arrive at the first group. If he had the option to win, I would have gone wide and let him pass. But unfortunately it was not like that. Maybe in some corners Dovi was close and I slow down a little bit his pace, but in general terms, having my wheel in front of him made him improve slightly his pace. I helped him stayed closer to the front group. “I knew Dovi was struggling, I knew his pace during all the weekend, and I knew he was making the best pace of the weekend just in the race. It was [because of the] help from my wheel. I’m happy because I was not wrong. If I was wrong and slowing him, I would be very sorry. But it’s not like that, my feeling was true.”

which, you know. is it really that easy to tell how much faster you are than someone who's sitting on your rear tyre? who's to say. dovi did certainly seem rather keen to get past

anyhow, of course there were plenty of fun dramatics post-race:

'our rider ignored team suggestions not team orders' is a great line, fairs. there's plenty more of this from ducati, some excellent spin doctoring - and dovi was extremely magnanimous about what had happened:

the whole thing was pretty undignified from all non-dovi parties, but it was also very funny so who's to say if it was bad or not

(8) runner-up-gate

let's check in on them in 2018, the second and ultimately last year in which they were teammates. remember that 'undermining morale' quote from above? those are from early 2018, after dovi says he wouldn't be surprised to see jorge elsewhere the following season. so, once jorge has complained that dovi had been trying to put him down his entire career, comes this:

so that's something. jorge, dovi and dani have a three-in-one crash in jerez, after which some fingers are pointed but it all remains fairly civil, and a bit later dovi says that jorge's approach doesn't work at ducati:

by the summer break, jorge's results had gotten better, but it was already too late to save the relationship with ducati and they parted ways. anyway, here's dovi and jorge having another go at it:

And while a rough patch for Dovizioso coupled with breakthrough back-to-back wins for Lorenzo in Mugello and Barcelona have now left the pair just three points apart in the standings, Dovizioso refused to back down from his claim when speaking to Spanish sports daily Marca ahead of the upcoming Brno race. “He’s won two races,” Dovizioso said. “Winning two races does not solve the problem of a year and a half. Lorenzo was not signed to win two races. Therefore I do not change my mind.” When the comments were put to Lorenzo, the three-time champion offered an ardent retort, stating that Dovizioso's rhetoric was proof of the claim he'd made back in April. “I'm a bit fed up with this situation, mainly because when I had trouble and he was winning, I was down there applauding,” Lorenzo told Spanish broadcaster Movistar. “What I said in Argentina - and the comments caused a big surprise - you can see that I was right. “He tried to undermine me, or downplay what I achieve or just attack me. As you can see, I wasn't lying. He's still doing it and now he says my method is not good, according to him.” Lorenzo intimated that Dovizioso was in no position to criticise him, as the Italian could do no better than runner-up to Marc Marquez in a 'perfect' 2017 season. He said: “I think my method has not worked too bad in my career. I've won three MotoGP titles and have 46 wins.” “In my second year in Ducati I'm usually faster than him, but maybe I should look at his method closer if in his best season, with everything going perfectly, he was second. Otherwise he's fourth or seventh usually. I'd tell him to leave me to go my way and to focus on his own and everything will be better, because when you have an angry Lorenzo it's usually worse for you.” 

fair to say that by this point the pretence at civility has mostly been dropped. I'm rather fond of the "lorenzo was not signed to win two races" line, though "when you have an angry lorenzo it's usually worse for you" is also really strong stuff. dovi tries to restore a little bit of peace:

Responding in turn to Lorenzo's tirade, Dovizioso sought to play down the conflict. “Jorge has his ideas and I think they are based on particular things. I don't think like him, but it's not a problem,” he told Movistar. “Everybody creates their own ideas based on what they see and how they live. “I don't think he has everything clear in his head about what's happened, but we continue the relationship that we started last year with respect, there's no particular problem. If he thinks this way, that's his problem."

so basically the classic 'idk what he's on about but it's not my problem' approach to attempting to defuse feuds

(9) twitter-gate

there's a few more on-track battles where it's nicely obvious how badly they want to beat each other, with jorge beating marc just ahead of dovi in austria and then dovi beating jorge in brno. jorge's season is increasingly derailed by injuries, which sets the stage for their next big spat:

The row was sparked by Dovizioso's comments to Sky Italia after qualifying at Sepang on Saturday, as he was asked what he thought of Lorenzo having to pull out of the Malaysian GP weekend with injury. "I don't know the details, I don't want to get into this, it's a bit of a strange situation," said Dovizioso."It happens often in Ducati or to certain riders, but I don't understand the details and I don't want to get into it and give my opinion." When it was put to him he was offering 'cryptic words', he added: "I leave things there, it's not my problem."

pretty vague, yeah. but anyway, I'm sure jorge had a proportionate response to this

Dovizioso's comments prompted a series of irate posts from Lorenzo on Twitter, with his first reaction being "Thank you very much @AndreaDovizioso! You are a real gentleman!". In his next post, he went on to call Dovizioso "an exemplary teammate", adding: "You applaud him under the podium when he wins and then... (That's right, he does not give his opinion, it's not his problem)." After that, Lorenzo labelled Dovizioso "envious" and described him as "a world champion... in 125cc."

the podium thing really bothered him, don't you think. their ducati in-fighting follows that general pattern where dovi says something... a little shady, a little ambiguous, where his intentions aren't entirely obvious... at which point jorge goes all in at fighting back and has a go at dovi - often not as much for what dovi is actually saying, but what jorge thinks dovi is implying. which is based on his understanding of dovi, the image of dovi he's built up in his head over the years, so that he is... predisposed to think ill of the intentions of the 'intelligent' dovi who always knows exactly what he's saying

again, dovi tried to downplay the argument, while simultaneously not exhibiting much patience for jorge's stance:

After the Malaysian GP, Dovizioso was asked about Lorenzo's responses to his comments, and the Italian accused his teammate of reading too much into headlines. He said: “Why should I talk to Lorenzo? I do not waste time on these things. He makes the usual mistake of giving too much importance to what is written, even without the context. "I have not pointed my finger at anyone and I have no problem with Jorge."

if I were ducati, I probably would've let the whole thing blow over given jorge was off soon anyway. but they decided the whole thing was so bad they had to organise a peace summit

Asked about the situation, Ducati sporting director Paolo Ciabatti admitted to Motorsport.com that the Bologna marque has already planned to sit its two riders on Tuesday in Milan to make it clear what its priorities are. Ciabatti said: “It is clear that the interests of Ducati come before personal problems between riders. On Tuesday we will be together in Milan, for the EICMA [motorcycle show] and we have in mind to spend half an hour to sit and talk to Jorge and Andrea. "We want to avoid similar things to what happened last weekend. "I understand that these kinds of situations can happen. Sometimes riders get nervous during a Grand Prix weekend and on a rainy day, with tricky conditions, sometimes they say things they shouldn’t have said."

god knows how that turned out

(10) wow, you guys aren't gonna let this go, huh

late 2020 and jorge's career is already over, while dovi's looks like it will be... paused, at the very least. which is always a good time to check in with riders on how they feel about their rivals - if they're still being nasty you know that shit was personal. from december:

some quality petty material here. "I can't understand his somewhat peculiar mind" vs "he was envious of me since 250cc, but I wanted to give our relationship a chance". note too jorge talking again about how generous he had been in the face of dovi's 2017 successes, and how he feels like this was not reciprocated at all. jorge's complaints don't stop there:

merry christmas!

not the only rider jorge has beefed with post-retirement, but compare and contrast with how he really hasn't been doing any of that with some of his biggest career rivals. valentino, marc, dani - sure, he still talks about the controversies he's had with them pretty regularly (to put it lightly), and he's hardly free of complaints... but mostly it's a distinctly nostalgic tone he's adopting with these guys. admittedly, it helps that none of those three have gone out of their way to say anything particularly inflammatory about jorge. still, the absolute lack of any sort of rapprochement with dovi of all people is pretty funny

bonus: that time when jorge skittled all of marc's rivals

you know how in catalunya 2019, jorge took out like? all of marc's major rivals in that era including himself in one go? with half a decade of hindsight, this was kind of hilarious, and it did also feature jorge having to eat a hell of a lot of humble pie and go to the three other blokes to apologise. anyway I have a lovingly assembled set of screenshots of all three of them emoting in their boxes after the incident, all suffering some form of an existential crisis. here is dovi contemplating the bleak realities of our brief lives on this planet:

truly one of the world's least enthusiastic waves

bonus 2: another one for old time's sake

already posted this elsewhere, but this from late 2023 made me laugh

"jorge came to ducati and thought he was going to beat everything, but in the end he didn't" uh huh

[crossbackpoke-check]

it’s all the rest of what i want with you

connor dewar/brandon duhaime :: 8k

Summary:

“Brandon,” Connor says with a sigh. “There’s no baby in there.”

“Not yet,” Brandon says. Connor feels his stomach twist, almost like what he would imagine a baby kicking to feel like.

in these trying times of dewvorce, may i offer you 8k of pwp inspired by @stillfertile’s wonderful art which i had. several breakdowns about 🫶 anyway please enjoy!!!

[crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer]

Last line tag game!

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

Tagged by @auniverseforgotten and @thatlittledandere

I'm back on my Ichiryuu bullshit (as if I ever really left)~ uwu <3

The sound of his classmate’s voice earnestly calling out stopped Ichiban from running and he pivoted just enough to see that Zaou’s hand had reflexively reached out – reaching for him – but froze partway. “I was just… surprised,” Zaou explained carefully like he was thinking about each word before he said it. “I am pretty busy, so I wouldn’t have time every day and sometimes certain things come up last minute, but I guess I could use the help.” Ichiban tried to swallow his nerves, but his heart was in the way. “I understand. When would be a good time for you?” Zaou hummed absentmindedly as he searched for an answer, then suddenly his eyes lit up. “Ah! Give me your phone.” Ichiban obediently fished it out of his pocket and placed it in Zaou’s expectant hand. It wouldn’t occur to him until after the shock had worn off that perhaps he should have asked why first, but the fact that Zaou’s fingers were masterfully navigating his phone screen was doing unexpected things to his brain chemistry that he was sure would accidentally translate into a mortifying collection of words the instant he opened his mouth. This was a bad idea. Possibly the worst idea. Why did he ever think he could— “Here,” Zaou mercifully interrupted his spiraling train of thought and held the phone out to him again. “I’ll have to check my schedule first, so I’ll text you when I work something out.”

Trying to pretend that this is a "last line" game instead of just a "last thing I wrote" game is a fool's errand for me at this point. I truly cannot shut up about the things I love and this is my most wordy contribution to the feedback loop yet. //bricked

Tagging: @auniverseforgotten , @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth , @koolkitty9 , @floweryuu , @lanliingwang

As always, there’s no pressure to share and if I missed someone who wants to be included feel free to consider yourself also tagged~ <3

[hoshigray]

haiii how ar u? hope ur fine, anygay- may i request for soft doms satusugu + awkward loser!reader? i mean- a painfully shy person who gets cringey and nervous by anything? :3

heyyyyy, I'm doing quite well so far; thank you for asking, and i hope your day is going swell as well :DD

sorry if I'm misunderstanding, but isn't this like the same premise as the one I just posted yesterday? Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong/req a re-worded version ☆ !!

[savefrog]

how to explain to people that while we DO need to desperately dismantle AI’s capitalism-driven rise to prominence in many professional areas especially art because of how it will be used to replace artists in exchange for cheap content and on the back of uncredited artists that came before, and how things can be said about supporting the ai platforms that enable this

that simultaneously using Dall-E mini or Bing or whatever once to make a cat at some nebulous point is not like. It is not like. He did not just shoot an artist point blank out in an alleyway 😭

[vintagebuckybarnes]

In Vino Veritas

Pairing → Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Lab Assistant! Female! Reader

Total Wordcount → 3.5K

Summary → It all started when you and the Avengers enjoyed drinks during the afterparty back at the Avengers Tower. There, Tony revealed one of your deepest secrets, and even though you wish it had never come to light at first, you’re glad it did when the man you love stands on your doorstep, ready to start the rest of your life together.

Tags & Warnings → Semi-canon compliant, Avenger! Bucky Barnes, Female! Reader, Tony’s Lab Assistant! Reader, Bucky’s past as TWS is mentioned, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, some cursing, and explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Grinding, begging, some dirty talk, praise, teasing Bucky, protected sex, cowgirl position.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author’s Note → This story is beta'd by the wonderful @late-to-the-party-81, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I hope you'll all enjoy my story, which is filled with some angst, lots of fluff, and some smut to top it all off! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandom-free-bingo Bug Edition → “There is no us.” | Riding | In vino veritas | “Touch me.” @fandom-free-bingo Medical Edition → Crush at first sight @julybreakbingo Post-JBB → Being confronted about their feelings for another

Tags List → If you’d like to be tagged in my stories, you can add yourself to my tag list here.

The evening starts fine, good, even. But it all takes an unexpected turn when the man you work for - Tony Stark - reveals your secret. A secret that you’d only recently revealed to him.

Earlier that day, you’d spotted Bucky as he was working out and from that moment on your mind has been with him instead of your usual work and tasks.

“Hello, Y/N? Anyone home in there?” Tony asks as he lays a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. You look up at him with a worried look while he smiles back at you with a kind expression. A soft sigh escapes your lips as the thoughts in your head wander off again, specifically how his back looked underneath the tank top he wore in the gym while doing squats. Not only that, but you also can’t stop thinking about the way his ass looked in the sweatpants he wore. In a word, magnificent.

“Is everything okay with you? You’ve been a bit off your game today.” As Tony sits next to you, you put down the screwdriver you were holding - the one he asked you three times to pass to him - before turning to face him, your gaze focusing somewhere on the wall behind him. For a moment, there’s a silence between you as you gather the courage to tell him what’s been on your mind.

“Well, uhm- There’s something, or someone, that I can’t stop thinking about, and it’s taking over my mind every second of every day. It- It’s Bucky,” you say almost in a whisper. For a few seconds, Tony is completely silent as he lets the thought of you having a crush on one of his fellow Avengers sit in his mind. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he reaches out for your hand and takes it between his warm ones.

“You know that I’ll always support you in everything, right? I supported you when you expressed your desire to halt your life as an Avenger and retrain as my lab technician, and I supported you when you moved out of Avengers Tower to have your own home with more peace. This is not going to be any different. All I’m hoping for is that he will make you the happiest and best version of you, as you deserve nothing less.”

Tears brim at your waterline as Tony tells you this, and even though you deeply appreciate him, his words, and everything he has done for you, you can’t help but still feel a bit… odd about the fact you told him you’re having a crush on Bucky. That you have a crush on the man who was once the most feared assassin in the world under the hands of HYDRA.

“Now, can you hand me that screwdriver before your thoughts wander off to him again?” your boss asks in a teasing tone, making you smile as you grab it and hand it to him. Somehow, he always seems to know the right thing to say, and it's exactly why you enjoy spending time by his side while learning everything there is to know about his lab and what's going on in there.

Just as you’re about to get comfortable with another drink in your hand, you meet the gaze of the man you’re crushing on, and you feel heat coursing through your veins. The lines around his deep blue eyes intensify as he smiles at you, his attention making every last thought in your brain disappear. You’re so captivated by how Bucky looks at you that you miss your seat as you sit down. However, before you fall, you’re caught by a pair of solid arms that prevent you from hitting the floor.

“Careful there, Little One,” Thor says in his deep voice, his accent always making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. Even though you’d known Thor since you were young, you couldn’t help but get a little flustered by the nickname, and he smiled at you as you were finally sitting on the chair you intended to use.

“Thank you, Thor,” you whisper before sipping your cocktail. Around you, the conversations are starting to become a little blurry as you focus on Bucky and everything he has to say, his lips forming around the words effortlessly. When you suddenly feel a little shove against your arm, you yelp, making everyone go silent as they look at you.

“What did you do that for?!” you ask Thor in a low voice, but all he does is point to Tony, who obviously has something to say as he’s waving for everyone’s attention. There are moments when you enjoy the fact that alcohol can bring out people’s true feelings or thoughts, also known as in vino veritas, but not now. Oh no, now you wish you could disappear as you listen to the words coming out of Tony’s mouth.

“Guys, you really shouldn’t say this to Bucky or Y/N, but they’re having a massive crush on one another!” Tony says in a loud whispering tone, but what he fails to notice in his inebriated state is that you two are sitting right across from one another, enjoying the afterparty just like everyone else. Or at least, you were enjoying the afterparty until your secret got out.

The glass you were holding falls out of your hand before shattering into pieces on the floor, and your feet carry you as fast as they can away from the party and away from your worst nightmare come true. The music behind you fades away as you turn one corner after another, tears burning in your eyes as the event repeatedly replays in your mind. Your lungs start to burn as you keep running, the stinging feeling in your side increasing as you run out of the Avengers Tower into the night.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s world feels like it has taken a 180-degree turn. Mere minutes ago, he could only fantasize that you could have feelings for him, but now? A wave of disbelief washes over the super soldier, his expression showing pure surprise as he takes the moment in. For him, it was a crush at first sight from the momentyou walked into the training room on your first day. Over the years, his feelings have intensified, although he has only told Steve about his crush - or rather his now deep-rooted love - for you.

And yet, now that the pair of you have been confronted about your feelings for one another, he doesn’t know what to do. He has replayed the moment he’d confess his feelings to you more times than he can count in his mind, and in none of those versions, this is one of the scenarios that had appeared. It’s only when Steve grabs his arm and pulls him away that he seemingly comes back to reality again.

“Bucky, how does Tony know about your crush on Y/N? I mean, I’m, of course, fine with you sharing it, but-”

“I don’t know, Steve, I don’t know, and it kills me,” Bucky says as he runs his fingers through his cropped hair.“Fuck- I was planning on telling her this week but… but now it’s ruined, and I didn’t even get the chance to talk to her, and-” It’s all Bucky can say as he fights the urge to punch the wall with his metal fist, both hands clenched by his side as he tries to regulate his breathing. Without warning, Steve pulls him into a hug, and Bucky’s arms snake around his best friend's waist as his fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Steve whispers, though he’s not entirely sure that’s true because he knows as well as anyone that things don’t always go back to how they were before. Still, Bucky decides to believe him as they stand there for a little while longer, and he soaks in every bit of comfort he can get for now. Lord knows he’s going to need it.

The past few days have been strange, to say the least. You haven’t been to the Avengers Tower since Tony revealed your now not-so-secret crush on the super soldier. You’re afraid of what will happen if you do. This also means you haven’t seen Bucky in a few days, and you miss him. You miss hearing his laugh, and you miss seeing how his mouth turns slightly upward as you hand him one of your baked goods, but most of all, you miss how his arms feel when he pulls you in for a hug.

Just as you’re about to make yourself a cup of tea, you get pulled from your thoughts by a soft but familiar knock on the door; only one thing can make that sound: Bucky’s metal hand knocking against the wood. For a moment, you contemplate your actions, but decide to give him at least a chance to talk, especially as it wasn’t him who laid out your feelings in front of everyone.

“Bucky, hi,” you say softly as you take in his appearance, your heart sinking as you do. It’s evident he hasn’t slept at all the past few days. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he doesn’t look as healthy as usual—more disheveled. The struggles he’s facing are apparent in his entire demeanor, and all you want to do is wrap him up in a warm blanket and cuddle him until the end of time.

“Hi,” he says hoarsely, and you step aside, allowing him to enter your apartment. He’s been here a few times already, and usually there’s a warmth radiating from you and every inch of the little place you call home, but ever since the party, it hasn’t been the same. It isn’t just the apartment, either. You feel different.

“Would you like some tea before we talk?” you ask to break the tension. “I was about to make some.”

He nods at you before wandering further into your apartment, and you head to the kitchen, picking out another mug for Bucky to use. Once he’s caught sight of your couch, he immediately takes a seat, a soft groan audible as he does. There aren’t many places more comfortable than the large couch that’s standing right here in your living room.

When you emerge a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies you baked fresh this morning, Bucky can’t help but smile at you. He gladly takes the tea with one of the cookies, as they’re his favorite, and when you sit down next to him, it feels just like it always has, as if nothing has changed. But you both know it has, and that’s why the super soldier’s now in your living room.

“So…” you start, unsure what to say now that he’s sitting on your couch. Bucky’s eyes are trained on the steaming tea in his hands, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he’s thinking about what he wants to say - other than confessing his love for you.

“So… uhm, we missed seeing you around the Tower,” Bucky starts, though you both know it’s mostly him who has missed seeing you there. You have always been a staple there during his mornings as you make him a cup of coffee, and during movie nights, you were always the one he could sit next to and enjoy the movie, but now that you’re not there, it’s like a piece of soul has left the Tower with you.

“I mean, yeah. It’s been a bit awkward for me to go back after what happened a few days ago,” you tell him, and a shudder of horror runs down your spine at the thought of having to face Tony again. A smile tugs at the corners of Bucky’s lips as he thinks back to what happened that night, a happy memory of your first meeting resurfacing in the back of his mind as he does.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve made some chocolate chip cookies, if you want some. However, I should warn you, Tony’s been on the prowl since I took them out of the oven, so I’ll advise you to be quick,” you say with a glare towards Tony, who has been eyeing them up since he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. For the first time in a long time, Bucky showed something akin to a smile, and everyone looked at each other to ensure they saw it, too.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, grabbing one of the smaller ones on the plate, followed by a cup of coffee, before swiftly leaving the kitchen to spend more time in his room. Before Bucky even left the kitchen, Tony was on the cookies as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and this time you let him.

“Can I- Is it okay if I tell you something? Because if I don’t say it now, I don’t know if I ever will,” Bucky says softly, and you nod before repositioning yourself so that you’re facing him. His gaze is still trained on his mug as he thinks carefully about his next words, afraid he might accidentally say the wrong thing.

“Tony was right. He is right, actually. When he said, we’re crushing on each other. I’ve been crushing on you since you offered me those chocolate chip cookies when Tony threatened to eat them all before anyone else had a chance to get them. It was like a switch flipped inside me back then, and I haven’t been the same since,” Bucky says, his mouth now in a line as he tells you about his feelings.

“Each time I look at you, it’s like I’m seeing an angel, and every time I hear your voice, it’s like a little piece of my soul is healing, too. I find myself drawn to you in every room and wonder what life has in store for us. But deep down inside, I know there is no ‘us’ yet. But I want there to be us. I want you, Y/N. I want you to be mine, in whatever capacity you’ll have me. If you want to stay friends, that’s okay with me, but if you want more, I’ll happily accept every bit of love you’re willing to offer me.”

Once Bucky’s done, you’re unsure what to say. What to think. What to do. You want to say that the feelings between you are mutual, that you’re in love with him and that you want nothing more than to be his, but something inside you is stopping you. So, instead of saying anything, you place your hand over his flesh limb, and his eyes slip shut at the feeling of your soft fingers against his rough hand.

“Bucky.” His name is a whisper on your lips, but it’s enough to make him look at you, to meet your gaze.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, Bucky carefully put his tea on the coffee table before hauling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your waist as your lips interlock in a passionate dance. He can’t get enough of your soft mouth slotting together with his and the way his tongue fights for dominance with yours as your fingers dig into his neck. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt a strong connection with someone, and you’re happy to explore it with Bucky.

Your hips grind over his growing length of their own volition,your body looking for any bit of friction it can get. Without warning, one of Bucky’s hands slides lower until he’s cupping your ass, making you gasp into his mouth as a result. Bucky can’t help but smile into the kiss as he pulls you impossibly closer, your legs spreading just a bit further as you sink against his muscular body.

“Hmm, I’ve been wanting this - you - for so long,” he says between the kisses trailing your jaw towards your ear, his teeth nipping on your earlobe as your head lolls to the side. With every passing second, your thoughts are melting away more and more, and all that’s left inside your mind is Bucky. Soon, his other hand joins the first as he helps you grind onto him, a groan falling from his lips as he sets a perfect pace for you both.

“B-Bucky—" his name sounds more like a whine than anything else. “I—I want you.”

“But you already have me, pretty girl, ‘m right here,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice, his hands continuing to help you grind until you’re a complete mess for him. Your shorts are ruined, your arousal soaking through them and onto the bulge in his black jeans, much to Bucky’s joy. He was wondering what it would take to get you to this point, and it turns out it won’t take much.

He smiles against the skin of your neck, where he’s taking his time to mark you with hickeys and small bitemarks, all of which leave you a bit more of a moaning, begging mess on his lap, much to his pride. When one of your hands moves away from his neck and down his torso, he quickly catches on to what you’re doing. “Someone’s a little impatient today, huh?”

“Yes, oh god, yes! I need you to touch me, Bucky. I want to feel you inside me as you make me fall apart on your cock, and I need you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow!” Your voice sounds more breathy than usual, but every care you thought you had has gone out the window. All you want is Bucky and his cock to ride, until you’re orgasming so hard and long you can’t remember your name.

“Okay, I will. Don’t you worry about anything, okay? Let me take care of you, and I’ll give you everything you need and more,” he reassures you in a shushing voice. You nod before kissing him again, which immediately deepens before he gently helps you get up, allowing you to take off your panties and shorts, and he can take off his pants and boxershorts, too. As soon as you’re both freed from your last pieces of clothing, you hand him a condom you retrieved from the side table drawer while he took the time to undress himself.

“Hmmm, looks so thick,” you tell him as you look at it with wide eyes, wondering how he’s going to fit inside you as you’re positioning yourself on his lap once more, your legs bracketing his thicks thighs as you get comfortable.

“I know, but I’m gonna go slow. Wouldn’t want to hurt you and your perfect, sweet little pussy.” He smiles as he holds his cock in place, your pliant body sinking onto him slowly as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. Your hiss of pleasure is audible and your face contorts at the slight sting of him stretching you, but just like he promised, Bucky is taking it slow to ensure you’ll both have the most amazing first time.

As soon as you’re fully seated on his lap, your body goes limp against him, your face tucked in the crook of his neck as you adjust to his girth, and Bucky places soft kisses on your head while praising you through it all. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. Such a good girl for me, letting me take the lead and giving you exactly what you need.”

A small smile appears on your face as you look up at him with big, doe-like eyes, and he can’t help but smile back as the back of his fingers gently caress your cheek. He may have thought you were beautiful before, but nothing compares to this moment. 

“I love you, Y/N, and I promise to take care of you with every fiber of my being,” he whispers, his lips sealing his promise against your cheek. Your eyes fall shut at his words, and his hand moves down your side until it’s on your hip again, ready for you to let him know when you’re good to go. Your bodies work in complete sync with one another with every rise and fall of your chest, and his hands guide you beautifully as you slowly sink and rise on his length.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, and it doesn’t take long for both of you to find your highs for the first time, and they’re serving as a promise of everything else that’s still to come in this lifetime. A few days ago, you and Bucky didn’t even know you felt the same about one another, but now you’re sharing the start of the rest of your lives, and it’s all thanks to Tony. Because without him, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the man of your dreams how much you love him.

Masterlist → Bucky Barnes

GIF: Source → All the other graphics you see are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[thistlecrimes]

Things I've learned from getting covid for the first time in 2023

I wear an N95 in public spaces and I've managed to dodge it for a long time, but I finally got covid for the first time (to my knowledge) in mid-late November 2023. It was a weird experience especially because I feel like it used to be something everyone was talking about and sharing info on, so getting it for the first time now (when people generally seem averse to talking about covid) I found I needed to seek out a lot of info because I wasn't sure what to do. I put so much effort into prevention, I knew less about what to do when you have it. I'm experiencing a rebound right now so I'm currently isolating. So, I'm making a post in the hopes that if you get covid (it's pretty goddamn hard to avoid right now) this info will be helpful for you. It's a couple things I already knew and several things I learned. One part of it is based on my experience in Minnesota but some other states may have similar programs.

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The World Health Organization states you should isolate for 10 days from first having symptoms plus 3 days after the end of symptoms.

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At the time of my writing this post, in Minnesota, we have a test to treat program where you can call, report the result of your rapid test (no photo necessary) and be prescribed paxlovid over the phone to pick up from your pharmacy or have delivered to you. It is free and you do not need to have insurance. I found it by googling "Minnesota Test to Treat Covid"

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Paxlovid decreases the risk of hospitalization and death, but it's also been shown to decrease the risk of Long Covid. Long Covid can occur even from mild or asymptomatic infections.

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Covid rebound commonly occurs 2-8 days after apparent recovery. While many people associate Paxlovid with covid rebound, researchers say there is no strong evidence that Paxlovid causes covid rebound, and rebounds occur in infections that were not treated with Paxlovid as well. I knew rebounds could happen but did not know it could take 8 days. I had mine on day 7 and was completely surprised by it.

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If you start experiencing new symptoms or test positive again, the CDC states that you should start your isolation period again at day zero. Covid rebound is still contagious. Personally I'd suggest wearing a high quality respirator around folks for an additional 8-9 days after you start to test negative in case of a rebound.

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Positive results on a rapid test can be very faint, but even a very faint line is positive result. Make sure to look at your rapid test result under strong lighting. Also, false negatives are not uncommon. If you have symptoms but test negative taking multiple tests and trying different brands if you have them are not bad ideas. My ihealth tests picked up my covid, my binax now tests did not.

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EDIT: I'd highly suggest spending time with friends online if you can, I previously had a link to the NAMI warmline directory in this post but I've since been informed that NAMI is very much funded by pharmaceutical companies and lobbies for policies that take autonomy away from disabled folks, so I've taken that off of here! Sorry, I had no idea, the People's CDC listed them as a resource so I just assumed they were legit! Feel free to reply/reblog this with other warmlines/support resources if you know of them! And please reblog this version!

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I know that there is so much we can't control as individuals right now, and that's frightening. All we can do is try our best to reduce harm and to care for each other. I hope this info will be able to help folks.

[afterglowsainz]

Hey can I get a jealous Jude x female reader. Nothing too toxic lol l, it’s just some guys hitting y/n up on social media and somehow Jude sees the DMs and gets a little jealous. Then his petty self goes and posts a picture of him and his girlfriend on her ig or something petty like responds back with a “she’s busy bro”. Thanks 🫶🏻

jealousy | jude bellingham

obsessed with this concept already !!

summary: while you're getting ready to go out on a date with your boyfriend, he accidentally sees some dms he doesn't like and decides to do something about it

warnings: none

word count: 738

a/n: boring title booo i know i know i couldn't think of anything better :( i do hope you like the one shot tho it was fun to write about jealous jude <3

you were getting ready to go out on a date with jude while he was laying on your bed waiting for you. his phone was charging somewhere in the living room so you gave him yours to play a game so he doesn’t get bored. you were putting on your makeup while singing along to your playlist while he was building some villages or whatever it was that they do on clash royale. however, jude got distracted when an instagram dm pop up at the top of your phone, it was from this formula 1 driver that he knew was always liking your pictures, he didn’t knew he was dming you as well. he thought about opening the message, but he didn’t want to invade your privacy like that, so he simply looked at you.

“someone dm you.” he says.

his voice took you out of your little world and you place your gaze on him thought the mirror you were applying your makeup on.

“who?”

“lando norris.” he reads the name like he didn’t knew already.

“what does it say?” you hide a laugh and continue with your makeup routine.

jude opens the message and reads it out loud. it was obvious he was hitting on you by replying to a story you had posted earlier that day when you went to brunch with your friends and you felt cute.

“are you gonna answer?” he asks again, hints of jealousy on voice.

“not really, no.” you answer and go back to singing along and applying mascara on.

when jude goes back to the screen on your phone his thumb accidentally swipes left and your whole inbox is completely exposed to him. he didn’t meant to do that, but it really was an accident and he couldn’t help but see now that it was there, only he wished he didn’t have.

some of your dms were just conversations with your friends, but a lot of them were just guys replying to your stories and hitting on you, which made him even more jealous than before. you never replied to them, going as far as deleting some of the messages you received, but since you hadn’t checked your instagram since that afternoon a lot of dms from different guys complimenting you on your story were there for jude to find.

he frowns at the phone and takes a look at you, completely oblivious while doing your eyeliner. his eyes go back to the screen and he starts looking up some pictures that you took the week before of you two.

“do you mind if i post one of those pictures you took of us last week?” he asks out of nowhere. “so i can repost it on my story.” he clarifies.

you frown a bit confused because this is the first time he has asked you something like this, but after him seeing the other guy’s dm and feeling a bit jealous you connected the dots and smile amused.

“sure.” you say.

he nods and went to post a story with the two of you looking definitely like the couple you were. he spend a few seconds thinking about a good caption, landing on a simple “my boyfriend❤️”, very straight to the point. he also tagged himself big enough for everyone to see and posted the picture, a satisfied smile on his face.

when you were done with your makeup and ready to go, you approached him and sat on his lap, your phone still in his hand.

“let me see the picture.” you smiled. he shows you the story and you rolled your eyes, a bit amused at his possessiveness. “was that really necessary?” you point at the text and he just shrugs.

“i just feel like there’s a lot of people that don't know we’re together, you know? just wanna put it out there.” you nod, fighting the smile on your face and putting your arms around him.

“is that so?” you tease him, getting closer to him if that was even possible.

“yeah, lots of guys on your dms.” he confess. “they liked your selfie earlier.”

“hmm.” you answer. “i wouldn’t know about that, i only like one guy.” a treacherous smile takes over his lips and you take the opportunity to kiss him. “wanna go? we’ll be late to dinner.”

jude just nods and gets out of bed, never dropping your hand for a second.