#or make plans with them for things Outside of work

[amoebab22]

I completely agree with this. I feel like this is one of the worst parts about Veilguard. My Inky is in the South, and while I firmly believe Orlais is the devil, it's very weird that Tevinter is just super chill about my elf Rook when my elf Inky had constant micro-aggressions as well as just out and out slurs hurled at her. Also I'm going on a rant about Mythal.

SPOILERS BELOW

Bellara also seems to just...kind of ignore that I'm an elf? Davrin makes more sense. He left his clan and joined the Wardens because he just didn't really vibe with the Dalish. He'd think of himself as a Warden first, I think. Wardens don't seem to give much of a shit about your race or religion or sexuality or whatever. In The Calling, they canonically don't give a fuck about the gay couple in their little group, or that Fiona is a mage and an elf. Absolutely irrelevant. So Davrin could start to fall into that mindset because frankly, it's a nice way to live. It's just not real outside the Wardens.

So when Bellara is like oh my god our gods are evil and Davrin is like eh, fuck 'em, that's actually about the most realistic reaction we've got re: elves. Davrin is just out here like yo I'm a little busy saving the world fuck them gods. Love Davrin.

Also, in Inquisition, there's concern that knowing Corypheus's artifact is Elvhen will cause violence against elves. So knowing it's the Elvhen gods causing all of this? The consequences of that, even if an elf Rook saves the world, should be looming for a Shadow Dragon in particular. Clearly Inquisitor Ameridan's race did nothing for the elves of Orlais. It was covered up over time. His sacrifice meant nothing to the humans. This should make Solas's plans to restore the elves much, much more tempting.

The way the Crows were presented REALLY bothered me as well as someone who romanced Zev. The Crows *tortured* him, sexually assaulted him, made him feel worthless, because it was seen as necessary. Sure, Lucanis being blood family might give him a very different perspective and experience, but Jacobus is just allowed to be a Crow and start his own house when he wouldn't kill? I mean, I totally agree that prolonged, public shaming and imprisonment is worse for this individual, but like.... That's not how the Crows work. They kill stuff for money. Sure, they run Antiva and would be pretty pissed off about the Antaam taking their territory I'm sure, and they might work with Rook since Rook helped Lucanis and he's a big deal to the First Talon. But like... It should be a hard choice to work with them for Shadow Dragon Rook, because SLAVERY.

I feel like the pullback on slavery is to make Solas's actions seem more ambiguous, and to make it seem like there was some equal power between him and Mythal. But I have a very hard time believing he was never Mythal's slave. Also, a spirit of BENEVOLENCE? Get ABSOLUTELY fucked. She was fine with SLAVERY. Thought she could just slowly phase it out, maybe. Yeah, no .

Because here's the thing: slavery is evil. Whatever you have to do to stop slavery, short of participating or killing slaves, is pretty easy to justify. Maybe I'm just John Brown-pilled from living in Kansas a good chunk of my life, but killing slavers and slave owners and freeing slaves is MORALLY CORRECT. FULL STOP. A "kind" master is still a master. Sure, you can give them a chance to free their slaves and make reparations first, but waiting to vote slavery out didn't work. The US had to go to war. Haiti had to rebel (and give basically all its GDP to France for like two hundred years. Fuck Orlais AND France).

The only reason my Inky was able to befriend Dorian, at first, was their shared trauma in going to the future. That changes people (that whole quest fucked me up the first time I did it) and I think my elf Inky was looking for reasons to trust Dorian and ignore the system he participated in. She didn't have to see it so it seemed less real. He's an altus so he doesn't own the estate. He seems open to other opinions! And some part of him knows it's wrong, or he wouldn't be so awkward upon talking to Inky the first time.

But Solas's inherent and never fully overcome distrust of Dorian isn't wrong. Solas needs to see action; words aren't enough. I don't blame him.

This is the same softening we saw of the Templars in DA2 and Inquisition, but if you read The Stolen Throne and The Calling and play DAO, it's very clear that mages are oppressed by the Chantry and live in horrible conditions. The ones in Lake Calenhad are described as pale and kinda sickly looking (or something like that) because they don't get any fucking sunlight. Fiona is happy to go to the circle at first because she was a SLAVE in Orlais (Honestly Loghain's hatred of Orlais is justified even though his actions aren't). If you decide to allow the right of annulment or whatever in DAO, Zevran calls it genocide. Zevran isn't one to mince words. He doesn't pretend he isn't a killer or that he wasn't tortured.

My Inky and my Rook are both 'no gods no masters' types, which is why I think clan Lavellan sent their First on a risky mission supposedly by herself (got real sick of her shit lol). As a result, she heavily sympathizes with Solas's cause, and would have happily joined him in bringing down the Veil if he'd just agreed to spend time making sure as few people died as possible, particularly after she meets the Avvar and sees how spirits really are. She knows Solas better than anyone, and even without a full explanation, she'd know that his reasons for doing this were morally right. He freed her people. He never meant to hurt them. He can't live with his guilt. Inky (who in my game was more like 30 because I don't think she could have made decisions or led on her own at 20, nor would she have been a studied enough mage) wants freedom for everyone. She's chaotic good.

Rook is a Shadow Dragon who killed slavers a little too hard for an organization dedicated to killing slavers (based Rook). They're also chaotic good, and a bit of an idiot, bless them, who kinda sees everything as a nail because they have a hammer. They see slavery, they fight it. Fuck the consequences. Solas did the same.

So why is Rook not bringing up slavery a lot? Why is Rook only finding out that Solas freed slaves on the regular at the beginning of the game? Did Varric just decide that wasn't worth bringing up to a person whose entire life revolves around ending slavery? Why is Rook not having an existential crisis after talking to Solas and finding out the truth of his past in his memories?

Look, all I'm saying is that I don't understand why more people aren't angry with Mythal and why no one is talking about slavery and racism. The whole point of fantasy and sci-fi, and the point of Dragon Age, is to critique modern society through thinly veiled references. That's why people get so passionate about Star Trek. And yeah, yes, it's necessarily going to make a piece of media more niche, or people are going to bitch about it (especially gamer bros my dude calm down, sorry something is very briefly not about you), but it makes a game *good* and lasting

BG3 did a good job of exploring the themes of trauma and power imbalance, and while some characters I think needed more fleshing out (Wyll my beloved, I owe you a lengthy fanfic for the injustice done to you), it was particularly powerful in Astarion. The people are ready for real exploration of real issues. We always have been. Backing off was a mistake.

ANYWAY I have feelings and none of my friends share my special interest. Here you go.

Why Fenris could Never Cameo in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

In the run up to Dragon age: The Veilguard, I was almost certain that Fenris would be our main legacy character from previous games. Not only has he been central in the comics released between DAI and DATV, he is an escaped Tevinter slave who's plot revolved around magisters, magic and the structural prejudices surrounding elves in Thedas. Not only that, but he's canonically in Tevinter killing slavers currently so he's geographically in the right place for us to meet him.

About halfway through the game though, it was clear to me: Fenris could never cameo in The Veilguard. Because he'd break it.

How the Veilguard treats Thedas is...odd to me, to say the least. I will be writing another post about how much I adored the expanded big lore in this game (the titans, ancient elves were spirits, where the blight came from etc.) and yet while these large lore expansions worked for me, the actual culture of modern Thedas is entirely softened, its sharp edges filed down until it's a sanitised fantasy world devoid of what made the franchise so vibrant and compelling in the first place.

So let's start with Fenris and slavery. In all three games, the reality of slavery is pushing at the corners of the world. In DAO Loghain allows Tevinter Magisters to enslave elves in order to raise money for his war effort. In DA2 Fenris is fighting to be free from slavers who will not leave him be, let alone the reminders that the city was built by slaves which are everywhere. In DAI one of the two possible mini-bosses is Calpurnia who was a slave, and characters such as Gatt and Dorian both show us how much slavery is tied into Tevinters culture and success.

But DATV the first game actually set in Tevinter where we get to see the famed Minrathous...it's like the game purposefully wants to avoid the issue. I can feel it tilting the camera away to not allow me to see. Slavery is mentioned, but never talked about in depth or as a specifically ELVEN problem in Tevinter. This might have been done to be less problematic, it feels ignored.

We are in DOCK TOWN. We are at the DOCKS. You would think that slaves from all over Thedas who are being smuggled and bought by various groups would be everywhere. You would think that the injustice in dock town would be partly built on the back of ships we've seen in the comics crammed with elves in chains. This is the world Dragon age set up for us. And yet...nothing. zilch. A tiny easily skippable side quest where we free a couple of venatori slaves, but only one of whom is an elf.

None of our Tevinter characters seem to have been influenced by their culture even a little bit when it comes to how they view elves; there is no moment when Neve fucks up and says something prejudiced, no moment when Bellara or Davrin are distrustful of her for being a Tevinter mage.

The same goes for Zevran; a character who epitomised the issues with the crows. The crows have consistently been characterised as very morally dubious assassins who kill for the highest bidder and who buy children on the slave market and torture them as they grow in order to assure that they reach maturity able to withstand torture without giving away a client's name. Zevran is very explicit about the fact that if you fail a contract your life is forefit.

Nobody responds particularly to you if you're an elf. Nobody trusts rook less for it in Tevinter. Nobody treats Rook any differently. Even DAI had better mechanics for this; with nobles in Orlais less likely to trust you as an elf.

Considering one of the main plot points of this game and what makes Solas sympathetic is the fact that he was fighting against the slavery of ancient elves...you'd think the game might want to mirror that in modern Thedas. It might want to show us how characters fighting to end slavery in Tevinter are similar to Solas and how the society Solas fought against was similar to the one that characters we love such as Fenris have fought against in modern Thedas. Maybe we'd want to explore how in a world of slavery like this, how could the answer NOT be to tear it all down? Maybe we should have that option at the end of the game so it really can chose whether we agree with Solas and his plans or not.

Adding Fenris to this game would entirely break the game because Fenris refuses to allow you to look away from this horror. He is a sympathetic character who had to learn to trust mages again because of course he didn't trust them. Of course he didn't. Fenris wouldn't allow the camera to shift focus because he's literally covered in the lyrium scars that show how slaves are used as experiments in Tevinter. Fenris WOULD question Neve on how she feels about elves and slaves. Fenris WOULD have things to say about Lucanis and the crows (let alone the fact Lucanis is an abomonation). So he could never be in this game; he'd drop a bomb on it's carefully constructed blinders to the very society its supposed to be set in.

And yet, in DATV, the crows are presented as...a found family of misfits and orphans? The politician who opposes the crows having absolute power in Antiva is framed as a comically evil idiot who doesn't understand that the crows are ontologically good. Yet...they're NOT. Crows in this game act more like a secret rebel group than an assassin organisation. We see no crow taking contracts with the VERY RICH venatori magisters despite being hired killers. We see crows just refuse to kill people despite having a contract because 'its crueler to leave them alive'. The crows don't feel like the crows here, they feel like a softened version of a cool assassin group who are cool because they wear black and purple.

Our pirate group are also sanitised; the Lords of Fortune are good pirates who only steal treasure that's not culturally significant. Theyve clearly read the modern critiques of the British Museum and have decided to explicitly stop anyone levelling similar critiques at them. There is no faction of the Lords of Fortune who aren't like this, no internal arguments about it. Everyone just. Agrees. And is able to accurately tell what a cultural artifact is vs. what treasure that you can have yourself is. Rather than showing us why a pirate stealing cultural artifacts might be bad (like in da2 where such a situation literally causes a coup and a war) it just tells us it's bad. But also pirates are cool so we still want them in our world.

This issue seaps into Thedas and drains it of any of the interesting complexity and ability to SAY anything that this franchise had before this game. It becomes a game about telling and not showing rather than the other way around. The games have ALWAYS asked questions about oppressive structural systems and their interplay with society, religion and culture and how these things can affect even the most well meaning character. Dragon age at its best IS a game about society and how society functions both for and against it's characters and what happens to societies built on cruelty and indifference. The best bad guys dragon age has given us are those who are bad because they embody these systems or have been shaped by them. Our main characters have had to wrestle with questions surrounding how to exist in these systems, fight against them, learn and grow.

Yet every group you come across in DATV is sanitised and cleaned up to the point of being as non problematic as humanly possible. None of our cast of characters have to wrestle with where they came from or the world that shaped them. None of them have to confront their own biases. They start the game perfectly non-problematic and end it that way too.

And this just...isn't what Dragon Age has been in the past. It isn't why I love the franchise. The whole game just felt, in a way, hollow. And this was a CHOICE and it is why the legacy characters are few and far between. Too many dragon age characters are just too...angry and complex for this game. You can feel them pulling their punches on this one. I have to imagine they did this because they didn't want to be criticised or have too much controversy? But I think it honestly goes far too much in the other direction and just makes it bland.

I can't imagine what I say here will be unique, but it is the basis for a LOT of my other thoughts on this game so I wanted to get it out of the way first. The softened Thedas and characters make this game by far the weakest in the franchise.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Celebration - Professor!Logan x F!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You celebrate your gratuation with your friends at a small pub, when Professor Logan Howlett comes in. Your plans are forgotten, when your friends make you go talk to him.

Warning: SMUT, like almost Porn with no plot (40% plot/60% porn), sub!Logan (if you squint), but defo dub!Logan, Age gap (not described but there is). So please do not interract if you're under 18.

AN: So I aske dyou all a question a while ago what you'd prefer Professor!Logan or Professor!Peña, and democracy won, choosing Logan :) No beta read all the mistakes are my own... And I am not a history know it all, so apologies if I messed something up. I listened to an amazing Steven Rodriguez writing this, so I recommend this: Like you mean it

Words: 12 875 (let's just establish I can't write anything short, ok?)

The pub hummed with life as you stepped inside, your friends at your side. It was a cozy space, nestled between two old bookshops, with wooden beams that creaked under the weight of a hundred conversations and warm, amber lights casting shadows over shelves lined with bottles of spirits. The smell of hops and laughter filled the air, carrying with it the sweet release of months of hard work and sleepless nights. You, Kate, and Ethan found a booth near the window where the noise was lively but not overwhelming, and you could savour the first celebratory drinks as newly minted graduates.

Kate slid into the seat across from you, her auburn hair falling in waves that shimmered under the pub lights. She raised her glass, eyes glinting with mischief. "To history—and making it ourselves!"

Ethan, ever the practical joker with his sharp grin and mop of dark curls, added, "And to you surviving Professor Logan Howlett’s class with an A, of all things. Who does that? Seriously, cheers to the legend sitting right here."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up with a mix of relief and triumph. The past year had been a marathon of research, late nights in the university library, and the constant weight of expectations. But tonight, it felt like the world had paused in recognition of your efforts.

The conversation flitted between shared memories, plans for the future, and teasing hints of freedom that came with finishing your master’s. Then Kate’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, and she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't look now, but the Professor is here."

Your heart stumbled, then thudded in your chest. Professor Logan Howlett. You didn’t have to turn around to conjure the image: intense hazel eyes that seemed to strip the world down to its truths, sharp cheekbones, and that perpetual five o’clock shadow that gave him a rugged, almost cinematic presence. He was a paradox, embodying the kind of strength that could either crush or uphold.

Ethan smirked, nudging you with his elbow. "Go on. Say hi. He can’t be that scary now that you’ve graduated, right?"

A pulse of panic and excitement washed through you, your fingers tightening around the condensation on your glass. Talking to Professor Howlett outside of the academic halls was like stepping into a new, unscripted world. You'd spent two years working under him, first as a student, then as a teaching assistant—your admiration morphing into something deeper, something unspoken.

“Do it,” Kate urged, her eyes wide and teasing. “Or we’ll drag you over there ourselves.” As you sat there and glared at them, the memories of your first class with him came floating around in your head. 

The lecture hall was cavernous, its high, vaulted ceilings making the room feel more like a courtroom than a place of learning. Afternoon light slanted through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the heavy silence. Students settled into their seats, shuffling notebooks and pens, whispering speculations about the infamous Professor Logan Howlett.

You were seated in the second row, close enough to see the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes when he entered, but not so close as to draw unwanted attention. He walked in without hesitation, his stride confident and direct, the leather-bound notebook in his hand looking worn and familiar. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint scars, as if he had spent years grappling with more than just books. A single glance from him silenced the low murmur of conversation.

“History,” he began, the timbre of his voice deep and almost harsh, “is not a collection of anecdotes to pad out your evenings or score points at a dinner party. It is humanity’s attempt to interpret its own mistakes and, if we’re lucky, avoid repeating them.”

The air seemed to thicken with each word. He scanned the rows, eyes sharp and assessing, daring anyone to interrupt him. Some students shifted uncomfortably; a few glanced at each other, already regretting their choice of elective. You, however, felt your pulse quicken, a spark of defiance lighting somewhere inside you.

“Let’s start with a question,” he said, placing the notebook on the lectern and crossing his arms. “The Treaty of Westphalia. Why is it heralded as the cornerstone of modern statehood, and why is that view so fundamentally flawed?”

A heavy silence followed. It stretched on, pregnant with challenge, and you saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face. Without giving it much thought, your hand rose.

His eyes landed on you, their intensity making you feel momentarily pinned. “Yes?” The single word carried the weight of expectation.

You swallowed, your voice steadying as you spoke. “The Treaty of Westphalia is praised for ending the Thirty Years’ War and introducing the concept of state sovereignty, but it didn’t resolve the deeper conflicts. It merely froze them, ensuring that the problems would fester beneath the surface for years.”

A few heads turned, eyes widening at the audacity of challenging the professor in the opening moments of his lecture. Logan Howlett’s brows lifted, but it wasn’t disapproval that shone in his eyes—it was interest.

“Go on,” he said, the room holding its breath.

You sat up straighter, emboldened by his response. “The Treaty was a political bandage, not a cure. It shifted power among nations but ignored the religious and economic fractures that had fueled the conflict. It set the precedent for power politics without addressing the human costs.”

A silence, sharper now, fell over the room. He stepped away from the lectern, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back as if appraising a painting. A smile ghosted across his lips, subtle and fleeting.

“Interesting perspective,” he said, a challenge threading through his words. “But you’re missing the other side of the argument. Yes, it wasn’t perfect. Yes, it allowed the wounds to fester. But it also introduced diplomacy as an alternative to the perpetual war that defined earlier centuries. Would you rather the conflict had raged indefinitely, bleeding nations dry?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, a thrill running through you as you realised he was inviting the exchange. “Diplomacy born out of exhaustion isn’t sustainable. The treaty was signed not out of genuine reconciliation but mutual weakness. It was a temporary truce, not a triumph of peace.”

He nodded slowly, the light catching in his hazel eyes as if amused by your boldness. “Well argued. But if history were only about pointing out what didn’t work, we’d all be critics instead of scholars. The point is to study why such measures are taken and how they shape the world that follows.”

The room seemed to exhale collectively, but you held his gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. In that moment, you knew two things: this class would not be easy, and you were more than ready for it.

Your heart thudded in your chest as Kate's nudge sent a jolt through you. The warmth of the pub, with its golden glow and the chorus of laughter and clinking glasses, faded into the background as you glanced over at him—Professor Logan Howlett. Logan. The name still felt too intimate to think, let alone say, but tonight, that barrier seems thinner.

He stood at the bar, broad shoulders relaxed in a rare display of ease as he listened to a colleague recount some story, whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The way the light caught in his hazel eyes, illuminating flecks of green and gold, tugged at something deep inside you. He was an enigma: a man whose severity was legendary in lecture halls but who, behind closed doors, revealed glimpses of something more. Something human and achingly real.

You respected him, profoundly so. He wasn’t just another academic; he was the academic, the kind of professor whose passion for history electrified a room. His lectures weren’t just lessons but challenges, daring students to question and confront the world’s recorded past with new eyes. He had inspired you to follow in his footsteps, to envision a life dissecting history’s layers, guiding minds through its labyrinthine tales. You’d spent long nights thinking about that future—lecturing, debating, shaping students’ perspectives the way he had shaped yours.

Yet somewhere along the way, between debating treaties and arguing over the nuances of your thesis, your admiration had blurred into something messier. It was during the late hours of grading papers together, the silence punctuated only by his dry humour and the scratch of pens, that your heart began to betray you. He was different in those moments. Still grumpy, yes, but there was a warmth that surfaced—a sardonic smile when a student’s essay was especially absurd, a teasing jab at your meticulous note-taking. And once or twice, when the moon hung low and the world outside seemed distant, you could have sworn he flirted with you.

But that was impossible. Why would a man like him—sharp, captivating, deeply passionate about his work—pay attention to you in that way? It was foolish to even entertain the thought.

Kate’s voice brought you back. “Go on, before he leaves.”

You glanced at Ethan, who shot you an encouraging grin. You took your glass with you, fingers trembling just enough to make you clench your fist to steady them. The walk to the bar felt long, every step magnifying the flutter of nerves in your chest. You’d faced him in debates, you’d defended your research under his unsparing gaze, but this felt different. This wasn’t a controlled environment; this was the unpredictable space of real life.

He turned as you approached, his expression shifting from neutral to surprised, and then softening in a way that made your breath hitch. His eyebrows lifted just slightly, a fleeting look of recognition followed by something you couldn’t quite name.

“Congratulations,” he said, the rough edge of his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His eyes caught the light, making them appear warmer than usual, and for a moment, you felt like the only two people in the room.

“Thank you,” you managed, feeling a rush of relief that you hadn’t tripped over the words. “It’s… good to see you, Professor.”

“Logan,” he corrected, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile, but enough to suggest amusement. He glanced at the empty space beside him and shifted, subtly making room. “Join me?”

You didn’t need more than that. You slid into the space, feeling the heat of his presence like a tangible thing. The din of the pub receded just a little, replaced by the thrum of your pulse and the stolen glances that spoke of memories shared late at night over half-empty coffee cups and stacks of research papers.

Logan signalled to the bartender, his hand briefly brushing against yours on the counter as he gestured toward your half-empty glass. “A gift,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and rich with that unmistakable rasp, “for making it through the gauntlet and surviving me. Some people never do.”

His eyes lingered on yours, his gaze sharp but softened by the teasing glint that rarely broke through his usual stern demeanour. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, even as the warmth spreading through your chest made it harder to breathe evenly.

The bartender placed a fresh drink in front of you, and you stared down at it for a moment, letting the hum of the pub—the chatter, the golden glow of the lights, the low thrum of music—blur into the background. But it wasn’t the atmosphere that anchored you; it was Logan, his quiet confidence and magnetic pull, the way his focus never wavered.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He raised his glass, taking a measured sip of whiskey, the motion deliberate as if he were savouring it. His eyes never left yours, the intensity behind them making your skin tingle. “So,” he began, his voice carrying that heavy, deliberate weight, “what’s next? I can’t imagine someone like you doesn’t have the next step planned out.”

You couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “What makes you think I have a plan at all?” you teased, arching a brow as you lifted your glass to your lips.

The laugh that followed was deep and unrestrained, the sound warm enough to melt the tension in the air while simultaneously sending a shiver down your spine. He set his glass down and leaned forward, his broad frame angling toward you, his focus entirely on you.

“Because I know you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, amusement playing in the depths of his gaze. “And knowing you means I’d bet you’ve got the next thirty years colour-coded and cross-referenced.”

The heat in your cheeks was immediate, and you looked away, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the bashful smile tugging at your lips. It was ridiculous how well he knew you—how effortlessly he could strip away your defences with a single comment, leaving you feeling both exposed and undeniably seen.

“You shouldn’t look so smug about that,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, resonating somewhere deep in your chest. “You’re right,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “But it’s hard not to be. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into your skin, making your pulse quicken. His eyes, dark and steady, locked with yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur into irrelevance.

“It’s why I asked you to be my TA,” he added, his tone softened but no less intense.

The memory of that moment surged forward, vivid and sharp like it had happened just yesterday.

***

His office had been its usual state of organised chaos—books stacked high, papers scattered across the desk, and the faint scent of leather and cologne clinging to the air. The room had always felt like an extension of him: commanding, unrelenting, but with a quiet depth you couldn’t help but admire.

You had entered cautiously, the soft creak of the door announcing your arrival. Logan hadn’t looked up immediately, too engrossed in whatever notes he was reviewing, his brow furrowed in thought.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his sharp, assessing eyes pinned you in place. “Close the door,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. You obeyed, your pulse quickening with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a creak of worn leather. His fingers tapped against the desk, his eyes studying you with a piercing intensity. “I need a teaching assistant next term. But not just any TA. Someone who won’t nod along to everything I say and write my lectures in their sleep.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. “Me?” you stammered, half incredulous, half hopeful.

“Yes, you.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening the edge of his expression. It was a rare sight, one that made your stomach flutter. “I don’t usually need help,” he admitted, leaning forward, elbows resting on the desk. “But you challenge me—and that’s not something I’m willing to waste.”

The weight of his words hit you, their meaning sinking in. This wasn’t just an offer. It was an acknowledgment, an admission that he saw something in you worth nurturing.

“It would be an honour,” you said, your voice coming out softer than you intended, tinged with a reverence you couldn’t mask.

“Good.” He stood, crossing the room until he stopped just shy of your personal space. His presence filled the room, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said, but the teasing edge in his tone softened the warning.

“I won’t,” you had promised, the conviction in your voice leaving no room for doubt.

The way he looked at you then—like he believed you entirely, like he knew you would surpass every expectation—was something you’d carried with you ever since.

***

The memory slipped away like smoke, fading into the background as Logan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the pub. “You know,” he said, his tone carrying that familiar teasing lilt, “most people would kill for a compliment like that from me. And yet, here you are, blushing as if it’s the first time anyone’s told you you’re remarkable.”

The flush in your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head, trying to hide the effect his words had on you. “It was more than an honour,” you murmured, voice shy but unwavering. “Working with you made me realise how much I wanted to teach. Your classes… They made me sure of what I wanted for my future.”

Something flickered across his face then, a shadow of pride mixed with something you couldn’t quite name. He got closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the subtle warmth radiating from him. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dropping into a tone both playful and low. “I’m glad to hear it. If I inspired even half of what you’re capable of, then I’d say I did something right.”

His words sent a warmth curling through your chest, but it was the way he looked at you—steady, unflinching—that made your pulse flutter. He wasn’t just paying you a compliment; he was studying your reaction, watching you with a heat that felt almost tangible.

The smoky scent of his cologne teased your senses as he leaned in, close enough that the noise of the pub faded into a faint hum in the background. “Careful,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Blushing like that could make a person think you’re flustered.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, though the warmth blooming across your cheeks betrayed you.

He laughed softly, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he said, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “Because I like seeing you off your game.”

You swallowed hard, torn between embarrassment and exhilaration. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, trying to muster some semblance of control over the situation.

“And yet,” he said, his voice a low drawl as he raised his glass and tapped it lightly against yours, “here you are.”

The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken possibilities. It was a tension you’d never dared to acknowledge until now, and yet, sitting here beside him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

***

The night unfolded slowly, the warm glow of the pub sinking deeper into the evening. Despite the bustling crowd, you remained anchored in the space beside Logan at the bar. Each shared glance, each quiet laugh between the two of you, felt like the room itself was narrowing its focus, pulling you closer together.

When you reminded him, more than once, that you could buy your own drinks, he waved your protests away with an easy smile. “Consider it back pay for the TA work,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “And believe me, you earned it. I’m still convinced you deserve a medal for grading that batch of essays on European revolutions. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘Napoleon’ spelled with so many variations.”

You laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “To be fair, some of those students were probably just guessing who led the French army.”

“God help them,” Logan muttered, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before his eyes found yours again, softened by amusement. “How’s the thesis holding up under post-graduate scrutiny? Still proud of it?”

“Mostly,” you admitted, swirling the liquid in your glass thoughtfully. “There are a few parts I’d tweak if I could go back. But it did the job, right? Even impressed you.”

“‘Impressed’ might be underselling it,” he replied, his voice quieter now, rougher. “It was ambitious. You could’ve played it safe like most do, but you didn’t. You took a risk. That takes guts.”

The warmth in your chest grew at his words, a kind of pride that felt almost too big to contain. “I learned from the best,” you said softly.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. For a moment, the din of the pub seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the sound of his voice and the unspoken connection hanging in the air.

The conversation drifted easily between you, shifting from the late-night research sessions you once shared to the quirks of students you’d both encountered. You told him about the time a student had submitted a paper on the American Revolution that inexplicably included a section on The Beatles. Logan nearly choked on his drink, his deep laugh drawing a few glances from nearby patrons.

“Still proud of the next generation?” you teased, grinning.

“Barely,” he muttered, shaking his head before his smirk returned. “So, what now? What’s next for you outside of history?”

“Outside of history?” you quipped, leaning closer, the bubble of energy between you tightening. “Is there anything outside of history? I don’t know, Logan. I’ve spent so much time buried in books, I might as well be a mediaeval monk.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but the way he leaned toward you, just slightly, was enough to shift the atmosphere again. “A monk, huh?” he said, his voice low. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

The weight of his words sent a spark racing down your spine, your breath hitching slightly under the intensity of his gaze. Whatever barriers had once existed between you felt thinner now, more fragile. And for the first time, you found yourself wondering what it might mean to finally cross them.

Logan smirked, his sharp eyes tracing the contours of your face, lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Here’s a real question,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Any current boyfriends? Partners? You know, so I can adjust my expectations for the night.”

The question landed like a spark, setting your pulse racing. You hadn’t expected him to go there, but the weight of his attention and the soft buzz of the evening’s warmth had lowered your defences.

“Ha,” you laughed, sharper than intended, but his grin didn’t waver. “Uni didn’t leave much room for that. Most of the guys in my classes weren’t exactly my type—more interested in keg parties than real conversations.” You hesitated, the alcohol nudging your tongue loose. “And, well… let’s just say it was usually me and my hand at the end of the day. Boys are boys, after all.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching in amusement before he burst into laughter. The sound was deep, rich, and genuine, drawing curious glances from nearby patrons, but you didn’t care. Watching him like this—relaxed and utterly unrestrained—made your chest tighten with something unfamiliar.

“God, I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, shaking his head and wiping at the corner of his eye. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Is that so?” you countered, emboldened by the way his attention seemed to orbit you entirely.

“Oh, it is,” he replied, his voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. He leaned closer, and the space between you buzzed with an almost electric anticipation.

His hand rested on the bar, the slight movement of his fingers brushing against your arm in a touch so casual it felt deliberate. Your skin prickled at the contact, the warmth of it lingering far longer than it should. Logan was watching you now, his gaze steady and careful, testing your reaction, waiting.

The moment stretched, the tension building with every heartbeat. His fingers moved again, this time trailing lightly over the back of your arm, and the sensation sent a spark straight to your core. You inhaled sharply, your eyes meeting his, and the unspoken words between you hung heavy in the air.

“You know,” Logan said, his voice dipping lower, rougher, “I’ve always liked that you never missed a chance to challenge me. Kept me on my toes.”

“I didn’t think you liked being challenged,” you said, your voice softer now, unable to mask the tremor of excitement beneath it.

“Only when it’s you,” he replied, his tone stripped of humour. There was no teasing in his expression now, only the kind of intensity you’d once seen when he was deep in thought, dissecting an argument. But this was different. This wasn’t about academics or debates—this was about you. His hand moved deliberately, resting fully on your arm, his touch grounding and possessive all at once.

Your heart thundered in your chest as the realisation hit you. Logan Howlett—your professor, the man you’d admired from a distance for so long—was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. Like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had, even if you’d never dared to hope.

“Why now?” you whispered, the words slipping free before you could stop them. “Why tonight?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because tonight, you’re not my student.” His voice was a low rumble, rough and magnetic. “And I’m done pretending I haven’t noticed the way you look at me.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling over you. His touch, his gaze—they made you feel exposed in the best way, like you were finally being seen for exactly who you were.

“And how is that?” you managed, your voice trembling under the intensity of his stare.

Logan leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The scent of whiskey mixed with something distinctly him—earthy, warm, untamed. “Like I’m not the only one who’s been waiting for this,” he murmured.

The tension snapped, and before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was warm at first, almost hesitant, as if testing the boundaries of something unspoken. But as you leaned into him, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, his restraint faltered.

Logan groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you, and the kiss deepened. His hand moved from the bar to your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer. The heat between you was undeniable, every brush of his lips against yours igniting something that had been simmering for far too long.

“I want you,” he whispered, his voice raw and full of intent.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying against your hip, and his lips pressed into the curve of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent shivers down your spine, each touch deliberate, each kiss a promise.

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze darkened with hunger. “Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with urgency.

“Yes,” you breathed, the answer spilling out without hesitation.

A satisfied smile curved his lips, and he stepped back to let you grab your phone, quickly messaging your friends. Logan signalled the bartender, his impatience visible in the set of his shoulders as he paid the tab.

Outside, the cool night air was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Logan hailed a taxi with ease, opening the door and guiding you in with a hand on your hip, the touch lingering.

The ride to his apartment was both too long and too short. The tension simmered between you, heightened by his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers pressing with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You let your fingers trail up his arm, teasing, testing, and the muscle in his jaw flexed as he exhaled sharply.

“You’re going to drive me insane before we even get there,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and laced with heat.

“Good,” you whispered back, leaning in to brush your lips against the edge of his jaw.

His groan was low and full of promise. “Just wait until we’re alone.”

When the taxi finally stopped, Logan paid quickly, his hand never leaving you as he guided you up the steps to his apartment. Inside, the air seemed to shift, the quiet intimacy of the space wrapping around you as Logan closed the door behind you.

Instead of pulling you close again, he surprised you, walking to the kitchen. He returned moments later with a glass of water, handing it to you with a touch that lingered, his eyes scanning your face

“Drink,” Logan said, his voice softer now, the usual teasing edge replaced with something deeper, more serious.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Logan, I’m fine. I’m not—”

“I know,” he interrupted, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed steady, sincere. “But I need you to be completely sure. About this. About us. I don’t want any second thoughts in the morning.”

The weight of his words hung between you, settling like a tangible thing in the air. His expression, open and earnest, made your chest tighten. There was no bravado now, no teasing grin or cocky smirk—just Logan, stripped bare of any pretence, laying everything out in front of you.

You reached for the glass he offered, taking a small sip. The cool water was calming, but more than that, it gave you a moment to breathe, to steady yourself under the intensity of his gaze. He watched you closely, his posture relaxed yet commanding, a quiet possessiveness in the way he moved a step closer as you placed the empty glass down.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, the truth ringing clear in your words. “I’m not going to regret this.”

Logan exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing as relief softened the edges of his expression. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Because I want you to remember this. All of it. How I’m going to make you mine.”

Your breath caught at the promise in his words, your pulse quickening as his head dipped closer. This kiss wasn’t like the ones before. This one was unrestrained, searing, filled with the hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long. His hands found your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him, your body moulding perfectly to his.

Your fingers slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly, and he groaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through you. The kiss deepened, and he guided you back, his movements steady but urgent, until the edge of the couch met the back of your knees. You sank down, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, lingering there before moving lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, you gasped, the sharp sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Logan paused, pulling back just enough to take in the flushed look on your face, the way your chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. His dark eyes roamed over you, full of intent and unmistakable hunger, and he shook his head slightly, as if marvelling at the sight before him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice raw and gravelly.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying out at your hip, the weight of his touch grounding you. He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin, followed by the faintest pressure of his teeth. The shiver that coursed through you drew a satisfied growl from him, low and primal.

Every movement, every touch, every whispered word was deliberate—each one a promise. One you felt to your core.

The room buzzed with a charged energy, electric and palpable. Logan’s eyes met yours again, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow. The way he looked at you—like you were something he’d been waiting for his entire life—made your breath hitch and your heart race.

His hands tightened at your waist, his fingers pressing into your sides as he leaned down once more. The kiss that followed was a heady mix of tenderness and intensity, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that left no room for doubt. Logan kissed like he fought—fiercely, unyieldingly, and with everything he had.

Your hands explored his shoulders, tracing the firm muscle beneath his skin, feeling them shift and flex as he braced himself above you. His weight was a steady presence, comforting yet thrilling, a reminder of his strength.

When his lips left yours, they travelled lower, down the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, and lower still. His mouth and hands mapped out your body with an unhurried reverence, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice hushed but commanding, his lips brushing against your skin. His eyes met yours again, dark and unwavering, filled with a determination that made your pulse quicken all over again. He was waiting, giving you the choice, the control, his intensity balanced by the care in his gaze.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, surprisingly soft despite its wildness. You bit your lip as his mouth moved along your neck, his lips warm and insistent, nibbling with a mix of playfulness and purpose. You instinctively arched toward him, seeking more of his touch, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

There was a soft smile tugging at his lips, a tenderness that contrasted beautifully with the raw hunger in his eyes. Then, without a word, he buried his face back into the crook of your neck, the scrape of his beard sending shivers down your spine.

His lips lingered on every inch of your skin, his kisses deepening the sensations until you were lost in him. A sharp nip at the sensitive curve of your neck made you jump, a small cry escaping your lips. His low, rumbling chuckle reverberated against your skin as he soothed the spot with a gentle lick.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you whispered, your voice light but breathless.

He pulled back just enough to smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And it won’t be the only one,” he replied, his tone low and gravelly, full of promise.

Logan’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his roughened palms gliding over the soft warmth of your skin. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he let out a quiet growl, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. With one smooth motion, he lifted you effortlessly, holding you against him as though you weighed nothing. The sheer strength in the gesture left you breathless, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“I need you in my bed,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice thick with longing. “Comfortably sprawled out... while I take my time with you tonight.”

His words sent a flush rising to your cheeks, and you pressed your face into his neck, both embarrassed and exhilarated. Logan laughed softly, the sound a low, rich rumble that sent heat pooling in your core.

“Oh, this is going to be fun, darlin’,” he teased, clearly revelling in your reaction.

“You’re being mean,” you mumbled in protest, your words muffled against his skin.

“Mean?” he repeated, his smirk widening as he felt the soft kisses you pressed to his neck in retaliation. His grip tightened on you just slightly before he laid you down on the bed, his movements controlled yet brimming with urgency. His leg slid naturally between your thighs as he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you just enough to draw a delighted squeal from your lips.

His gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, his eyes darkened with desire. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as if nothing else in the world existed but this moment. His hand moved to your waist, trailing up your side with maddening slowness, leaving a path of warmth and tingling anticipation in its wake.

You shivered beneath his touch, your own hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. The firm lines of his muscles tightened under your fingertips as you explored the expanse of him, marvelling at his strength and the way it contrasted with the tenderness in his movements.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. The tenderness was fleeting, quickly giving way to something deeper as the kiss intensified. His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. Each movement was deliberate, like he was savouring every second, and when he finally pulled back, his lips hovered a breath away from yours, his voice rough and low.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his tone heavy with need. “Every look, every touch... it drives me wild.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt again, the calluses on his fingertips grazing your skin in a way that sent sparks dancing across your body. He pushed the fabric higher, his lips following the path his hands had traced, leaving feather-light kisses along your abdomen. Each touch, each kiss, built the tension inside you, the anticipation becoming almost too much to bear.

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his hands and mouth explored you with reverence. Slowly, he worked his way back up, his lips brushing along your collarbone, up the curve of your neck, and finally capturing your lips again. His kiss was firm and consuming, leaving you dizzy with want as his hands continued their journey, touching you in ways that made you feel cherished, adored.

“I want you to relax,” he murmured, his rough hand gently cupping your cheek as his eyes locked with yours. The intensity in his gaze was grounding, reassuring. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

A shiver ran through you at the quiet promise in his words, and you gave yourself over to him completely. He continued his slow, deliberate exploration, his lips and hands igniting a fire that burned through every nerve in your body.

With a slight shift of his weight, he pulled your shirt over your head, his movements unhurried but filled with purpose. His eyes roamed over your newly exposed skin, darkened with desire but soft with tenderness. You’d never felt so completely seen before, so utterly appreciated.

Logan’s hands returned to your sides, his touch brushing over your ribs as he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your heart race. His movements were deliberate, savouring the moment like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

When his lips left yours, they continued their journey, trailing kisses down your neck, along your shoulder, and lower. Each press of his mouth sent a spark of warmth radiating through your body, the sensation heightening with every touch. His hands followed, his touch both firm and gentle, exploring your curves with a possessiveness that made you feel treasured.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against your skin, his voice hushed but heavy with intensity. His gaze locked on yours, searching, waiting for your answer, his expression promising he would give you anything.

The vulnerability of the moment made your heart stutter, the quiet intimacy of it wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “I just need you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as the words spilled out, barely audible.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile against your skin, his rough beard scratching deliciously as he pressed a gentle kiss just above your heart. “Then I’m all yours,” he replied, his voice a low, gravelly promise that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

He moved you carefully, effortlessly guiding you to the centre of the bed. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, holding you close as though you might slip away if he let go. Every movement was slow, deliberate, his sharp eyes reading you like a book—every gasp, every shiver, every flutter of your lashes catalogued and responded to with tender attentiveness.

His fingers trailed down your skin, warm and rough against your softness, until they found the waistband of your jeans. With practised ease, he unfastened them, and you instinctively lifted your hips, helping him slide them off. He tossed them to the floor, where your shirt had already landed, and then sat back on his heels, taking you in.

His gaze was intense, primal—darkened by a hunger that seemed endless, almost dangerous. His eyes roamed over your form, lingering on every curve, every exposed inch of skin. That look alone made you feel like you were aflame, a heat pooling low in your belly under the weight of his stare. You swallowed hard, feeling shy and bold all at once in your barely-there panties, ones you’d chosen that morning for a little extra confidence, never expecting they’d be seen like this.

“You’re being mean again,” you teased, your voice soft but playful. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Logan raised a single eyebrow, his lips twitching into that damn smirk that made your knees weak. “Mean, huh?” he repeated again, his voice a teasing rasp. Shaking his head, he reached for the hem of his flannel shirt, starting to pull it over his head.

But before he could, your hand shot out, landing on his arm to stop him. “Can I do it?” you asked, your tone soft, tentative, but unmistakably eager.

His smirk deepened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You wanna take the lead, princess?” he murmured, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

With a quick, fluid movement, he grabbed your waist and flipped the two of you, his strength effortless, leaving you straddling his lap. His large hands rested firmly on your hips, holding you in place. You let out a surprised laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully, but the sound faded when you felt the hard length of him pressing against you.

“Then I’m all yours,” he growled, his smirk widening as you shifted your hips experimentally. The deep rumble that escaped his throat made your breath hitch, a quiet growl that sent a thrill racing through you.

Your hands travelled over the hard planes of his abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle that flexed beneath your touch. Slowly, teasingly, you reached the first button of his flannel and began unfastening it, one by one, revealing inch after inch of warm, firm skin. Dark hair covered his chest, trailing downward in a line that disappeared into his jeans, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over it, savouring the roughness against your fingertips.

Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then began a slow, deliberate path downward, your lips brushing along his jaw, his neck, and the curve of his shoulder. Your kisses turned to nips and bites, your teeth grazing his skin in a way that had his hips jerking beneath you. When your lips closed around his nipple, biting just hard enough to make him hiss, a low chuckle rumbled through him.

“You’re trouble,” he growled playfully, though his hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you into a slow rhythm against him.

You brushed his hands aside, smirking down at him. “I’m in control, Professor,” you said, the title falling from your lips like honey.

His reaction was immediate—his eyes widened slightly, darkening further as he twitched beneath you, his arousal impossible to ignore. “Interesting,” you mused, your grin turning wicked as you kissed your way down his chest, tracing the lines of his ribs with your nails, drawing a satisfied groan from him as the faint sting lingered.

Reaching the waistband of his jeans, you unfastened them with the same slow care he’d shown you earlier. Hooking your fingers around the band of his boxers, you gave his hip a light tap, silently urging him to lift, which he did without hesitation. You slid his jeans and boxers down, tossing them to join the growing pile of clothes.

“Looks like we’re uneven now,” he joked, his tone husky, though his focus was entirely on you as your fingers ghosted over his thighs.

“I left your shirt on, didn’t I?” you teased back, flashing him a mischievous smile.

He started to reply, but it dissolved into a groan as your hands moved upward, tracing along the lines of his stomach, stopping just shy of where he was waiting for you, hard and aching. You leaned down, pressing soft kisses to his abdomen, following the trail of hair downward, your lips deliberately avoiding the most sensitive part of him. Each breath that grazed him made him twitch, his hands fisting the sheets as he tried to stay patient.

But Logan Howlett wasn’t a patient man.

His voice was a low, guttural growl. “Princess, if you keep teasing me, I’m not gonna stay still much longer.”

You smirked, brushing your lips lightly along his inner thigh, your eyes flicking up to meet his. “Then don’t,” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

And the way his eyes burned at your words made you feel unstoppable.

"May I remind you, sweetheart, that I’m not a patient man?" His voice was a low, guttural growl, each word strained as his restraint frayed under your teasing. Your lips ghosted up his chest, leaving a warm trail of kisses along the curve of his neck. His skin was taut under your wandering hands, which moved deliberately, sliding over the firm muscle of his chest, down the sculpted planes of his abdomen, until they stopped just shy of their target.

A bead of pre-cum glistened at his tip, a testament to how close you were to driving him over the edge. The sight alone sent a thrill through you—he was teetering on the brink of control, and you loved it. Still, even as his desperation stirred a wicked delight in you, the ache building within your own body was undeniable. You wanted him just as badly. No, more.

Leaning up, you captured his lips in a soft, deliberate kiss, then broke away to whisper in his ear, your breath hot and laced with seduction. "May I suck you off, Professor?"

The sound that tore from him was a low, primal groan—half frustration, half desire—and when you pulled back with a feigned innocence, his restraint snapped. He surged forward, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping you with a fervour that made your stomach twist deliciously. He poured his want into that kiss, and you revelled in the way he crumbled beneath your touch.

Your hand slipped lower, wrapping firmly around him, and his sharp intake of breath sent a wave of heat surging through your body. Seeing him bare before you was one thing, but feeling him—his heat, his size, his sheer need—had your own breath catching. The thought of taking him, of having him inside you, sent a shiver of anticipation skimming down your spine.

Pulling back, you locked eyes with him, the dark hunger in his gaze urging you on. Slowly, you brought your hand to your mouth, licking your palm in a deliberately seductive motion. His lips parted as his chest rose and fell heavily, watching every move you made. Your slickened hand returned to him, circling his length with a teasing swirl. His head fell back, a deep groan escaping his throat, as his body surrendered to the sensation.

Experimentally, you brushed your thumb over his tip, collecting the bead of wetness there. Without breaking eye contact, you brought it to your lips, tasting him for the first time. He was salty, heady, but somehow addictive—a taste you could already tell you’d crave. His groan turned guttural as your hand began its slow, deliberate rhythm, stroking him with increasing confidence.

"Logan Howlett," you thought, a flicker of triumph lighting within you. This untamed, commanding man was utterly under your spell, and you hadn’t even begun to show him what you could do.

Leaning in, you pressed your tongue to the base of his throat, dragging it upward in one languid motion. His cock was hot and impossibly hard in your hand, smooth yet throbbing with vitality. You smirked as you murmured against his skin, your voice a sultry hum. "You feel incredible in my hand, Professor. I wonder…" You nipped lightly at his collarbone before trailing down his chest and stomach, closer and closer to where your hand worked him in steady strokes. “…how you'd feel in my mouth."

“Fuck,” he rasped, the word trembling on a breathless moan as you quickened your pace, his hips twitching in response. "You can try it, sweet girl. I bet a good girl like you would love it."

His challenge lit a spark in your eyes. Without hesitation, you trailed your hand to his base, preparing for the length you couldn’t take fully. Then, holding his gaze, you ran your tongue up his shaft in a slow, deliberate stripe, savouring every inch. His breath hitched, and he let out another ragged "Fuck," his head tipping back in unrestrained pleasure.

You smirked around him, your lips brushing against his skin. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long," you murmured, your hand working him with practised strokes as you watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. His eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, entirely focused on you.

Without breaking your rhythm, you leaned forward and took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling expertly as you enjoyed the weight and heat of him. His reaction was immediate—a guttural groan that made your pulse race. Every sound he made, every twitch of his body, was yours to command, and you planned to make the most of it.

You leaned down, your gaze locking with his as you parted your lips to take him in. The intensity in his dark, lust-filled eyes sent a pulse of heat through you, heightening your desire. Slowly, you enveloped him, letting your tongue swirl around his tip with deliberate, teasing strokes. Every second felt electric, the weight of him on your tongue igniting something primal within you.

Encouraged by the raw, guttural groan that escaped his lips, you took him deeper. The sound spurred you on, your body responding instinctively as you pushed yourself further, the stretch of him filling your mouth almost too much to bear. A choked gasp escaped you as you fought to adjust, and when you pulled back slowly, the suction made him shudder. Your tongue flicked out, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that lingered at his tip, savouring the salty, heady taste with a soft moan.

You let your tongue explore him fully, tracing the sensitive underside of his length with delicate precision. Each movement of your hand at the base added to the sensation, your fingers tightening just enough to draw a deep, unrestrained moan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, and a smug smirk tugged at your lips. Seeing a man like Logan—always so composed and commanding—reduced to this state of pure need made you feel intoxicatingly powerful.

Unable to resist the temptation, you reached for his clenched fist, guiding it gently into your hair. His hand opened reflexively, his fingers threading through your locks with surprising tenderness. At first, his grip was tentative, his raised brow and the flicker of surprise in his gaze betraying his hesitation. But those eyes—dark, hungry, and more captivating than ever—held a new vulnerability, a raw honesty that made your pulse quicken.

“I want you to show me how you like it, Logan,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry, the deliberate use of his name landing like a spark in the charged space between you.

Something shifted in him. His pupils dilated, and his lips curved into a wicked smirk that made your stomach flip. “Are you sure, sweet girl?” he asked, his tone deep and laden with warning. “I can be... aggressive.” His low chuckle was both a tease and a promise, but the way his hand flexed in your hair revealed just how much your words had affected him.

You felt the heat rising between you, a silent challenge hanging in the air. “I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, your voice trembling with sincerity.

For a moment, his expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something warmer. He patted your cheek gently, almost tenderly, before exhaling a shaky breath. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, before adding in a growl, “Good girl.”

The praise sent a rush of arousal through you, emboldening you as you took him back into your mouth. You started slowly, relishing the stretch as you worked to accommodate him. Your lips strained as you descended further, inch by inch, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. You paused there, breathing through your nose, willing yourself to relax as you adjusted to his size.

The weight of him was overwhelming, but you welcomed the challenge, pressing forward to test your limits. Your hand moved in tandem with your mouth, stroking the base of his cock where your lips couldn’t reach. Every groan, every strained breath from above you fueled your determination.

When his hand tightened in your hair, a subtle but unmistakable tug, you felt the shift in his control. It wasn’t forceful, but it was guiding, encouraging you to take him deeper. The act of surrendering to his lead sent a wave of heat cascading through you, and you moaned softly around him, the vibrations drawing another sharp groan from his throat.

Logan Howlett, the untouchable, unshakable force of nature, was unravelling in your hands—and you couldn’t have been more proud.

Every sound he made only added to the unbearable ache pooling between your thighs. You were soaked—so much more than you’d ever been before. The slickness, the heat, the undeniable need coursing through you—it was unlike anything you’d felt. Sure, you’d given blowjobs before, but they were nothing like this. This wasn’t a chore or a routine act of pleasure. With Logan, every moment felt electric, every touch feeding the fire inside you.

As your hand and mouth worked together to bring him closer, the growing need within you begged for attention. Slowly, one hand trailed down your own body, seeking some relief, your fingers pressing lightly against the wetness that had soaked through your panties.

But the sharp tug at your hair brought everything to a halt, a high-pitched gasp escaping your lips as you broke away to look up at him. His dark, lust-filled eyes burned with a mixture of amusement and dominance.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone laced with teasing authority, though the edge in his voice made it clear he expected an answer.

“I—I just thought—” you started, but the wicked smirk that spread across his face silenced you.

“Pleasuring you is my job,” he interrupted, his words sending a thrill through your body. “Go on, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me, and I promise I’ll reward you.”

A rush of arousal coursed through you at his command. Any other man saying something like that would have earned a sharp slap and a swift exit. But Logan? His voice, his touch, his sheer presence—it left you feeling raw, exposed, and more wanted than ever before. You nodded, a small, breathless smile playing on your lips as you returned your hand to his hip.

Lowering your head again, you let your tongue trace a slow, deliberate path down the length of his cock, sampling the taste of him as you collected the salty pre-cum that had begun to drip. His groan was low and guttural, a sound that spurred you on as you began to bob your head, taking him deeper and deeper into your throat with every motion.

But Logan wasn’t content to let you set the pace. His hand tightened in your hair, pushing you down suddenly and forcing your nose to press against the base of his cock. The sheer size of him stretched your throat, and you pulled back with a coughing gasp, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck!” he hissed, his voice strained. His other hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. “You okay, princess?” The damn pet name only made your pulse race faster.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice raspy but eager. “You just surprised me.”

He smirked, but the concern in his eyes was genuine, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Good. Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want to feel you again,” you said breathlessly, your hand resuming its slow strokes along his length. Your eyes travelled to his lips, then back to his smouldering gaze as you bit your bottom lip. “I want to feel you come in my mouth, Sir.”

His eyes darkened at the word, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make you shiver. “Good. Fucking. Girl,” he growled, his voice rough and full of praise. “Go on, then. Show me just how perfect you can be.”

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You found your rhythm, relaxing your throat and taking him even deeper than before. Saliva spilled down his length, glistening in the dim light as you worked him with a messy, unrestrained enthusiasm. The sounds of his pleasure—grunts, groans, and muttered curses—were music to your ears, spurring you to go further, to do more.

Logan’s hips began to move, his thrusts matching the rhythm of your mouth. The hand in your hair guided you with increasing urgency, his movements growing rougher, more desperate. “Oh, right there, princess,” he groaned, his voice strained as his control started to slip. “That’s it. You’re so fucking good for me.”

You moaned around him, the vibration pulling another strangled sound from his lips. He was twitching now, his cock pulsing against your tongue, and you knew he was close. You focused on his tip, swirling your tongue around it before taking him as deep as you could once more.

“C-coming,” he choked out, his voice rough and breathless.

You didn’t falter. Instead, you tightened your grip at his base, hollowing your cheeks and pressing your lips flush against him as he reached his peak. His hips bucked, and with one final thrust, he spilled into your mouth. The taste of him—salty, raw, and uniquely Logan—flooded your senses, and you swallowed every drop, savouring the moment.

With a soft pop, you pulled back, licking your lips and opening your mouth to show him you’d taken everything he had to give. The satisfaction in his gaze made your chest swell with pride.

“You are fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. Before you could respond, he pulled you into a searing kiss, his mouth crashing against yours with unrestrained hunger. He didn’t seem to care that he could still taste himself on your lips—if anything, it seemed to drive him wild.

“You’re not done with me yet,” he murmured against your mouth, his smirk returning as he pulled you closer. “Not even close.” 

Once again, Logan shifted your bodies effortlessly, rolling you beneath him until you lay sprawled out, vulnerable and waiting. The weight of his gaze made your breath hitch—hungry, predatory, as though he were revelling in every inch of you before even touching you. For the first time that night, nerves began to creep in, a shiver of uncertainty. You were exposed, clad in nothing but your underwear, your body bared for him in the dim light. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and the intensity in his eyes made your doubts dissolve like smoke.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, each word laced with longing.

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth found the sensitive spots just below your ear, nibbling gently, drawing a gasp from you as your back arched instinctively toward him. You were already so ready, the ache between your thighs unbearable. Tilting your hips, you sought to close the gap, to meet him where you needed him most.

But his hand came down firmly on your hip, pinning you back against the mattress with a knowing smirk. “Impatient, are we?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you some patience. After all…” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, “…I am a professor.”

The kiss that followed was searing, his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours. His weight pressed down on you, holding you in place, his length achingly close but just out of reach. You whimpered against his mouth, your body trembling with anticipation, your hands clawing at his shoulders in frustration. When he pulled back to look at you, his smile turned smug. He could see it all—the half-closed eyes, the way your lips chased his, your complete surrender beneath him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone almost a purr. “So ready. And I’ve barely even touched you.”

His lips found your neck again, trailing hot, deliberate kisses down to your collarbone. Then lower. He lingered at your chest, his hands deftly unclasping your bra. The cool air brushed against your hardened nipples for only a moment before his mouth claimed one, his tongue swirling as he sucked, his teeth grazing lightly. The sensation shot through you like lightning, and a low whine escaped your throat.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hand found your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “So sensitive,” he said softly, his voice full of pride at the way your body responded to him. Switching sides, he made sure to give each peak the same attention, his lips and tongue worshipping you as though nothing else in the world mattered.

His kisses continued their descent, leaving a trail of heat down your stomach. Wet, open-mouthed kisses mixed with playful bites that made you hiss—not in pain, but in sweet, agonising frustration. He paused at your hip, nipping the delicate skin there, and your hand flew to his shoulder, clutching him tightly.

“You’re torturing me,” you whined, your voice a breathless plea.

His response was a soft, almost tender kiss against your lips, a stark contrast to the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Am I?” he murmured, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the damp fabric covering your core.

“Oh, God,” you gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

With one smooth motion, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid it down your legs, leaving you completely bare beneath him. He sat back for a moment, his gaze raking over you with unrestrained hunger.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So perfect. So fucking ready.” His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Does getting me off make you this wet, princess?”

“You’re cruel,” you shot back with a breathless chuckle, only to gasp as he slid one thick finger into you with ease.

“Cruel?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

He leaned down, trailing kisses down your stomach and lower, pausing just above where you ached for him most. His tongue darted out, teasing you with the lightest touch, and you bucked against him instinctively. His free hand pressed firmly against your stomach, holding you in place.

“Patience,” he reminded you, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

When his mouth finally descended, the first touch of his tongue against your clit sent a cry spilling from your lips. He groaned in response, the sound deep and guttural as he tasted you. “So sweet,” he murmured against you, his lips brushing the sensitive nub. “So fucking good. Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He growled low in his throat, the deep vibration coursing through you like a shockwave. His tongue moved with practised precision, alternating between soft, teasing flicks that left you gasping and firm, deliberate strokes that made your toes curl. Every movement was calculated to drive you higher, to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

Then, his lips latched onto your clit again, sucking gently before his teeth grazed the sensitive nub, sending a sharp, delicious jolt through your core. The cry of his name that tore from your lips was almost instinctual. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured against your skin, his voice gravelly, warm, and thick with lust. “Let me hear you.”

You couldn’t do anything but obey. His tongue began to work you relentlessly, each lap and swirl pulling moans and gasps from deep within you. “Logan, oh god, yes!” Your words spilled out in breathless chants, and you writhed beneath him, your body responding to every masterful flick of his tongue. Of course, he was skilled—far beyond anything you’d ever experienced. He wasn’t some fumbling boy trying to impress you. He was a man—a raw, primal force—and tonight, he was yours.

When a third finger stretched you, your back arched off the bed as you screamed his name. His answering smirk was devastating. That damn smirk. It would be your undoing. You could feel him—his arousal, hot and heavy against your thigh, already primed for more. Yet he wasn’t rushing, wasn’t hurrying to take you. He devoured you like a man starved, his fingers filling you perfectly, his free hand pinning you down as you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Be a good girl for me,” he rasped, his tone a dangerous mix of command and tease, “and tell me when you’re about to come.”

The ache inside you built to a breaking point, sharp and all-consuming. The pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable, and you whimpered, your voice trembling as you confessed how close you were.

And then he stopped.

The absence of his touch was like being plunged into ice water. You opened your eyes, glaring at him with a mix of disbelief and fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, your voice trembling with frustration.

Logan leaned back on his heels, his broad shoulders shaking with a low, wicked laugh. His smirk deepened as he looked at you, flushed and furious. “You’re adorable when you’re angry,” he teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I’m not adorable,” you huffed, your cheeks burning, both from arousal and his taunting.

“You’re even more adorable when you’re flustered,” he chuckled, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

Before you could retort, he kissed you hard, swallowing any protest. Without warning, his hand returned, and he thrust three fingers deep inside you, curling them expertly. He found that perfect, spongy spot with devastating accuracy, and when he pressed against it, you screamed his name so loudly you were certain the neighbours would know exactly what he was doing to you.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his voice rough and brimming with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

One more precise swirl of his fingers, and you shattered. The climax hit you like a lightning strike, blinding and all-consuming. Your body convulsed around him, your hands gripping the sheets desperately as wave after wave of pleasure wracked your body. It was different—deeper, more intense than anything you’d ever felt before.

But Logan didn’t stop.

“Logan, stop, I can’t,” you gasped, your voice shaking as your body trembled from the aftershocks. “I…I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent. “Come on, give it to me, baby.”

The new pet name broke something in you. Before you could process it, another orgasm tore through you, more overwhelming than the first. Your legs clamped shut around his hand as your body convulsed, your arms falling limp at your sides, too spent to even move.

When the waves finally subsided, you lay there, panting and trembling. “That was��� God… That was the best fucking orgasm of my life,” you muttered breathlessly.

Logan grinned smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

“Don’t look so smug!” you protested weakly, swatting at his chest, though the laughter in your voice betrayed you.

He lifted his hand, still glistening with your release, and raised an eyebrow. “No one’s ever made you squirt before, right?”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment washing over you as you shook your head.

“Idiots,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips gentle and warm against yours. “Seeing you like that…that’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

His words melted your embarrassment, and you smiled up at him, your hand drifting down to wrap around the hard length pressed against your thigh. His breath hitched at your touch, his control visibly fraying.

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softening, the tenderness in his tone stark against the raw hunger in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt ya.”

His care, his patience, his sheer presence—it all left you breathless. How had you gotten so lucky?

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel you—and your release—in me for the next week.”

The sharp inhale of breath and the way his eyes darkened at your words sent a thrill through you. “I’m on the IUD, and I’m clean,” you added, and his nod confirmed the same.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled softly, “Then let’s make you feel exactly how much I want you.”

Logan sat back on his heels, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing as he pulled off the shirt he still wore. The faint scars scattered across his skin caught the dim light, a testament to his raw strength and resilience. His feral intensity was softened, for a moment, by the way his hands trailed down your legs, spreading them open with deliberate care. His touch sent a shiver through you, not from cold, but from the overwhelming anticipation that coursed through your body.

Gripping his cock, he positioned himself at your entrance, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “I’m not small,” he said with a low chuckle, his voice gruff but tinged with tenderness. He knew his size could be overwhelming; with his usual flings, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but this wasn’t just a night of mindless release. This was different. You were different. He cared about you, and that thought made him slow down, made him want to savour every moment.

The swollen tip of his cock slid easily through your slick folds, and you inhaled sharply at the slight sting of the stretch. He was bigger than anyone before, and for a fleeting moment, the discomfort was sharp—but it faded just as quickly, replaced by a moan of pleasure as he pushed deeper. Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way inside, letting you adjust to him.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth when he bottomed out, his forehead dropping to yours. He was buried so deeply you swore you could feel him everywhere, filling you in ways you hadn’t thought possible. “So tight,” he muttered, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him. “Damn near came already.”

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, his lips trailing down your neck as his hand came up to cup your breast. His thumb flicked over your nipple, drawing a gasp from you as his hips began to move. The first few thrusts were slow, measured, giving you time to adjust.

You looked up at him, and the sight stole what little breath you had left. Logan Howlett was beautiful in his raw masculinity—the glistening sweat on his chest, the way his muscles rippled with each movement, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hands left your breasts, moving to grip your thighs, lifting them to rest on his shoulders as he pressed even deeper inside you. The angle made you gasp, your hands gripping his forearms for stability.

“Faster,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need as you leaned up to whisper in his ear. ”Please”.

He growled softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he pulled back to look at you. “So fucking polite,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips before his pace shifted.

The next thrust slammed into you, and a cry tore from your throat, your body arching off the bed as he began to pound into you with an intensity that bordered on feral. He moved with precision, each snap of his hips purposeful as though he was searching for something—and then he found it.

Your gasp turned into a strangled moan, your lips forming a perfect O as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent white-hot pleasure ripping through your body. His smirk widened at your reaction, and his hand moved down to your clit, circling it with rough but deliberate pressure that made your voice rise in a chorus of his name, breathless pleas, and mindless cries of “yes.”

“Come on, princess,” he commanded, his voice low and growling. “Come on my dick.”

You shattered at his words, the orgasm ripping through you so hard your body trembled uncontrollably. You cried out his name, gripping the sheets tightly as your walls clenched around him. But he didn’t stop. His hips kept driving into you, harder and faster, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d wear the marks tomorrow.

“Logan, stop, I can’t—” you whimpered, though your body betrayed you, climbing toward another peak.

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more, my sweet girl. One more.”

When he murmured your name, it was over. Your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, so intense your legs clamped around him and your arms fell limp at your sides. The sensation of his cock twitching inside you, the warm flood of his release spilling into you, heightened the euphoria.

When he stilled, his chest heaving, he leaned down to kiss you. It was soft, tender, so full of care that it almost brought tears to your eyes. As you blinked them away, his thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears before they could fall. He pressed gentle kisses to the corners of your eyes before pulling out of you with a shared hiss.

For a moment, you thought he might collapse beside you, like so many others before him had, but instead, he murmured, “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t move.”

Too spent to argue, you closed your eyes, letting the haze of exhaustion wash over you. When you felt the warm, damp cloth against your sensitive core, you flinched slightly, startled.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, his voice full of affection as he cleaned you up with a care that left you speechless. He’d even taken the time to warm the water. Could this man be any more perfect?

“I brought you some water,” he added, holding out a glass as he sat beside you on the bed.

You took it gratefully, managing a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I can move,” you said, half-joking but entirely truthful.

For a brief, vulnerable moment, fear crept into your chest. This was the part you dreaded—the moment where he’d send you on your way, reducing everything you shared to a meaningless one-night stand. You braced yourself for it, but it never came.

Instead, Logan stretched out beside you, his large hand resting on your thigh as he looked at you with those impossibly soft eyes.

“Then stay,” he said simply, his voice rough but sincere. “The bed’s big enough. And not to brag, but I make a damn good omelette.”

The smile he gave you melted every bit of fear in your chest, filling it instead with a quiet joy that made your heart ache in the best way.

You finished your water and curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ear.

“I think I like that,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

And in that moment, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[amethystfairy1]

Regarding the Iskall Situation...

I've received a lot of asks wondering about what my take is on it, and since I'd prefer to have it all taken care of in one swoop so we don't have to continue to focus on it, here's my stance on the subject.

A: Yes, I have seen the credible evidence from Kasszki, I read the doc they posted, and I feel awful for them and the other victims that they had to deal with this. I'm glad to hear that the Hermits and others were supportive of them and helped them handle this situation in as professional a manner as possible. I have also seen the credible information from False that Stress left for her own separate reasons.

B: I strongly denounce Iskall's behavior, and I have absolutely zero intention of supporting him as a creator ever again.

C: Please don't pester the creators or the victims. I said it in my initial response to this situation before we knew what had happened, but my opinion remains the same here. Any information we get from the Hermits is a privilege, not a right. Hermitcraft and it's associated fandoms are well known for being healthy, good spaces, and I'm proud to be a member of this community. Now our money is where our mouths are. Please don't feed into the rumor mill, please continue to support the Hermits as you always would and don't pry or demand more details from them. This is a very difficult situation for all of us, and I'm certain it's even worse for all of them. Please keep in mind the Hermits are all grown adults, many of them had professional careers before they joined Hermitcraft, and they are handling this in as professional a manner as they are able. I applaud them for that. As their fans, we need to do the same.

What are my plans for Iskall and Stress in TTSBC?

Understandably, I've received several asks about what I plan to do about Iskall and Stress's characters in TTSBC. I've answered them individually, but I just want to put this here as a one-stop spot for what my stance is so it's clear.

I've always been a 'character not content creator' author. My characters are just that, characters. Does that mean I can completely remove them from the creators upon which they are based? No, of course not. That's not how this works, either. So here's my plan moving forward.

The two stories that heavily feature Iskall in TTSBC, "Run with It' and "Carry me Home Tonight" will remain up. They are timestamped with their dates of posting which was long before any of this came out, and again, they are very clearly meant to be characters, not the creators.

Iskall will be removed from the TTSBC: Wiki, and I will not be writing any new content for his character.

Does that affect the plot of TTSBC? Yes, it does. I'm not going to pretend it doesn't, and those of you who have followed the series at length can likely see where the issues arise...but I'm an author, and I can pivot. I also have an awesome little team behind me of @silver-sunray, @boo-the-ahh, and @khoirkid who are helping me to make sure TTSBC carries on smoothly despite this unforeseen struggle.

Stress will not be removed from the TTSBC: Wiki. As I mentioned in an ask earlier, her role in the story is very minor, and I hadn't planned for her to have any other pieces to herself outside of Hermit-a-Day May anyway...so aside from specific instances where it might be necessary to mention her, she will not be making any more major appearances. This is mainly because I'm a Hermit/Traffic/Empires writer, and I plan to stick to that notion unless future events cause me to pivot otherwise.

Lastly, I would appreciate if we could avoid anymore asks about the situation. If there are any further updates I'm sure I'll find that out on my own, I'm very active in this fandom and I see things pretty quickly when they spread, so if any new things related to this situation spring up, while I greatly appreciate your concern for me and my work, please don't send it to my inbox or in DM.

I'm very saddened by this, as I'm sure many of you are. Hermitcraft and it's associated fandoms have been my safe space for many years, through some of the hardest moments of my life, and with the mess that MCYT has proven itself to be at times, it felt like we were untouchable here. But like Doc said, the Hermits are good, and they are strong. And as their fans and supporters, we need to be the same.

Be good, be strong, and let's make sure our lovely community continues to be the positive space it always has been.

-Amethyst

[aahsokaatano]

"Humans," I had been told, "will pack-bond with anything."

This seemed patently ridiculous to me at the time. What benefit is there to forming emotional attachments to dissimilar things than oneself?

I had been forced to reconsider upon my first landing, which had drawn the attention of the local humans. I had chosen the large, open area for ease of travel, but this gave me no cover when the humans approached on some of the large quadrupeds known as "horses," with smaller quadrupeds known as "dogs" running alongside them. The dogs were loud and had possession of teeth and claws, and possessed heightened senses that made hiding nearly impossible, as they would alert the humans of my whereabouts almost instantly. The horses were very fast, and very large, with strong metal attached to their hardened feet that made any strike by them incredibly dangerous.

I returned to the leadership, shaken and furious, and asked for better equipment, as mine had been severely damaged in my escape from that wretched place. We updated our information to make landing in the place known as "Texas" strictly forbidden.

More landing attempts were made. Every scouting mission was met with disaster; the climate of Earth is so terribly variable that certain locations are too hot or too cold at all times, and others will be too extreme during some times but bearable during others, and there is so much water across the whole thing that it's nearly impossible to avoid. The entire planet is a deathtrap; perhaps that's why humans are the way they are.

Regardless, after the fourth landing, the humans seemed to put together a group of individuals that were present at all subsequent landing attempts. Not always immediately, but they usually showed up within the first day of a landing. They were all very different, not like our soldier drones, but they worked well together. A little too well for my tastes.

However, while preparing for another landing attempt, I received a communication from them. They asked for my help - humans are very odd, indeed - in preventing the planet's destruction by those warmongers, the Zkkfz (though the humans called them Zekes, for some reason. I suppose their soft mouthparts are unsuited to proper speech).

We do not want the planet destroyed - for all of its dangers, and the horrid incivility of the humans, it is rich in many resources - so the leadership gave me permission to attend to the humans.

I thought it would be all business. Take care of the Zkkfz forces, learn more about the human defenses from within, and then use that knowledge to further the plans of the leadership.

But now... now it is. Odd. We are almost done with the Zkkfz, but the humans are becoming more welcoming towards me, rather than keeping sensitive information away. One of them has even started calling me by a human name, even though I have explained several times that individual names are irrelevant for us. They bring me food outside of scheduled feeding times, and invite me to sit with them when we are not discussing strategy. Yesterday, one of the humans even gave me a strange item made of the soft fibers that they so enjoy knotting together in their free time, and told me it is a "hat" that they modified to fit my head.

It's all very odd. And I... I find myself not disliking it.

Leadership will surely be displeased when they find out about this. But for now, while the threat of the Zkkfz is still ahead, perhaps I can, as one human said "enjoy myself" a little longer.

The villain decides to do the classic "team up to defeat a common foe" trope but it's been taking a lot longer than they had expected,the heroes are getting emotionally attached and it's starting to get weird.

[vezpr]

corporal: ch 2 - expectations

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (still not yet), references to cannibalism, angst, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sodapop182 ; @moonchhu

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 3.5k TOTAL: 7.7k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. lmk if I'm doing this right, I'm an absolute virgin and open to suggestions. Thanks for reading. 🖤

Tearing through the woods outside of the shrine, you don't think about your sister, this time. You don't think of your father or his men, your mother, nothing. No memories, pleasant or unpleasant, swim up through the ink of night as the trees claw at your clothes and skin. Your mind is eclipsed with a fear as hot and red as the fire in your lungs.

You have not known fear like this for a long time, perhaps ever. All the running that you did from your father and his men was done more out of spite than fear. You had certain expectations of them. You were familiar with their cruelty and the limitations placed on it by society, or by your mother, perhaps. You father was not a kind man, by any means, but his eyes softened somewhat when they looked at her. The only power that you had was that of being able to put them through their paces. Here, you did not even have that. The comfort of expectations does not exist for the monster at your back, no more than the limitations of ordinary men. 

So, you run, spurred by terror long after your rapidly depleting stamina should have forced you to stop. It feels like hours have passed when you finally come to a halt, hands on your knees, panting, muscles burning. Hyperaware of every sound, every sensation, even the trickle of sweat down the line of your back is enough to raise your hackles, but there is nothing but the ragged sound of your own breathing in the stillness.

As you try to slow your respirations, you ask yourself what it is you're so afraid of. Pain? You are overly familiar with pain. Your heart gradually slows as you come to the conclusion that Sukuna can only hurt you or kill you, just like any other man. Pain you can endure. And death? Well, if you are dead, then you won't be bothered, will you? You'll just be dead. What would wound you more is humiliation. Your mouth presses into a grim line as you ponder it.

Did the bastard confiscate your things and let you go, trusting that you would meet your own end in the forest without his help? Not the worst plan, you decide, as it occurs to you, for the first time, that you really have no place to go, no plan beyond running. Beyond escape. You've never had to plan beyond that because you've always been outnumbered, overpowered and dragged back.

Does he think you will return on your own? You scoff into the darkness at the thought. I'd sooner hang myself from one of these trees, you think to yourself as you look up at the branches, silver in the Autumn starlight. Still. Quiet. Unnaturally so, as if the earth itself is holding it's breath. Hiding. 

Even before you hear it, you feel it, looming large and lethal at your back. Larger than Sukuna, even. Much larger. It shifts it's enormous weight, rustling the leaf litter. As you peer over your shoulder, your eyes widen and your heart hammers against your ribs like you never stopped running. A reptilian chittering sound blooms out of the dark: a bony whisper, a rattlesnake kind of warning. The moon outlines it's dark shape in indigo, a moving mountain that tears trees right out of the earth as it moves after you. How you didn't see or hear it before is a mystery. 

Your feet slam against the shuddering ground with the slowness of nightmares as a scream claws it's way out of your throat. You don't make it very far before a root hooks your foot and sends you sprawling. A sickening snap followed by bright sparks of pain shoot up from your wrist as you catch your fall with your hand. When you look down to see splinters of bone jutting out of a ragged wound, a hysterical sob escapes your mouth. You clutch your injured limb against your chest as your heels churn at the dirt, propelling you backwards, too slow as the monster stops short in front of you. 

It is too awful to look at, a twisted amalgamation of drooling faces and colorless eyes shining with idiot hunger as it prepares to stuff you into its many jagged mouths. You dig your chin into your shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and baring your teeth as you feel it's hot, putrid breath against your skin. Thick, black saliva drips into the dirt between your feet and burns it like acid, white tendrils of smoke rising from the bubbling pool.

The chittering sound rises again, like a demonic chorus of cicadas. Distantly, you realize the effect is created by all of those throats babbling at once. You find yourself too breathless to scream as it's clumsy teeth try to find purchase in the flesh of your calf, only succeeding in lightly scratching and slobbering all over it. Perhaps in frustration, its crying slowly rises in pitch, high and keening.

Then, there is another, quieter sound, that cuts the wailing short. It is soft like a whip cutting through the air before it cracks, like the hiss of lightning parting the sky before the thunder of it crashing back together. Crashing like the quivering weight that descends upon your lower body as the monster inexplicably falls to pieces at your feet. You blink owlishly at the dismantled pile of flesh, hardly daring to believe that it is truly dead, even as its quivering breaths grow still.

Your legs throb under the lifeless weight of it. It is impossible to drag yourself out from under it with your one good arm, so you resort to wiggling on your back in the dirt, removing yourself inch by excruciating inch. You haven't yet had the time, nor the prescence of mind to worry about what lurking horror might have so effortlessly ended the dead thing that pins you to the dirt. That mystery is soon solved for you when a familiar voice comes out of the dark behind you.

"Tch. Pathetic."

You cease your struggles and crane your neck back, pressing the back of your head into the dirt to meet Sukuna's garnet gaze. He leans against a tree, as if he can't be bothered to hold himself up, looking only vaguely interested in the scene before him. 

"Me, pathetic?" You spit, redoubling your efforts to writhe out from under the dead thing. "Was I not easy enough to kill? You had to sic your pet on me?" The thought had only now occurred to you, that Sukuna had unleashed this thing on you, but the notion already has your blood boiling with rage.

Sukuna snorts, "Not mine." His eyes leave you in favor of examining the corpse. "Hm. A grade two, this one," he mutters.

Your eyes follow his and you notice a jagged, black fang, about the length of your outstretched hand, lying in the dirt by your hip.  Glancing back to ensure his eyes are still focused on the monster, you stretch out your good arm and wrap your fingers around it. The edges bite into your fingers, but you clutch it like a lifeline, headless of the pain. 

"Well, do you intend to finish the job, or are you just going to stand there, blabbering nonsense?" You sneer, craning your neck to look up at him. 

His eyes snap back to yours and he smirks, lazily peeling himself away from the tree and stepping towards you. "So eager to die, arent you?"

He lifts the bulk of dead flesh away from you with one hand as he hooks another into the pit of your injured arm and drags you to your feet.

Gritting your teeth, you swing your good arm, arcing your makeshift weapon to catch him in the back, but he snatches your wrist away with yet another arm. Now, you are leaning awkwardly against his chest as he supports most of your weight. You legs are not as useful as you might have hoped. They burn painfully and buckle at the knees as the blood rushes back to your cramping muscles. 

He eyes the monster's tooth in your hand with mild interest. "You want to hurt me with that?" He asks with a mean grin. "Go ahead."

With that he lets go of you and takes a step back.  You cry out in frustration as your traitorous legs buckle underneath you and you land on your knees at his feet. He throws his head back and laughs as you snarl up at him and swing your makeshift weapon at his legs, which dodge your clumsy blows effortlessly. 

"For weeks you lived in peace with me and now all these theatrics, for what reason?" He muses as he steps this way and that to avoid your rageful attacks. It doesn't take long for him to grow bored of this game, and you are taken aback when he sinks to his knees in front of you. Even so, he towers over you so that you have to hyperextend your neck to see his face. His lower set of hands snatch you up around the waist while the upper pain pin your arms to your sides. You grunt at the pain in your broken wrist, but he takes no notice.

"I asked you a question," he snarls, holding you at eye level. 

He huffs when you only writhe in his grip and scream in his face until your throat is raw and you are too breathless to continue.

"Fucking feral little rat," he mutters. "Is it because I touched your leg?" He asks, eyes dragging the length of your body. 

You scoff. Of course it wasn't just that it's...

"Are you throwing a tantrum because I didn't ask permission? Hm? And what was the plan? Where will you go?" He cuts off your thoughts by echoing your own thinking from earlier. It has you subconsciously biting into your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Infuriating.

He smirks. "Just a spoiled little princess playing at running away. Well. Time to grow up, little girl, and realize that you will always belong to a man. Before, you belonged to your bitch of a father, and now, you belong to me."

No longer able to hold in your rage you shreik and slam your head forward in an attempt to split his smirking lips. Of course, he leans away and you only succeed in tossing your hair, drawing another cackle from his mouth. 

"You want to hurt me? Try, brat," he bellows to be heard over your shreiking as he presses his forehead against yours hard enough to bruise. The moment he releases your good arm you sink the oversized canine into his temple and drag it down, flaying his cheek. A second swing and his larger, upper eye is reduced to a wobbling jelly running into the bleeding wound. Slick with gore, the tooth drops from your hand and Sukuna slams you down on your back with enough force to steal the air out of your lungs. 

Then he is folded over you, hand on your jaw tilting your gaze to his wounded face. "Look at me," he instructs and your stomach lurches as the flesh bubbles and warps. Then it is takes its old, unmarred shape, as new and smooth as ever. You stare at it, blinking as if that brief interruption of sight might return it to ruin, as it was seconds ago. As if to dispel your disbelief another of his hands grasp your broken wrist, lifting your hand so that your fingertips brush his new skin. At the same instant, your injured joint transforms the same way his wounds had until it is new and free of pain.

Speechless you stare at your hand on his cheek until you realize that he is no longer holding it there. He leans in until his lips are nearly brushing your ear. "I can touch you however I like, whenever I like," he says, slipping a hand from your waist to trace the angle of your hip bone and the curve of your outer thigh through your ruined kimono. "I can break you and mend you, break you and mend you and never, ever let you die." His hand slips from your jaw to your throat where he squeezes briefly before, suddenly, he hauls himself off of you.

"So, brat," he says, standing over you haloed in the pink light of dawn, "if you are ever so lucky as to have me touch you again, try not to overreact."

All you seem to be able to do is slide your eyes stupidly from your healed wrist to his unblemished face until all the breath decides to leave your lungs at once. The sky, blushing with dawn and tattooed with skeletal branches, fades to black.

...

Emika, grinning, face tilted toward the dappled sunlight, laughter bubbling out of her throat. It is a musical sound until it changes, distorts into a horrible chittering, vacous and reptilian. Her mouth opens, impossibly wide, a poisonous womb that delivers a wailing many-faced blackness that swallows the world. Closer, the newborn horror leans in until all you can see is a single wet, red maw screaming its hunger and eager to feed on you. It is made of hunger and fear. Its tongue lolls out and begins to twist and warp. It pales and changes shape, grows four garnet eyes, a tattooed jaw, a laughing mouth. Sukuna's face leaning close to yours. "Look at me," he says, surrounding you, a universe that leaves you no choice. He is still laughing when he tilts away, falling out of orbit as gravity pulls your back into the dirt. He is replaced by a robin's egg sky seen in patches through the green leaves of spring.

Emika's face glides into view, a smiling autumn moon in the Spring sky.

Her bamboo sword taps your neck.

"Dead," she says.

Dead like the warrior she once daydreamed of being, with a katana on her back and a pretty servant girl at her side.

"Dead." She smiles, haloed in sunlight.

Your eyes blink open. Even as the nightmare fades you realize it holds too many parallels to waking life for comfort. Finding yourself suspended above the ground in an unfamiliar position, your body jerks, your legs inadvertently tightening around Sukuna's waist. He is carrying you like a child on his hip, his lower arm hooked under your backside while his upper one supports your back. Your chin rests over his shoulder, your cheek pressed into his neck. Finding this abhorrent, you squirm weakly.

"I can walk now," you mutter, but you are so tired. Your eyelids, leaden. 

"Walking has caused you enough trouble, wouldn't you say?" He chuckles, a sound that is becoming increasingly annoying. 

In any case, the dead weight of your body against his is enough to refute your claim. 

Your eyes flutter closed, head lolling against his neck. He smells of smoke, blood and earth and he is warm against you. The effect is like a sleeping tincture.

"I want to know," you mutter against his skin as you struggle against your rapidly retreating consciousness. "I want to know what is expected of me."

You are too exhausted to think of your statement as an acquiesence, but that is what it is. Sukuna is taking you back to the shrine and you are accepting it. Perhaps that is why he laughs. Your eyes pop open at the hateful sound and you hope that he does not discern the increasing tempo of your heart with the way that your chest is pressed into him. Wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Expectations," he says. "You can't live without them, hm? How, then, would you rebel?"

You clench your teeth. He is unbearable. You hate him. God, you hate him. But you are just so tired right now.

"I have no expectations of you, rat." He continues after a pause, although he thinks to himself that you are really more of a mouse, at the moment, as you go limp again with sleep.

...

When you wake again, from a long sleep that is blessedly dreamless, there is nothing to greet you but silence and the shrinking light of early evening. You lie for a moment on the futon, staring at the dark grid of ceiling in your chambers.

Under the thinning haze of sleep that still clouds your mind, a flickering flame of rage persists. When you look down at yourself, filthy with mud, blood, and mystery secretions from whatever that thing in the forest was, it grows brighter. Cast off and forgotten like a broken doll. You flex your healed wrist. Why does it make you even angrier?

I have no expectations 

You tear off your kimono and toss it aside, fuming.

Rat.

You tear the linens, ruined by your dirtiness, off of your futon and thrust them away to join your clothing on the floor.

"Maybe I will go around naked, then," you fume, stomping towards the door, but you stop there, losing your nerve. "Bet you wouldn't expect that. Bet you would find that you have some expectations after all."

spoiled little princess

"Maybe I will go around like this is my home and you are an unwanted guest," you hiss into the silence.

time to grow up and realize you will always belong to a man

You retrieve your dirty kimono and shrug into it, gathering the fabric loosely around your chest with one hand while you rip something clean out of the wardrobe with the other. The shoji door slams against the doorframe as you storm out of the room not bothering to close it. 

now you belong to me

Uraume and Baba look up from their work, picking vegetables for dinner in the courtyard as you tear across it without sparing them a glance. You make quite a sight, blood-streaked and furious. 

"He'll be getting his kicks with that one for quite some time, I'll say... yes," Baba croaks as her milky eyes track your movements.

"Baba!" Uraume scolds.

"It's the truth," Baba crows. "It is!"

...

The steaming water of the hot spring soothes the aching muscles of your legs. This makes encroaching on his territory doubly satisfying, even if he, being a morning bather, in your limited experience - doesn't find out. You close your eyes and hold your breath, sinking to the bottom on your knees. Your fingers rake through the matted mess of your hair, breaking loose the dirt and dried blood. You stay under until your lungs burn and then burst to the surface with a sharp inhalation. 

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

You startle at the sound of Sukuna's voice booming over the soft gurgling of the water. He is standing at the opposite end of the spring, kimono pooled around his feet, hands frozen at his waist in the middle of loosening his hakama. 

"Whatever I want, since you have no expectations," you retort, having recovered quickly from your surprise.

He snorts. "Alright."

You glare at each other through the rising steam.

You are the first to avert your eyes when Sukuna resumes undressing, unceremoniously dropping his hakama. 

Your back is turned and you make a point of staying submerged to the shoulders as you make your way to the edge of the pool. You movements increase in urgency, heart thumping faster as you hear him splash into the water behind you. Unwilling to let him see your bare skin, you pull your clean kimono into the water and put it on while still submerged. 

When you drag yourself over the lip of the pool in your dripping robes, he is laughing. Your skin erupts in goose flesh that cannot be entirely attributed to your soaked clothes and the chill in the air. Although it pisses you off to no end, you try to at least appear unperturbed. Chin held high, you make it a point not to look at him as you march back toward the shrine, as if he is beneath your notice. You hope he feels it.

"Come here, rat." 

You pause, your back still turned to him.

"I said, come here." He repeats.

Vacillating between the desire to defy him and the desire to seem unafraid, you settle on the latter and make your way back to the water's edge. There is a deliberate slowness in your movements, to show that you are in no hurry to obey him.

Sitting on the lip of the pool, you let your calves dangle over the edge, lazily treading water. 

"What do you want?" you hiss, meeting his crimson gaze.

[bucksboobs]

don´t know if Tim is harsh in how he talks about bucktommy but I think they were caught of guard by the reaction to the break up and I think Tim could just dislike the implicit critisicm of his work here. OS might resent that this arc is not exclusively seen through the lens of Bucks sexuality but he can thank Tim for that as well. Becasue Tim did not make it an issue on the show at all other than Buck being attracted specifically to Tommy. It was never talked about outside that context. Maybe they also thought the Abby thing would be a bigger deal than it was? Or that people, other than Buddies, would welcome the break up because of it? But it was a cheap stunt and had, in the end, no effect on Buck and Tommy and why they broke up so why should anybody care?

It had literally no bearing on why they broke up except as a catalyst for Buck to move too fast and that to scare Tommy off but Tim has said it was abrupt by design so maybe he’s got something in mind for fixing that abruptness (or maybe he’s covering his ass) but regardless of their intentions, the breakup episode is very disjointed in how it plays out: they set up better reasons for a breakup in Buck being disappointed in Tommy’s treatment of Abby (and then resolve it with a speech from Josh) or in Tommy being weird about women being attracted to Buck and Buck being weird about acknowledging that he still is attracted to women (but God Forbid the bi arc about Buck actually acknowledges that he’s bi) and instead they chose to have the breakup be about them not being on the same page about their relationship (which has its own problems), which is an easily resolvable problem. The fact they’ve managed to stretch it out over 3 episodes to limp it over the finish line of the mid season should give me hope but I wonder if maybe that’s because they’re too cowardly to just shut the door already.

Other people have suggested that maybe the upcoming Buckley Family Drama that’s being teased by Tim is actually Maddie moving away for a little while (again) and they couldn’t write Buck spiraling from abandonment issues if Tommy was around to catch him and that seems plausible but honestly I don’t know that he’s planned that far ahead anymore.

[cavedraconem]

Local Maximums

A while back I read an opinion piece my a woman who was upset about the state of grocery shopping these days. I can't really disagree with the basic premise that food in NZ is too expensive and this causes a lot of trouble for people who are living paycheck to paycheck. And shopping at the supermarket can be pretty stressful for a variety of reasons!

BUT, when the writer started to describe her shopping process... it was a massive odyssey. Of a Saturday she was dragging herself and her kids through multiple different shops - a Pak n Save, a Countdown, a fruit & veggie shop, maybe even a butcher as well - looking for the cheapest everything to stretch her budget, the particular whatever her husband wanted, the brand of snacks that her autistic child would eat. Of course she was sitting in traffic and fighting for parking and struggling with the kids and navigating trolleys at every single one of these locations. It sounded incredibly stressful! And she was incredibly stressed about it by the time she got home (and so were the kids).

"Surely just buying food shouldn't be this difficult?" she cried. And, well... no, I don't think it should be. Obviously I don't know every detail of this woman's life and I probably have extreme DINK privilege, but the ordeal she tried to pose as relatable seemed to me largely self-inflicted. Some of these issues seem trivially solvable: if you know your kid will only eat one type of snack, why wouldn't you just buy ten boxes at once? Can you plan ahead and click & collect any of these shops so you don't have to drag the kids around the supermarket itself? Can you pop out by yourself on a quiet evening?

And then we get into some more speculative cost-benefit questions that will depend on the exact details. Are the vegetables from the fruit & veggie shop cheaper enough to make up for the petrol you spend driving there? (Petrol is also expensive in my beautiful country.) What value do you really place on your time and stress? Is the money saved or the special thing for your husband really, genuinely worth the effort? If you are doing all of this work to save money, could you instead work a bit more to earn more money instead? Add a couple of extra hours a week onto your contract so you can afford to shop at a nicer supermarket or get groceries delivered, and save that much time or more on the weekend, plus less screaming from your children.

(By the way, I got that last idea from an old flatmate of mine. His philosophy was that it was better for him to work an extra hour every night and get takeaways for dinner than to spend that hour cooking something cheaper but not very good. I would have been more convinced by this [and his related opinions about division of labour] if he hadn't been allowing his PhD student girlfriend to cook him literally three meals a day.)

Anyway, this writer spectacularly failed to make her problems relatable to me, but there probably is something to be learned here. It's about how easy it is to reach a local maximum in your life: where you look at what you're doing and think, this is the best way I could possibly be doing it. But you're wrong! Maybe you've optimised your routine along one axis (e.g. cost) but totally neglected other axes (e.g. time/stress). You're making tradeoffs that you don't realise you're making. Things that you think are non-negotiable might actually be pretty easy to compromise on. It can take an outside perspective and a bit of convincing or experimentation to even realise that other possibilities exist, and maybe some of them are even better than what you're doing now.

So, in the end it's a good reminder to me to question my routines and ask whether I've trapped myself in any local maximums. What is stressing me out now that could be easier? Does everyone else have so much trouble with this? What opportunities am I missing? Surely it shouldn't be this difficult?

[sweetlady555]

Unlocking the hidden power of Mars 12H:

Hi everyone! I apologize for not having been uploading as much but I’m back and writing about Mars 12H because it's so powerful and I rarely EVER see anyone talking about it. As I’ve decided to step fully into my power starting November 2024, I’ve recently realized something powerful about my energy that completely changed my perspective, I will be using Kim Kardashian as my example as she is a Mars 12H native :$

What Is Mars in the 12H? 🤔

Mars represents drive, action and motivation. The 12H is the house of the subconscious, hidden things, spirituality, behind the scenes, hidden strengths, the spiritual realm. When these two energies combine, they create an energy that works below the surface often in ways we aren't fully conscious of. 👁️

One thing you should know is Mars 12H natives makes moves in silence they don't need outside noise or your projections! You'll see how it's done just watch, you don't know need to know how, why or when they're going to do it, but just know they've been multiple steps ahead of you. Its like this divine calling thats always in your ear telling you which move shall be next and its such a strong force that its like if you don’t take action itll make you feel so……… wrong its like a itch. Usually Mars 12H natives do take the action and it leads to blessings I like to call them. Mars 12H natives do not feel the need to force anything, when the thought and feeling comes you do that shit! Mars 12H natives are always mysteriously led to exactly where they need to be.. this is likely why they get their rep for being so mysterious & secretive! Its imporant as a Mars 12H native to listen to your gut and trust that everything will work out as planned, and this doesn’t go for just Mars 12H natives it goes for everyone!

Let's use Kim Kardashian as a famous example on how Mars 12H manifests for the natives, as a Mars in 12H native I feel like I can relate to her ambition and I can understand her doings.

Kim Kardashain always knew she was going to be a star, if you have seen her videos of her younger self she states, "and you're all going to remember me as this beautiful little girl" For both Kim and people with Mars 12th house, the confidence and determination to become a star or successful often comes from a deep subconscious belief in their destiny. Even if they don't know the "how" or the "when," they just FEEL compelled to take action towards their dreams, sometimes in ways that seem hidden or almost effortless to others. In Kim's case, she didn't just fall into success, she actively pursued it through her work, image crafting, and seizing opportunities. Even before she became widely known, she had an innate sense of how to position herself and build her brand. This is the Mars 12H signature, an internal drive that doesn't always need external validation or explanations to succeed. Many people accuse Kim of "destiny swapping" with Paris Hilton but let's be so fo real right now.. Destiny swapping doesn't exist, and I feel like people just can't believe Kim rose above Paris Hilton which seemed so effortlessly, but not enough people credit her for her hard work and perseverance. People have accused her for being a reptellian too 😭 ? because I guess its that hard to understand hard work, dedication and logic actually does pay off! Kim has a vision and she's still actively working hard for her vision behind the scenes, and if its one thing we all know its that Kim will chase her bag regardless!

My experience with Mars in the 12H :

Growing up, I always knew I was going to be something special, I knew I was gonna be influential (I have 10H placements so this might manifest differently) Last year, I had rose to fame very quickly online through my image and the amount of people who were confused af how I did it was flattering not gonna lie! I would hear people tell me things like “did you sell your soul?” or “whats the method?” or “you only got it because you had this and this” . I was always in my own bubble online posting what I feel destined to do no matter what my ego said. I thought with my soul a lot of times even if it was shocking, so honestly I could see how people would accuse me of “selling my soul” or having a certain method to my influential social media fame. There is a lot of pain & passion behind my doings and I logically plan everything out so it kind of flatters me honestly! To me this just shows how Mars 12H natives are skilled in making something out of themselves coming from being a underdog to becoming someone highly admired.

The Energy Of A 12H Mars Native :

Mars in the 12H natives can have this strong powerful magnetic effect on others without them even realizing it but others will feel this on a subconcious level. They truly have a lot of appeal! Its almost like this hidden power or secret magentism that draws people in which could attract a lot of admirers, monitoring spirits, actual spirits even! 😭 The truth is though, Mars 12H natives do really have this strong inner power within them, they tend to be very confident in themselves and this energy reflects on the outside even through the screen. They have this aura around them that can’t be ignored. Mars 12H natives will often be seen as untouchable or enigmatic, just like Kim she knew how to use this energy to use this subtle allure to captivate her audience.

People with Mars 12H have this sexual energy that is more felt, not seen! This can make their presence intoxicating as others may sense their sexual energy without knowing where it’s coming from. Its almost hypnotic! Its a deeply rooted emotional and spiritual sexual energy often rooted in the subconcious. With Kim, she knew how to use this energy in her brand being percieved as seductive, powerful and confident, but it wasnt just about her body — it was about the way she carried herself and commanded attention without saying much.

Despite being more subtle, Mars in the 12H gives the individual an almost unconcious control over their sexual energy. Theres an innate understanding of how to play on emotions and create attraction often with very little effort. This creates an energy that is simultaneously passive and powerful and you can’t deny or ignore it either. Almost like being in the background but still being the force everyone notices.

There is a lot of fantasy and imagination that takes place with Mars 12H natives and how theyre percieved, natives with this placement tend to make others fantasize about them not just by how they look but how they make people feel! Their energy creates a sense of longing, almost like a dream or a fantasy that others want to live in. Kim Kardashian has been able to tap into this fantasy energy by cultivating an image of perfect beauty and luxury, which keeps her in a fantasy world that fans want to be apart of. This fantasy element is key to her sexual appeal, as it makes her seem unreachable and unattainable.

Mars 12H natives, if they aren’t aware of their power makes them a target for insecure people and spirits in the physical and spiritual realm. People will often notice this energy before you even do and project the most they can and throw as much dirt as they can on you because they’re afraid of your power! Its highly advised you take the precautions and make sure you are being careful in who you’re telling your business to, what things you might be opening in the physical and spiritual realm, who you let into your space, who you’re doing business with all of it! Dont let them take advantage of you!

I also had read that Mars 12H often repress their emotions or their anger and although it is that in some cases, Mars 12H natives just tend to strategically move instead of acting out on anger or resentment in the moment to avoid unnecessary conflict and to stay in power and their own peace. Its a silent strength many Mars 12H natives have where you don’t have to scream or shout to prove yourself, you can strategically wait for the right moment, then act with precision. This ability to stay focused and composed on long term goals is what makes Mars 12H natives have this quiet power behind them. People might not realize that this anger comes from a calculated, startegic place, its not random but it could be percieved as out of nowhere. The 12H is often linked to subconcious energies, hidden feelings and things that are not visible to others, so when Mars 12H natives express their anger it can come off as intense, mysterious or even uncontrollable to those around you. People may not fully understand why you do the things you do or whats going on beneath the surface so this often leads to people labeling your anger more extreme.

The Spirtual Realm

Mars in the 12H natives are often deeply connected to the spiritual realm, but they experience it in a unique way. This placement can give them a natural sensitivity to invisible forces or energies like I mentioned earlier a divine force! Whether that may be intuition, sprits or subconcious currents that influence their actions. Mars in the 12H is often described as “Behind the scenes” or operating in the background, which makes these individuals especially attuned to the unseen world—the spiritual, emotional and psychological realm.

Mars, the planet of action, aggression and energy, in the 12h amplifies the natives ability to tap into intuitive and spiritual currents. This placement suggests that instead of being overly action-oriented in a physical way, Mars energy often works in more subtle and intuitive forms. For these individuals, the battle often happens internally-in the subconscious, in dreams, or in their connection to the spirit world.

Mars in the 12th house people often experience a sense of being guided by invisible forces, and they can be highly receptive to messages or signs from the spirit realm. This doesn't always mean they consciously hear or see spirits, but rather that they might feel guided by an internal voice or experience moments of divine timing that feel too precise to be mere coincidence. They may also experience heightened sensitivity to energy, such as a feeling of being watched, sudden shifts in mood or vivid dreams. Its not a common occurrence to hear ringing in your ears when you’re picking and feeling up on certain energies with these natives!

Since Mars 12H is a powerful subtle energy this makes spirits from the spiritual realm more attracted to them, Mars 12H natives are very assertive and felt by these spirits hence why certain spirits like to latch onto them. Its not common either to see spirits, see things move suddenly and even a spirit taking control over your body when you’re asleep. It sounds scary but don’t let this make you afraid, I once fell into this when I was around 8 or 9 when I was sleeping and a spirit had woken me up in the middle of the night and made me literally slam my face into my headboard that made the principal think I was getting hurt at home, i was always targeted by this spirit. I was the only one who could speak to it and make them do certain things like move toys and such. I didnt realize at the time I was connecting with aggresive spirits 😅 and not God. Its highly important for Mars 12H natives to strongly protect themselves when they are asleep because when you are asleep the veil between the spiritual realm and physical realm is very thin!

Mars 12H natives embody this spirtual warrior archetype, they can feel a calling to fight or stand up for spiritual causes or to protect others, but they do this in a way that is not outwardly visible to others. Mars 12H natives might actively avoid conflict when it comes to spiritual warfare or protecting their energy and their peace. They may also engage in energy work, spiritual practices, or rituals in private to protect themselves from unwanted spiritual influence. This is often done subtly or privately, as they don't always like to broadcast their spiritual strength. Their Mars energy in the 12th house can make them exceptionally good at clearing negative energy, transmuting it, and defending themselves from energetic or spiritual attacks, but they may prefer to do so behind the scenes, where others don't see it.

Mars in the 12th house natives may also experience periods of isolation or retreat, where they feel the need to withdraw from the physical world to connect with the unseen world. These moments of solitude allow them to recharge spiritually, process subconscious material, and connect with higher realms of consciousness. During these times, they may feel a deep connection with their higher self or with the spiritual beings guiding them.

When it comes to spiritual practices, these individuals are likely to have a natural talent for healing or working with energy, whether it's through prayer, meditation, crystals, or other metaphysical practices. Mars in the 12th house helps them channel life force energy in a quiet, powerful way, almost like a spiritual warrior operating in the background, quietly shifting energy around them.

Its important to watch out as a Mars 12H native what you are putting your energy into as these things will manifest almost immediately. When you decide to shift your attention to other IMPORTANT things you will often notice your energy was literally the foundation for whatever negative thing that was happening. So be Aware! You know how powerful your energy is.

This was a long post but as a Mars 12H native, I rarely see any accurate or in depth posts of Mars 12H individuals, I had to really dig into my experiences to understand this was Mars 12H influence all along.. In my opinion, Mars 12H natives deserve so much more respect for what they do because a lot of it goes unseen and for multiple reasons lol. I havent wrote in a while but I was getting a huge urge calling to post about this. If any mars 12h individuals relate to any of these experiences please let me know because I’d love to hear from you! and please be careful 💟 may god protect your divine energy, space and you ☮️

[dreamyinception-world]

𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑶𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆

Pairing: Camboy!Park Seonghwa + Puppy Boy!Kim Hongjoong

w//c: 6k

Genre: College!Au, Smut + Friends with Benefits

Summary: Being a camboy is a lot of hard work– keeping everything private from becoming public, entertaining his audience and training a needy puppy, who has a lot more up his sleeve than meets the eye. 

Tws: Swearing/Foul Language, Slightly Judgmental Friends

Sws: Puppy Play, Cyber Sex, Fingering, Blowjobs, Sex Toys (bone ball gag and cock ring), Degrading (consensual; both receiving), Dirty Talking, Humiliation, Deep Throating/Throat Fucking, Dacryphilia, Cum Swapping/Eating, Biting, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Switching (both because why the hell not), Light Subspace Slipping, Hair pairing, Dick Slapping, Exhibitionism

Rating: 18+ 

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: hello everyone! long time no see! sorry that’s been so long since my last one shot! i’ve been super busy with work and haven’t had the time to write anything. BUT, since the release of ateez’s concept photo teasers with pink haired hwa, i knew i had to make a fic out of it. we all knew it was going to happen. anyways, y'all didn’t come here for me to ramble. enjoy the fic! if any tags were left out, please let me know!

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕞. 𝕄𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕕!

As a reminder, my work is only for those who are eighteen years or older. Anyone who attempts to interact with my work or blog who is underage will be blocked immediately. You have been warned. 

©𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏-𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 2024 || 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ♡

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

There are parts of oneself that people don’t mind keeping out and open to the general public– friendships, achievements, milestones– the pleasant things that would make one appear to be like an average person. There was nothing wrong with being average, even boring if that’s what life had in store.

Or what you want everyone to think life has in store for you. 

Like a beautifully thin veiled piece of colored glass, people can see whatever part they want to– never truly getting a glimpse of the other side. Most become too distracted by the rainbows and glamor of it to investigate anything further. 

And that is exactly how Seonghwa liked to have things. 

It wasn’t personal really– is what he would say if he was held at gunpoint–  to keep things from his friends, even the ones that were considered family to them. But, at some point when certain activities became available for his leisure, a level of ambiguity was needed.

Most especially with certain friends. 

Take his damn near blood sister Julie– typical yapper friend who talks about everything and everyone that she hears about, because “anything can be talked about, nothing is off limits unless explicitly said so!” She was both the funniest but also the most dramatic friend that he had.

And even that was almost an understatement. 

“Seonghwa~~” She rolled up next to him while he was completing an assignment outside, parking her chin onto his shoulder, sporting the largest pout ever. Her voice came out in an almost unbearable whine close to that of a child, matching with her rapid tugs on his arm. 

“What~? I’m doing something.” He chuckled and fake brushed her off, laughing a bit harder when she gripped his arm tighter. 

“I’m so drained from last class’ exam. Can we please go out tonight? I need to let off some steam so badly.” 

“You know I can’t go out tonight.” 

Julie whines and wiggles more next to him, stirring him away from his work. Seonghwa kept a patient and slightly sympathetic face, after being trained for years to handle his friend’s antics, and held her hands between his as he calmly explained his plans that he has every week– going to see his family that lives about an hour from the university they all go to. 

A bubbling “argument” began to creep into their conversation until their other mutual friend– who was on the complete opposite scale of Julie’s personality entirely– Giselle and her partner welcomed themselves to the otherside of the picnic bench. 

“What are you guys bickering about now?” She questioned with the roll of her eyes, clearly messing with Julie. 

The exact reaction made the girl slam her hands down on the table, getting as close as she could with the bulk of the table being caught in between them, as she feigned glassy eyes. 

“Seonghwa won’t skip this one trip to see family to come out with me because I had a hard day. He’s a bad friend and I don’t wanna be close to him anymore.” Her body bounces back onto the wooden seat with arms crossed, side-eying the shit out of the male in question as he lets out a small snort. 

They both knew that she wouldn’t truly cut him off, even if she could, being that they are too close to ever become legitimately separated. But, Seonghwa decided to not push her further, bringing himself back to his work as his three friends talked. He became so engrossed in the last bit of his assignment that he was completing that he nearly missed the conversation of cam work that flowed between the group. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Julie held her hands up, almost feeling dizzy by the information. “You’re saying that someone at our school is doing livestreamed sex work?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Giselle’s partner piped in, resting their chin on the shoulder that was offered to them. “But, it’s definitely a rumor that’s been going around for the past couple days or so?” 

The aspect of the rumor didn’t really matter to anyone, as gossip made its way around campus on a consistent basis. However, today it was just enough for his extremely bored and gossip loving friend to send her off the rails with questions about it. 

Is the person a boy? A girl? Do they look like anybody that they would know or have seen?

They weren’t able to respond back that quickly, as the budding of the hearsay had only begun to spread around. Without having much information to back it on, they were left mostly to their imagination, only knowing that they seemed to be pretty popular amongst the ones who frequented their streams. 

“Do you have a photo?” Her eyes nearly bulged out of her skull when they fished their phone out. Within a few seconds of scrolling, they presented the one image they had. 

Seonghwa kept his fingers moving and body still, glancing out of the corner of his eyes. 

The image was blurry, clearly taken from someone’s computer screen, with broken lines cutting across the frame. All that could be seen were a pair of lips, laced up in a smirk, with something that looked like a feather being situated in the middle of their partially exposed torso– appearing to be more of a motion rather than an actual pose. 

“What the hell! This is such a shit picture.” Julie grabbed the phone, seemingly trying to render the picture quality with her eyes. She was ceremoniously interrupted by Giselle’s rough snatch of her partner’s phone, casting a glare in her direction.

“Well it’s not like we took it. If you wanna go and see the person clearer, go fucking watch their stream yourself.” Giselle grunted.

“No way, I have a roommate and I don’t want them seeing me watch that.” Julie made a small face of disgust, unknowingly making Seonghwa feel a tinge of hurt before she relaxed herself against his shoulder. 

“Besides, I'll get too jealous.” 

Giselle’s partner brought his attention over to Seonghwa, noticing his lack of response during the entire conversation. 

“What do you think, Hwa?” 

The boy hummed in response, looking up from his laptop to all eyes being placed on him. He couldn’t help the small smile that was forming inside of him at the curiosity of his friends. It felt all familiar to the lengths of desperation of the ones who came to join him during his nightly sessions.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Thursday, May 14th – 23:45 PM 

Time streaming: 1:25:57 

“Wow, wow would you look at the time? I suppose I should start getting ready for my needy puppies shouldn’t I?” 

The corners of his pink glossed lips curved up into a smirk, leaning over and taking a small drag of something off screen. He leans back into his chair, purposefully allowing his legs to fall open as he slowly blows it out towards the camera, timing his hand running from his neck to his chest all the way down to his semi hard bulge through his sparkly black fleshed bottoms. He takes the time to tug at the waistband before letting it snap back against his skin, flashing his teeth at the speed of the comments. 

Seonghwa lets out a short hum, lulling his finger over some of the comments before it stops on one in particular, having donated a large sum of money in the form of cat ears to him. 

msoong_998: you’re such a tease. just take your clothes off for us already. 

Though the viewers couldn’t see his eyes, thanks to the angle of the camera, they narrowed instinctively. 

This person had the audacity to rush him into his work while paying him so much money? They came here for him and want things to be quick? 

How pathetic and desperate.

What a perfect little puppy for him. 

He had every intention to make him his special target for tonight. 

“Hm, this person, msoong? Right?” He spoke lazily, the bottom of his tongue swiping out. 

“You’re demanding me to get ready fast for you? So you can jerk yourself off and be done with me? You’re so needy and desperate it’s borderline pathetic. ” He hides a small chuckle behind his hand, moving his legs over the arms of the chair. The comments flood in, some criticizing the commenter and the other ogling over his body becoming more and more loose and exposed to the camera.

Seonghwa dismisses them all with a light wave of his hand, satisfied with what he has seen, in desire for something better. 

“Now, don’t be mean to him. He doesn’t know any better. He can’t help being so weak. Clearly some of us are so used to being with people who will put out quick. All we need is a little..obedience would you say?” 

It takes only but a few minutes for him to prepare himself, and in tow his audience, setting a small collar on a hook just below the camera with the end of the leash within his grasp. He excuses himself with slow strides, only disappearing for a moment before he returns with something that he deems to be more “comfortable” for him to train his little puppies in. 

Dawning a black crop top, two sparkly belly chains and fuzzy toothless knee highs, he rests himself comfortably back in his earlier position, taking the end of the loop between his fingers. 

“All puppies need a little bit of training. How lucky you all are that I’m the best teacher.”

The ding of donations flooding in brings a wide smile to Seonghwa’s face, leaning into the camera to show off the sheen of his raspberry scented skin, glistening under the glow of his assorted warm toned lights. He made an effort to adjust the edge of his high socks, humming at the snap of it against his skin.

“Oh! I almost forgot~” He spoke in a sing song tone, moving his rolling chair back to make room as he stood. 

For the first time ever, he brought his whole face into view with only a black lace masquerade mask obscuring the upper portion. His blue lensed eyes glimmered against the screen, almost standing out against his bubblegum pink hair.

“Am I pretty?” He questioned cutely, cocking his head to the side with a heated look in his eyes. 

puppup_yu: fuck, i would love to see those pretty eyes looking up at me from between my legs.

Seonghwa bit the corner of his lip from the comment, feeling himself getting more excited by the filth being thrown his way that he almost forgot about the task at hand. He playfully rolled his eyes, clapping his hands together to bring everyone’s attention back.

“Now, to train you all very well, I brought in an adorable little puppy to use as a reference. Please send lots of paws and love to him, okay?”

Straightening himself, he lifted his hands to wave at someone off screen. A sound of jingles could be heard as a smaller man crawled into view on all fours, clearly trembling as he kept his eyes trained on Seonghwa.

He wore nothing except for a pair of hazelnut floppy ears, a bone gag strapped securely in his mouth and the jingling dog collar— reading “Joongie” when reflected against the light. 

Once in front of the taller man, he sat in wait, panting and clearly covered in a thinly veiled sheen of sweat, leaving it very clear to the viewers that he had been aroused in some manner prior to introducing himself to Seonghwa’s audience.

That, and the blue ring secured around his flushed cock.

“This is my puppy, Hongjoongie. Isn’t he adorable?” 

It wasn’t a question really, at least Hongjoong was sure of it.

But his mind didn’t let him ponder on it for too long when those same pair of blue eyes came down into his view, smiling like a cat who was ready to devour him.

It took everything in his power to not whimper at the finger that hooked around the loop of his collar to pull him closer, and the following tongue that ran over the bone and his lips. He dug his nails into his palm to hold himself still as Seonghwa repeated the action two more times before kissing over it and on his forehead.

“My helpless little fuck toy.” Seonghwa breathed into his face, the mix of fruit and sweets hitting Hongjoong’s senses, instinctively making him let out a small groan.

Something about the reaction pleased Seonghwa, being kind enough to reach behind his head and release the bone from his mouth. The brunette immediately panted, tongue slightly lulled out of his mouth.

“Do you know why I have to put this bone in his mouth?” Seonghwa asked the audience, waving it to and fro in his hand.

“It’s so that he will obey orders and know not to speak out of line.” He said cheerfully, placing the gag off to the side. Once in view again, his demeanor changed, staring straight into the camera with burning eyes.

“Rule number one, always obey your owner. Right msoong?”

He plopped back down into his chair, now facing Hongjoong, and leaned back comfortably, rolling his head over and chuckling lightly.

“Let’s begin, yes?”

He turned his attention back to Hongjoong. “Up.” 

Without hesitation, the puppy boy’s upper body rose, not letting his knees up from the ground as he moved closer to the chair and immediately stripped Seonghwa’s lower half, being careful not to move the socks he had on, seeing the intense stare on his every move.

Hongjoong wondered in the back of his head how long Seonghwa had been going, given how hard he was once the cold air hit him and the amount of precum glistening his tip and along the inside of his bottoms.

He really held himself back.

Satisfied, he leaned back onto his heels and waited for further instructions.

“See how I didn’t have to tell him anything? He already knew what to do.” Seonghwa bit his finger, spreading his legs wider and motioning with a nod of his head for Hongjoong to continue.

The brunette felt his heart pounding in his chest as he ran his pierced tongue over Seonghwa’s balls, the combination of being watched by him and all of the viewers in the livestream filling him with a mix of embarrassment and excitement, egging him on to do more to please the gorgeous man in front of him. 

Against what he was originally trained and told to do, Hongjoong slapped Seonghwa’s cock lewdly against his tongue, holding his mouth wide open for everyone to watch the member slide back and forth against his tongue. A sharp curl of his tongue to the underside of the taller man’s cock sent a shiver up his spine, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Is that how you want to play, puppy?” Seonghwa tried to keep his voice leveled, fisting one hand into Hongjoong’s hair, giving it a pull hard enough to make him let out a small gasp in surprise. His smirk widened as he adjusted himself, swinging one leg behind the back of Hongjoong’s head to hold him in place. 

Without saying a word, he moved Hongjoong’s head up and down, changing between fucking his face roughly and slowly filling every inch of his mouth, smiling deviously when the little puppy boy’s body began to tremble, drool pouring out of the corners of his mouth. 

The chat flooded with a slew of curses and praises towards Seonghwa and Hongjoong– mixed between some of them wanting to be in Hongjoong’s place while others professed wanting Seonghwa to be on their knees for them. 

A small laugh bubbled in his throat followed by a shaky moan, feeling his hips twitch as the brunette tried to play his game against him once more, timing the flicks of his tongue with Seonghwa’s pace.

If he could just get Seonghwa to fold a little bit, maybe he will get his reward a bit sooner and more sweetly than before. 

But, unfortunately for him, he could not have been more wrong. 

Suddenly, another hand threaded through his hair and held him to a complete stop. His eyes flickered up in an instant, nearly shrinking back at the joker-like smile that threaded across the camboy’s face, panting like a beast as he stared at him down. 

“I think we’re ready to go over our second rule.” Seonghwa leaned forward, uncaring about the yelp that left the boy and his breath ghosted over his face. Hongjoong peered at him through cracked open eyes, eyebrows furrowing from the pain.

“Never, ever, try to beat your owner at their own game. It just won’t end the way you think. You go the owner’s way, or no way at all.” He gritted out, releasing one section of his hair to slap his dick across Hongjoong’s face. The boy could only sit there in humiliation as he continued to be slapped across his cheeks, with Seonghwa degrading him. 

You think you run this game, huh? Do you think you’re the master? 

A pathetic slut like you? You could never get one over me. 

“You want it that badly?” He spat, gripping his chin and holding it up. 

Hongjoong wasn’t sure if answering would be the best option in this scenario, just as he wasn’t entirely clear on Seonghwa’s real feelings at the moment. 

“Speak.” He commanded, making Hongjoong whimper in response. 

“I-I” His voice quivered, crumbling like a cookie under Seonghwa’s intense gaze. His cheeks blazed when he felt himself twitch at the position he was in. 

“It’s okay. I get it. I understand.” Seonghwa spoke shortly, the chair creaking as he leaned back into it once more. With a kick of his foot, he closed the smallest gap between Hongjoong and the chair and tightened the grip of his calf and thigh around Hongjoong’s head.

Without warning, he pushed himself back into Hongjoong’s mouth and held him down, nearly squishing the brunette’s nose against his abdomen. 

“Take it then.”

Hongjoong’s throat struggled to remain lax as his eyes flew open, instinctively grabbing onto Seonghwa’s leg to support himself. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to adjust his position underneath the man’s leg, only to find the elder tightening his hold on him. From one lookup and meeting his eyes, it was clear that he was not going to be able to get out of this easily. 

All the viewers could do was merely comment and spam donations in response to the scene in front of them. 

What Seonghwa forgot to mention to Hongjoong prior to their plan was that the donations would be read out loud. 

“Make him show us what’s in his mouth.” - $20

“I can practically see his tail wagging from here.” - $35

“God, I wish I could see it from closer up” - $20

His cheeks flushed bright red as he swallowed around his tip with each movement of his head, everything around him slowly becoming fuzzy in his head. He couldn’t think straight anymore– the only thing processing in his face was pleasing the man in front of him and this ring was still attached to him. 

It felt so deliciously good and painful. 

“G-God~” Seonghwa’s voice brought his mind somewhat back, realizing that at some point in his lust filled haze, that he had completely disregarded his appearance and demeanor– letting all of the drool pour from the corner of his lips alongside the filthy sounds of him slurping up every last bit of him into his mouth. 

He failed to notice the way Seonghwa’s body laxed more into the cushion of his chair and the thin coat of sweat that began to cover his body, and between his tensed, shaky thighs. 

That image alone drove Hongjoong closer to the edge. 

Keeping his eyes locked onto him, he rolled his shoulders back to get more comfortable in his position, dancing his fingertips against his outer thigh, letting him continue to maneuver his head faster and faster until he was practically singing for everyone. 

It all feels so good..

With one more shaky thrust upwards, Seonghwa sharply inhaled as Hongjoong’s mouth fell open for him without any command, watching himself shoot beads of cum all over the puppy’s soft, plump tongue. His eyebrows pinched up with a long shaky moan, eyes locked on the movement of his tongue across the slit, collecting every last bit.

“My good boy~” He practically cooed, yanking Hongjoong up by his collar into a messy kiss. 

His limbs wrapped lazily around Hongjoong’s body, mapping out every inch of his mouth with a firm hold onto his chin, moaning shamelessly. His free hand snakes down his body, forcing the brunette’s body to press closer to him, smirking against his lips at the sharp inhale that comes out when their cocks rub against each other. 

“Do you like it?” He breathes against his lips sweetly with a wide smile, only enough so that Hongjoong could hear. The boy only manages to nod before diving back in for more kisses, rutting against him desperately. 

Seonghwa breaks the kiss quickly with a chuckle, pushing Hongjoong’s face away whilst licking his lips. 

“I asked you a question.” Seonghwa speaks to him, cocking his head to the side.

And I wish you would take this damn ring off of me and just let me fuck you already– is what he would have said if he weren’t in this position right now. Every inch of his body felt like it was on fire, his ears had the slightest ring to them that was just enough to drown out the continued ping sounds coming from the computer. 

All he wanted was to be given what he wanted. 

Just a little bit longer. Just follow his orders.

Hongjoong heaved out heavy breaths, eyes blown out as he brought his head back in front of the cocky camboy. 

“I like whatever you are willing to give to me.” He looked between his lips and his eyes, noticing the way Seonghwa’s pupils dilated at his words. 

The grip of his hands against his hips sent an unexpected moan out of Seonghwa’s mouth, unsure how to feel about the fact that his puppy, who was needily sucking him off a minute ago, was able to make him bend so easily, looking damn near ready to devour him at the slightest motion to do so. 

If he was being completely honest, he would have let him do it sooner if he wasn’t so hell bent on torturing the two of them and, in turn, everyone else. 

“So are you willing to give yourself to me? Let me make you feel good like you deserve?” He questioned. 

Everything he said seemed to be correct, if the way Seonghwa’s legs slid further open were anything to go by. But, before he could celebrate the success of his seduction, Seonghwa brushed his fingers against his neck, pulling him closer until his teeth grazed against his ear. 

“I want you hungry for me. And I don’t think you’re there yet.” 

And there was that disgustingly sweet tone again. 

Hongjoong bowed his head onto Seonghwa’s shoulder, nipping at the area and feeling the camboy’s hands roam wherever they could reach from this angle. 

“So, let’s play a little bit more.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Mm, you all have been so patient for me, I can see all of your– god your tongue feels so good– begging from here.” 

Seonghwa tried to continue speaking to his audience through fluttering lashes and a very clear flushed upper body. The rest of him, which had become slightly obscured due to the angle he was at, had found itself over the arm of the futon, securely and comfortably situated on top of a plush pillow. 

At the end of the futon, sitting comfortably on a small stool, Hongjoong buried his head between the camboy’s cheeks, staring at the curve of his lower back where he could imagine what his facial expressions must be with every sharp curve of his tongue and the subtle way it slipped out to lap at his balls before diving right back in. 

The shyness had long subsided by the time they made it over here, stripping more of Seonghwa’s clothing off as they bit and kissed at each other’s skin, that the sounds fell naturally from Hongjoong’s mouth– ranging between guttural groans and deep hums, matching the stifled moans that were threatening to fall from Seonghwa’s mouth. 

His fingers shook as he scrolled through the comments, eyes slowly becoming unfocused from the methodical tongue fucking. 

jbear_00: tell us how he feels for you. Is your precious puppy eating you well?

He barely finished reading the rest of the comment before his head dropped down, a quivering whimper forcing its way out from between his bite-swollen lips, eyes nearly rolling at the drag of his pierced tongue against his prostate.

“Don’t bow your head away from it now— All of our attention and to have every last one of us wanting you. Wanting to be inside of you and hear all of those slutty little moans come out for us. Aren’t we doing good for you, master?” Hongjoong baited him, all of his sadistic behavior he had been holding back flowing out of him at once— having him practically laughing at him.

Seonghwa gritted his teeth as his thighs shook for the third time tonight, Hongjoong chuckling as he lapped over his hole messily, slurping noisily over it just to see the man’s body bow lower in feigned resistance.

“So join us~” He heaved out with a hum, lewdly spreading his cheeks apart as he ran three fingers over the spasming pucker, sure as anything that he could take them without even asking.

“In our desperate craving for release~”

“I-I don’t need you prep me- AH!” His eyes widened in an instant, unable to control the sounds that came out of his mouth, melded together in shock and pleasure from the delicious stretch of Hongjoong’s fingers. He looked back over his shoulder in slight disbelief, only to let out a small whimper from the eyes that met his. 

Hongjoong leaned himself as much as he could over Seonghwa’s back, eyes laser focused on with a deviant smile, kissing along his spine as he plunged his fingers at an inconsistent pace. The pads of his fingers ran along every edge inside of him, making a game out of deliberately skipping over his prostate to massage the area directly next to it. 

Was it a bit mean? Yes. But Seonghwa deserved it. 

“Have your way with him, Joong.” ~ $50

His eyes flickered upward, looking directly at the donation amount. His lips pulled up even further, adjusting himself to hold Seonghwa’s lower body downward, suddenly increasing the speed of his fingers to abuse the bundle inside of him, immediately erupting a slew of curses from the camboy. 

“Hm, why don’t you all tell me exactly what you want?” He beckoned, looking down at Seonghwa’s now shaking form, slyly rutting himself back against Hongjoong’s fingers. 

From the shine of the computer screen, it was clear now that Seonghwa had fallen right into the place that he was in– as much as he desperately tried to fight it. 

But they both knew exactly how Seonghwa was, the side of himself that he didn’t dare to show to the audience. The side of him that Hongjoong had seen more than enough to know that he wasn’t going to be able to last or hold on much longer once he pushed him a bit more. 

Perfect. 

A simple sharp tug of his pink locks had Seonghwa’s face, flushed with dribbles of drool running down, exposed completely to the audience. 

“You’re being rude, Hwa. You should look at the people who have been waiting so long to see you like this.” He taunted, bringing his lips closer to his mouth as his fingers curled upward. 

“You look so beautiful like this.” 

“Please.” Seonghwa’s eyes rolled shut, pushing himself back quickly against his fingers as he looked back at him again, a blissed out smile crossing his face as he nodded at him. 

The two of them barely waited for the audience to process what was going on before the ring was ceremoniously pulled off of Hongjoong with a deep chested groan. Seonghwa adjusted his position, letting his head rest to the side– still within the view of the audience as he winked at them. 

“Ruin him, Hongjoong.” ~ $50

“God, this is gonna be so messy.” ~$70

“Make him forget his own name.” ~ $100

“With pleasure.” Hongjoong heaved out, gritting his teeth at the way Seonghwa’s hips swayed side to side to entice him. 

It took him tightening every muscle in his body to keep himself from immediately cumming at the walm tightness that surrounded him, mixed with the whorish moans that left Seonghwa’s mouth. 

He felt himself pulsing inside of the man, letting out a shaky breath when the boy clenched around him. 

The angle alone from the camera was driving him insane as he started to rock at a steady pace, noticing the way that Seonghwa’s fingers curled around the fabric of the futon, trying to ground himself in any way possible as he wasted no time pushing himself back to meet Hongjoong halfway. 

“F-Fuck, you’re so t-thick!” Seonghwa’s voice barely came out, his bottom lip quivering at the affirmed hold to his hips. The stretch and burn of every thrust had him nearly gasping, completely forgetting about those on the other side of the computer, watching him pathetically whine. 

He looked so beautiful like this, exactly how everyone would want him to look. 

His mouth dropped open with cracked eyes, only seeing through his blurry vision the way Hongjoong was moving him back and forth against his cock– only noticing half way through that his hands had moved away, growling as he watched Seonghwa. 

The wanton look on his face melted away effortlessly, smiling wide. 

“Look at how much he likes it~” He breathed out, sliding his fingers into his mouth and ignoring the mess he was making on his pillow sheets as he slid himself all the way down on his cock before pulling back, humming as the tip got caught on his rim. 

He kept his motions fluid, alternating swiftly between bouncing himself quickly and slowing himself down, feeling his movements suddenly come to a stop when Hongjoong’s hand came down on his cheek. 

“AH!” 

He felt a sharp bite to the middle of his back, body arching as another hit came to his cheek.

“Stop being a fucking brat or I’ll make you choke on it.” 

“Mm~, that sounds nice- S-Shit!!” 

Two forceful hands curled around his shoulders and roughly yanked him back against him, completely ignoring the escalation of Seonghwa’s screaming moans as he chased the powerful release that was rapidly approaching with every thrust. One hand snaked around to the camboy’s throat, squeezing it tightly in his hold. 

“H-Hong..!”

“Shut the fuck up and you better not let anything spill out.” He growled into his ear as a wide smirk crossed his face. He bit down on Seonghwa’s shoulder as he fucked his cum up into him, sluring obscenities into his skin.

You like that? You like your slutty hole being filled up? 

You were waiting for this weren’t you? You were just waiting for someone to make a mess of you.

Tell them you like it. 

“I do!! I like it~” Seonghwa brokenly cried out, tone falling into a high pitch whine as he shot ribbon upon ribbon onto his pillow, some even landing onto the futon sheet. He fell forward once Hongjoong let him go, his blurry blue eyes rolled up to the camera with a dazed smile. 

The top donation was lined at the top, with pink and purple bows and sparkles lined around the border of the banner. 

“You’re the sexiest of all time” - msoong_998: $350

Hongjoong spread Seonghwa’s cheeks apart, cursing under his breath as he slowly pulled out, immediately grabbing the camera to film his backside. 

The camboy helped himself with keeping his cheeks spread as he let everything spill down his balls in a blob onto the pillow and the arm of the futon. The brunette helped himself to sliding his fingers inside to scoop some of it out, chuckling at the sensitive whine he received in response before moving the camera back in front of Seonghwa, noticing his mouth was already open for him. 

He swirled his tongue around the digits meticulously with heated eyes on the camera and, in turn on his puppy, before he kissed his fingertips.

“Thank you for watching~ ♡”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“..ello?”

“Hello! Earth to Seonghwa!”

In an instant, he was back at his university campus, sitting around the picnic table with his friends, almost completely forgetting that they were asking him something before his brain bullied him for however long he was zoning out for. 

And he hoped to god Julie wouldn’t see how hard he was from here. 

“S-Sorry.” He lightly excused, clearing his throat while lowering the screen of his computer. “What was the question again?”

“We were asking you what you thought about the cam guy? Who do you think he is?” Julie pestered, pointing his arm with impatience. 

Seonghwa looked back over the photo, cocking his head to the side as he looked back up at his friends with a small chuckle. 

“I don’t know. But whoever it is, it’s none of our business. It’s their life, they can do whatever they want.” 

The three of them nodded, with Giselle’s eyes lingering on Seonghwa a bit longer before eventually dropping it, perking at her friend that was making his way across campus. She called out to him, waving when he stopped to look in her direction. 

Seonghwa looked over his shoulder with him and Hongjoong immediately making eye contact. Although it was short lived, he couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face as the brunette’s face got red, instantly bolting his way towards the school parking lot. 

“What was that about?” Giselle’s partner questioned with a confused look. 

“Not sure.” Seonghwa responded as he watched the small man hop into his car. “But he’s very cute.”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @atiny-piratequeen @jacksons-goddess-gaia @kimnamshiks @little-lazuli @atiny-dazzlinglight @catnipacid

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . ** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

[sofiatexa]

sophia laforteza x lara raj (solarz)

cw ; short fluff , baking , hand holding , kissing , sophia feeds lara cookie dough at some point , established relationship (girlfriends) ,, etc??

wc ; 600+

an ; i love solarz sm omg ,, quick little smth

—

snow fell softly outside of their home, the girls were sitting inside of the living room and music was playing.

they all were doing their own thing, the younger ones were playing a random game, daniela and manon were doing each other’s makeup and lara and sophia were busy inside the kitchen.

the girls finally had their day off, and took that time to spend some time together. although they were together pretty much every second of the day, times like these were rare.

while they were inside of the kitchen, sophia was cooking when lara came up with the idea to make some cookies. the older nodded and said they would make them later on, or as their plan was supposed to go.

one by one the girls started leaving the living room, spilling into their own rooms or into the rooms of who they wanted to hangout with, leaving lara and sophia alone downstairs. lara walked to the kitchen, offering to bake cookies, so sophia walked in behind her.

she grabbed the eggs, milk and butter from the fridge, while lara grabbed the peanut butter, flour, suger and everything else required to make the cookies. lara had a little twist with her recipe, so her and sophia did a baking competetion or whatever you may call it.

they just had some fun in the kitchen, once everything was out they began preheating the oven, lara got a bowl from their cabinet, while sophia grabbed the measuring cups. lara began mixing her ingrdients, sophia came from behind her and wrapped her arms around lara’s waist.

she kissed her shoulder, allowing the younger to wqhile the redhead mixed away. it wasn't much of a crazy process, but lara had to run off because she could hear megan yelling and they share a room so who knows what happened in there.

sophia finished making the dough while the younger was gone, finally she returned and sophia fed lara some of the cookie dough, she saw lara's eyes light up so she knew she didn't make a mistake.

she grabbed the cookie sheet and lined it with parchment paper, she and lara began placing small balls of dough on the sheets for the cookies, the remaining batter going to daniela who just so happened to appear when sophia picked lara up by her waist and putting her on the counter.

sophia kissed lara, and lara pulled her closer into the kiss of course unkowing that daniela was in there. "ew eugh get a room holy shit" she said laughing at them, they broke the kiss, "dani" lara said which made daniela stop. sophia gave her the cookie dough as a bribe to shut up and go away, which worked.

the couple went inside of the living room, cuddling with each other and recountng the last few years, talking about how much they've changed and grown overtime. sophia kissed lara's forehead after reminding her how proud she was.

lara held sophia's hands while listening to her talk, her voice small while she said "i love you" and sophia smiled saying it back.

soon the cookies were done, and sophia went to take them out of the oven, giving them a while to cool down while they went upstairs to check on their fellow members. they saw manon already asleep, with yoonchae laying on top of her dosing off.

daniela was in the corner of her own bed on her phone with megan while they watched something. they closed the door behind them, and going back downstairs, taking a few cookies then making their way into sophia and yoonchae's shared bedroom, since lara's was oddly a mess thanks to megan seeing a spider, and it was also too late into the night for her to clean it the way she wanted it cleaned.

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 19

Notes: These two are so silly, and I love them. More gay panic.

Summary: Shadow is anxious to get this ball rolling, suggesting they visit Angel Island. Sonic provides the means of transportation.

Chapter Select!

Prequels: 'Something I'm Made For' & 'The 30th'

Link to my AO3!

Start:

“We should probably get going soon, yes?” Shadow prompts when Sonic returns from his run, the blue hedgehog offering a little snicker as he closes the door behind him.

“Sheesh, at least let me walk through the door before you start planning shit, huh??”

“We’ve wasted enough time this morning already,” Shadow points out, seeming a bit more on edge now since the incident earlier. Like he’s trying a little too hard to act casual.

Sonic doesn’t point this out, not wanting to make his counterpart even more uncomfortable than he obviously already is.

Instead, Sonic just smirks a bit and cocks a brow at the hybrid, “It’s hardly even 8 AM, pal. Ain’t like we’re burnin’ daylight—“

“We can’t waste even a second if the world is in potential danger of collapsing.”

“Well it’s not as if we can really do much to help Tails— unless you learned the science behind time and space over night??”

“I was thinking we could perhaps make contact with the echidna??” Shadow suggests, “His species is the furthest Mobians traced back to the chaos emeralds. And he’s the protector of the Master Emerald. Surely he may be able to tell us something that could be of use.”

Sonic blinks at that, seeming to have not thought of that at all, “That’s.. actually a fair point.”

Shadow nods and moves towards the door, brushing past Sonic to walk right on out, “Then let’s go.”

“Well hold up there, pal,” Sonic chuckles following Shadow outside only to grab his shoulder to stop him, “Angel Island ain’t exactly the easiest to get on by foot.”

Shadow ponders this a moment. Right. It floats. 

“…I don’t think using my chaos emerald to chaos control us there is the best idea given the circumstances,” he mutters, watching Sonic shut the door behind them. 

“Agreed,” the blue hedgehog nods, walking past Shadow with a nod of his head towards the shed behind Shadow’s home, “But we’ve got the Dark Rider. So we’re set.”

“My bike??” Shadow questions with a raise of his brow, following Sonic regardless, “I’m afraid you have used your feet for far too long, Hedgehog, and have forgotten bikes don’t fly.”

Sonic snorts at this, rolling his eyes at Shadow with a shake of his head and chuckle, “Okay wait— so your bike back on your world doesn’t fly??”

Shadow blinks, stopping outside the shed as Sonic fiddles with a keypad to unlock it, “..so my bike in this world does???”

“Duh,” Sonic grins, opening the door and flipping on the light. 

Sure as hell, there in the middle of the small garage rests Shadow’s bike propped up and pristine as ever. It certainly looks similar to someone who isn’t a mechanic. But for someone who knows their shit— like Shadow— it’s obvious that it’s certainly been modified.

Superficially there’s some sort of metal compartments just under the foot shifter at the bottom, the handlebars hold more buttons to them, and there’s a small control panel on the fuel tank right in front of the seat. 

But on the more mechanic end of things?? The thing’s engine looks like it’s been suped the hell up. Definitely had received some upgrades of some sort.

The possessive and territorial nature inside Shadow wants to snap at the idea of someone touching and changing his baby. 

But he reminds himself this isn’t technically his bike..

But he swears if he gets back home and his bike has even been looked at funny—

“I guess it makes sense that you never modified yours to fly if you never became friends with Tails..,” Sonic observes after a moment, pressing a button as the roof of the shed slowly opens up with a mechanical whirr to allow room for the bike’s exit.

Shadow glances over to Sonic, “The fox did this??”

“With you,” Sonic clarifies with a smirk, “You two come out here and work on it together a lot. Between that and working on the Tornado, y’all totally nerd out together. Sometimes you guys get so absorbed in it that I gotta come remind you to eat or sleep for that matter.”

Shadow just listens quietly, giving a thoughtful hum at this and nothing more.

He knew that this world’s Shadow and Tails were obviously more acquainted than he and the Miles of his own world. But he never imagined they’d be so close to the point this Shadow would allow the kid to modify his bike. That’s.. some pretty extreme trust in his book.

Walking around the bike a moment, Shadow stands on the opposite side Sonic stands on and looks at him with crossed arms, “I suppose you should drive then since I’ve never flown a motorcycle before.”

“Me??” Sonic scoffs at that, shaking his head immediately, “No way. I can’t drive this thing.”

Shadow’s brow quirks at this, tilting his head with a frown, “You don’t know how to drive your partner’s bike???”

“He doesn’t even let me breathe near the thing without his supervision. You think he’s gonna let me drive it??” Sonic huffs, rolling his eyes as he crosses his own arms now.

“I assumed since you’re together—“

“Would you let someone you’re dating drive your bike??”

Shadow blinks. “I wouldn’t date.”

Sonic snickers at that, rubbing the back of his neck, “Touché, but my point still stands. And if I wreck this thing while Shadow’s gone, he’ll bury me when he gets back.”

Shadow huffs a bit, looking at the motorcycle in defeat. He supposes it makes sense. Intimate or not, this Sonic is likely just as reckless and irresponsible as the other. No version of himself would let Sonic drive his baby in any world..

So he has no choice.

With a resigned sigh, Shadow climbs onto the bike. Straddling the seat before scooting forward to allow room for Sonic.

“Couldn’t design a sidecar with all that modifying??” he grumbles, obviously perturbed at the idea of Sonic having to hold onto him..

“We thought about it,” Sonic shrugs, swinging his leg over the seat to plop himself down behind Shadow with a wicked little grin, “But Shadow decided he liked me holding onto him way too much.”

Shadow’s cheeks redden a bit at this, keeping his head turned forward so that Sonic can’t see. But somehow, he thinks the blue hedgehog knows the effect he’s having on him. And that just annoys Shadow more.

“Just tell me how to fly this thing,” he grumbles, ignoring the snicker he hears from Sonic behind him.

“Okay. So you crank it as usual,” Sonic instructs, his chin resting on Shadow’s shoulder so he can see the control panel. Pointing a gloved finger at the panel, “And when you do, this thing’ll light up and turn on. That’s where you’ll see the different driving modes and stuff. Should be one that says ‘Dark Flyer’. Press that, and the rest is up to you To figure out, ‘cus I don’t know shit past that.”

“How convenient,” the hybrid mutters sarcastically before nodding with a sigh and, “Alright.. here goes nothing, I suppose..”

He cranks the engine as usual, and all seems normal. No new feeling, just that same familiar sound and rumble of the engine beneath him that he’s so addicted to.

The control panel does indeed light up as Sonic said, Shadow looking the options on the screen over. There’s a fuel gauge, a oil gauge, tire pressure gauge— the typical shit. And then there’s the ‘modes’.

Tapping that, the screen switches to several different options.

Dark Rider. Dark Sub. Dark Flyer. Dark Digger. Stealth Rider. Dark Glider. Dark Fighter. The list went on..

Shadow didn’t even realize there were so many possible versions of said bike! He was both horrified and impressed.

Tapping the Dark Flyer option, that’s when things suddenly felt different. There’s a low whirring sound and some definite odd movement in the bike under him. A few boosters engage in the back and face downward towards the ground, and the frame disengages a sort of wingspan beneath it— all colored variations of chrome red and black, mind you. 

Shadow’s hands move to the handlebars when the screen reads ‘Ready for Takeoff’, revving the engine experimentally.. 

Then he’s easing on the gas, assuming that’s the way to initiate the launch. He assumes correctly, the bike slowly moving to hover up above the ground. It’s a bit wobbly at first, but it stables out. 

”See??? Ain’t a Dark Rider out there a Shadow can’t drive!” Sonic encourages over the roar of the engine, grinning as he watches the ground get further and further away and the opening in the roof get closer.

Shadow hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he feels strong, tan arms wrap around his torso—

And that’s when things momentarily go to shit.

The sudden and unexpected hold had taken him straight back to that morning..

Sonic’s arms around him, rubbing up and down his chest..

Nuzzles being pressed into his neck..

A kiss to his jaw..

Shadow’s grip on the throttle tightens, and as a result, launches them straight up into the air at concerning speeds.

Sonic’s hold on him immediately tightens with a “Hey-Woah-Take it easy!!”

Shadow’s eyes are wide and panicky for a moment, slamming the brakes as if that’ll do something only for it to make the damn thing pop a wheelie in the air.

Sonic is nearly thrown off the back, yelping and slinging impossibly tighter to Shadow, “OhmygaiaohmygaiaI’mgonnadie!!”

Shadow looks down at the bright flashing screen beneath him with the alert symbol reading ‘Initiate Stabilizers’ to which he promptly presses with pure trepidation.

But much to his luck and relief, the damn thing slowly teeters forward and stabilizes as promised, Shadow breathing a long sigh of solace to which he feels Sonic simultaneously breathe against the back of his neck.

He thankfully doesn’t react to this closeness by gassing the throttle this time. 

Never again.

“Chaos, Shadow,” Sonic breathes, voice sounding a bit shaky as he forces a nervous little chuckle and tries to come off cool as usual, “You sure know how to show a guy how to have fun.”

“Shut up,” Shadow huffs, glancing back at the hedgehog, “This is why motorbikes shouldn’t fly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sonic waves a hand dismissively before returning it to its spot around Shadow’s waist, “Just get flyin’, Mr. Wright. You’ll love it once you’re use to it.”

And while Shadow will never openly admit it, Sonic is right.

Once he gets the hang of it, it’s not so bad. It’s actually almost.. fun. Shadow has rarely flown before outside of in GUN copters or jets or in his Super form, of course. But this was different. It gave him that same high riding his bike did. It was dangerous. It was living. It was addicting.

And it turned out to be pretty damn easy, too, once he wasn’t having a mini-heart attack over his rival’s arms being wrapped around him.

In fact— another thing Shadow would never admit— he kind of.. liked the feeling of Sonic pressed behind him. Those arms around him felt oddly safe and comforting, made him more at ease in the pilot’s seat once he was use to them. And the warmth of Sonic’s chest pressed to his back was nice against the cool winds of the sky. 

Not to mention the hero’s random “Wooohoooo!”s and “Yeehaw!!”s were amusing. Shadow even nearly laughed a few times.

He might just have to get in contact with that fox once he gets back home..

[distractionpie]

wait wait we had a big xmas moment of Eddie's S5 suprise leaving announcement and s2 xmas of the Diaz family family reunion under the christmas tree, but what if Eddie moves to Texas and things are slowly getting better with Chris but Eddie has very firmly committed himself to having no hopes and taking everything at Christopher's pace. he's glad to have his son back but missing the rest of the life he built. things are strained with his parents but he's making it work. there are positive signs - Chris is showing some enthusiasm for planning their Christmas together and agreeing they should do it together at the place Eddie is renting (even if he was planning to moving permanently if he's moving to reunite with christopher it makes sense to start with a rental he can get fast not wait through the whole buying/selling process as part of the initial relocation). And then it's Christmas morning and Chris is leading Eddie outside and Buck is waiting there and Chris announces that he's ready to come back to LA so he called Buck to come and get them both.

[thatonegreyghost]

Neuvillette has the perfect day picked out.

Breakfast at the cafè, a day of shopping and strolling on the beach, and finally, dinner and a play at the Hotel DeBord. A masterful idea. It could not be more perfect.

Except.

Wriothesley wakes up that morning and just... leaves. Puts on a casual outfit and walks out the door without even stopping to look at the card Neuvillette put on the table. He barely even looks at the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Neuvillette calls after him.

"Just wanted to run some errands before we hang out all day. We're out of milk. And sugar. And eggs, I think."

And he leaves before Neuvillette can explain that they are supposed to go to breakfast. Wriothesley knows that Neuvillette intended to surprise him, but apparently, he isn't thinking much about that right now.

Alright, that's fine. Wriothesley can do as he likes. It is his day, after all. They'll still be able to do some shopping and that beach stroll together. And when Wriothesley comes back, they can talk about what they'll do first.

So, when Wriothesley does come back, Neuvillette is shocked that the first thing he asks for is to lounge around all day.

"You don't want to go out?" Neuvillette stammers.

"Not if I can help it. It's a warm day, though. If we had the supplies, I'd suggest a picnic." Wriothesley laughs. "Oh, we should plan one! I haven't been on a picnic in ages."

A picnic. That is certainly sonething achievable. Neuvillette sets his mind to it, and immediately rushes to the kitchen to prepare some food.

Two sandwiches– roast chicken for Wriothesley, tuna salad for himself– and some fruits, as well fresh water and Fonta for the both of them. All packaged in a fun little basket he had intended to use for some tea he bought Wriothesley.

At the last second, he also slips in a box of homemade macarons from Navia. Peppermint, Wriothesley's favorite flavor. He'd nearly forgotten she got them for him.

He returns to the living room, basket in hand, and declares the plan to Wriothesley. Wriothesley answers him with a smile, and within minutes, they are out the door.

Of course, by the time they make it to the secluded beach outside the Court, Neuvillette realizes they have no blanket to sit on, no games to play, and no cups to drink with. Wriothesley doesn't mind– in fact, he laughs, calling it a "good first attempt".

"Seriously, Neuv, don't sweat it." He insists as he devours his sandwich. "It's more than enough that you went through to trouble to surprise me with this."

"I wanted it to be more special." Neuvillette pouts, plucking a Rainbow Rose from the grass and twirling it in his hands.

"It is special." Wriothesley assures him.

Neuvillette does not feel very assured. In fact, he feels like he's messed up everything. But, there's no space for doubt in this moment. He must believe that it will work out for the best.

"Navia made some macarons for you." Neuvillette mentions as he lays down in the grass.

"Really?" Wriothesley perks up, sitting up quickly and rummaging through the basket. "Well, look at that! We'll have to repay the favor."

"No favor necessary, Wriothesley." Neuvillette sighs with fondness. "They're a gift."

"Huh. What's the occasion?"

There's a genuine curiosity to his question, and it's at that moment Neuvillette realizes– Wriothesley never asked about his gift. Didn't ask for special treatment. Hasn't even mentioned a list of wishes all month.

"Wriothesley, they're your gift." Neuvillette emphasizes.

"Well, yeah, you mentioned that. I'm just wondering what the occasion is." Wriothesley rolls his eyes, like Neuvillette is being silly. "You still haven't answered my question, by the way."

Wriothesley is leaned over him, smiling and acting coy, but Neuvillette can't bring himself to reciprocate. Does Wriothesley not remember? Did something happen to make him forget? Surely he can't be serious right now. Who in their right mind forgets their own birthday?

"It's your birthday." Neuvillette answers quietly. "I wanted your day to be special."

Wriothesley startles, his face going very pale. He glances away from Neuvillette– he's upset now, and Neuvillette doesn't know how to fix it.

"Wow. Is it the 23rd already?" Wriothesley laughs wryly. "Time really flies, huh?"

A soft rain begins to trickle down as Neuvillette gently caresses Wriothesley's cheek. He's gone and cocked it all up, hasn't he? Wriothesley's all upset now. Was the picnic not good enough? Should he have done more? Something is wrong, but he doesn't know what.

"Did I do something wrong? Is the picnic not to your liking?" Neuvillette asks softly.

"What? No, the picnic is fine!" Wriothesley assures him, his voice urgent yet soothing. "I just... I haven't celebrated my birthday in years. I honestly forgot it was today. I mean... it's not like I had a reason to celebrate."

Neuvillette's heart breaks for Wriothesley. Ever since they began dating– since the prophecy was averted– Neuvillette has become more and more aware of just how harshly Wriothesley was treated when he was young, and is more and more in awe of how gentle he turned out regardless. But this... it's too much. To know that even at his best, Wriothesley has not seen reason to celebrate his birthday, hasn't given it any sort of consideration.

Neuvillette embraces his lover, and the sky weeps for Wriothesley. Wriothesley holds him close, his voice unsteady and his embrace unyielding.

"Are you ok?" Wriothesley asks.

"I... I'm sorry." Neuvillette gasps. "I'm sorry no one has celebrated you. I'm sorry you got used to it. I'm sorry you never saw a reason to ask for that attention."

He doesn't say "I'm sorry you never got to feel special". He doesn't have to.

"Oh, Neuv, it's ok. Really, I haven't thought about it at all, much." Wriothesley insists. "I love the picnic. I love that you went to all this trouble, just for me."

"It isn't perfect." Neuvillette protests. "I forgot the blanket."

"The grass is plenty soft." Wriothesley shrugs.

"I forgot the games."

"We can play "I spy" and cloud-watch."

"We haven't any cups for the drinks."

"It always tastes better straight from the bottle." Wriothesley laughs. "You tried. That's the important part."

"Oh, Wriothesley." Neuvillette sighs. "I'm sorry, I'm making a scene with my crying."

But the rain has stopped, and the clouds are dispersing, and Wriothesley smiles down at him, amd everything is right with the world.

"You know, they say there's nothing new under the sun," Wriothesley says slowly, "but somehow, a picnic in the warm sunshine never gets old."

"Indeed." Neuvillette smiles back. "Happy birthday, Wriothesley."

Somehow, a picnic in the warm sunshine never gets old...~

(Happy Birthday, Your Grace!!)

[benevolentbucky]

2024 resolutions/goals:

get back into baking

read 100 books

fall back in love with art (or at least draw for fun)

befriend that one coworker outside of work bc they're very fun

join a bookclub or get more active in a discord. find community somewhere

take more pictures of me and my friends

[teethlordd]

Putting some guys in some fancy outfits