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tteotlma · 2 months ago

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Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here.

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in.

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned.

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place.

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight.

Not that exhaustion was new to you.

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved.

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].”

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around.

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.”

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind.

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise.

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin.

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration.

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you.

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough.

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body.

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder.

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back.

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles.

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood.

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for.

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part. “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat.

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust. Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up.

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes, wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him.

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.”

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to.

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed.

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely.

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. ��This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

186 notes · View notes

bbyquokka · 6 months ago

Text

fizzy pop

– yn has a habit of bottling up their emotions, chan comforts them & explains the importance of communicating about feelings/emotions.

pairing | bang chan x gender neutral reader

genre | angst w comfort – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | established relationship, mental health (low moods, low/no motivation, lose of interest in hobbies/things), pet names.

words | 2k ~ ( 2,042 )

notes | idk why but i've been putting off on posting this for months, maybe bc im nervous 🤔 don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — wips list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

it's just another day. another day of just being there. another day of feeling like you have no purpose in life except to please others. another day of wondering “what is the purpose of me being here?” you fake smiles, say you're "ok" because saying how you actually feel is exhausting.

aside from it feeling exhausting, you also don't want to draw attention to yourself and when you do speak, you feel stupid for doing so, so you keep it all in, bottle it up until it's too much for you to handle. some days you wonder why you even bother to get out off bed.

is it because of the birds you hear outside? the sun's heat that you want to feel on your skin? could it be the laughter and chitter chatter of others? or maybe you want to hear the rain on the leaves–who knows. all you know is that everyday is the same and it's tiring.

the days merge into one. what day is it even? monday? tuesday? oh wait, it's saturday morning. time doesn't exist anymore. in your mind you see no point in getting up out of bed because again, what's the point?

so why is it that your boyfriend is gently shaking you, asking, no, begging you to get up.

“darlin'. please get up.” chan whispers as he gently shakes you by the shoulders. you sigh deeply, a tired sigh that causes chan to swallow and his suspicions to come to light.

you pull the duvet over your head, body curled in a small and fragile ball. the curtains are still drawn providing darkness despite the morning rays that wish to peak inside.

chan has been up since the crack of dawn. he has showered, made breakfast and managed to get dressed. he gave you some extra time to sleep in because he knows you're not a morning person but when the number nine on his watch turned to twelve and you're still not up and out, does he grow concerned.

he's had his suspicions for a while. he's noticed how defeated you sound. how there is little to no energy in the words you speak. he's tried everything to cheer you up, thinking, hoping you were just having an off day. but that off day turned into an off week which slowly, but surely, turned into an off month.

you lost your passion for being creative, lost the will to make anything which you despise. being creative is one of the many pleasures you have in life, to be able to make something and share your creations with others is exhilarating but when you feel like this, your mood turns bitter and cold towards everything you do which results in you resenting everything you create.

you lost the energy to speak to people. to pick up the phone and just talk. you're not deliberately ignoring nor trying to be difficult but keeping conversations flowing is just too hard right now and when you think they're giving you the same energy back do you feel so guilty.

what have i done to deserve this? why am i forced to feel like this. you find yourself questioning everything late at night. your head loud as soon as it hits the pillow and no amount of music you blast down your ears can silence those thoughts.

everything is so exhausting. everything is the same. you just want to disappear whether that be for a few days or forever, you're not quite sure, but certain people around you wont allow that to happen. they are keeping you afloat, head above water. you desperately and silently wish they never let you go, no matter how hard you fight and push them away.

“baby, please.” chan's words dripped with desperation. his knees on the bed behind you as he kneels causing the mattress to dip. his hands on your shoulders gently as his eyes bore into the duvet, burning holes into it until he is burning holes into you. tears threaten to spill down his soft cheeks as he becomes increasingly worried for you.

“chan..“ you whisper, your words shaking. “please.. leave me alone.”

he swallows. those three last words he hates to hear. now he is left in a difficult position. should he do as you say and leave you? leave you to fester and rot in your own thoughts and feelings. watch you melt into the mattress and become nothing but a lifeless shell. or should he force himself, force you to acknowledge him. show you, tell you that's it's going to be ok–even if you don't believe him in the beginning.

but this is chan and you know more than anyone how stubborn chan can be.

“lets go take a shower yn, together! and maybe we can go out and get lunch at that café you love so much?”

silence.

“or how about we go to that art shop! pick up those water colours you've been eyeing up for months?”

silence.

“ok well, what about some new cloth–”

“chan please!” you snap, causing him to jump. “what part of leave me alone don't you understand?!”

you don't mean to sound harsh and you hope chan doesn't take it to heart. the last thing you want is to hurt the one person you adore so much. luckily, chan knows you don't mean it but it doesn't hurt him any less.

“all of it.” he softly speaks. you feel the weight being lifted up off the mattress and footsteps against the wood flooring before the bedroom door squeaks open at the hinges.

your heart breaks. hot angry tears finally being set free and rolling down the bridge of your nose and cheeks, soaking into the material of your pillow. you sob, curling up into a ball even more as your heart aches in your chest. you grip onto the pillow as you silently cry out for chan, thinking he has completely left you alone.

but you did ask for it so why do you feel so guilty?

the duvet gets pulled back from you, the cold air hitting your hot and sweaty skin. the mattress dips once again as an arm snakes over your midriff. chest being pressed against your back as chan spoons you.

“don't cry, darlin'. i'm here, your channie is here.” his soft words provide you with a sense of comfort and an indescribable feeling of warmth as well as relief. his hand strokes your soft stomach, his lips kissing your neck so tenderly you worry that he isn't really there.

“c-chan…” you sob through your words as a way of confirmation. you can't breathe, the pain of everything that's built up over the past months is making it impossible for you to breathe. your mind fogs over as your chest heaves up and down.

you struggle to take breaths as tears stream down your face. your pillow becomes soaked with your tears. chan strokes your unwashed hair gently, hushing you and singing softly to help ground you.

“sh sh sh. you're ok, you're safe.” he whispers.

“sorry! i'm sorry!” you repeat over and over again in your fits of tears. chan continues to hush you, noticing that it's not working so he gently rolls you over to face him and pulls you into his naked chest.

the warmth and softness of his skin calms you down in an instant. his natural scent hugs your nostrils and sinks into your heart, soothing your heartbeat as well as your mind. you grip onto him, desperately trying to cling onto something before resulting in wrapping your arms around him tightly.

he gives you a bear hug. arms around your shoulders gently, fingers raking and massaging your scalp. his chest wet with tears as he continues to hush you through your episode.

there isn't much he can do when you're crying like this except wait. wait for it to pass–and it does, fifteen minutes later.

“better?” he gently asks. you peer up at him to notice that his own cheeks are wet with a few tears slowly falling.

“you're crying..” you whisper as you reach up and wipe the tears away. chan laughs softly before leaning into your touch. “why?”

“because it pains me to see you like this, my love.” that guilt comes back, settling in your stomach and wrapping itself around your heart, like black fog. you look down, tears falling from your lower lash line.

“sorry..” you mumble.

“hey.” chan unwraps his arms from you to gently lift up your head. “it hurts because i can't do anything about it. it hurts because i love you! seeing you in so much pain is rough darling. and it's not physical pain either, it's not like i can put a band aid on your wound.”

“i'm sorry i'm like this, chan. sorry i'm so difficult and such a disappointment.”

“oi.” his tone of voice turns stern which causes you to look up at him. his brows furrowed together as he reaches and strokes your cheek. “you're not a disappointment or difficult baby. it's ok to feel like this, to have off days and feel like nothing is right, however, you have to come to me when you feel like this! or if you can't come to me, talk to a friend.”

“but i hate talking about my feelings, chan.. i feel like a burden and that it just bores people and when i do confined in people, it feels like i don't get the comfort i expect to get so i'm left thinking if it's worth it and if i just expect too much from people.”

“what have i told you about bottling things up, mhm?”

“that it's just going to keep building and building until i explode.” you mumble to which chan hums and nods too

“imagine you're a bottle of fizzy pop. your body is the bottle, your feelings are the fizzy liquid. what happens when you shake a bottle of fizzy pop?”

“it bubbles and explodes, creating a huge mess.”

“and what happens when you bottle your feelings up?”

“i get shaken up by the smallest of things, which causes me to bubble and explode..”

“mhm. you have to remember, my darling, that how you feel is valid. your feelings are valid. you might seem like it's something so small or stupid, but that something small could build and build and build.”

“so i should come to you whenever i feel negative?”

“yes.”

“even if i'm frustrated at a piece of work? even if i can't get a recipe right and it annoys me?”

“yes.”

“but that is so small and not as important..”

“yn, if it's bothering you then it's big. if it's bothering you, it's important to me. if you feel angry, upset, energy less, i beg that you come to me or to a friend! it's important that we voice these things, let it be known because you'll feel better.” he tucks your hair behind your ear gently before you nuzzle into his chest, thinking about what he's saying.

he is correct. he always is and that's the thing that sometimes bothers you, but in a good way! it just means that you can't hide anything from chan, whether it's good or bad and when you are feeling down, chan is always there to pick you back up and dust you off, providing you with love and comfort.

“shall we go shower together to start the day?”

“isnt it a bit late for that? besides, hasn't your day already started?” you mumble against his chest.

“it's never too late to start the day and besides, i don't mind ‘restarting’ my day if it means i get to do it with you.” he kisses the top of your head gently, stroking your back as you tangle your legs with his.

“soon.”

“soon?” he questions.

“i just want to spend some more minutes with you..”

“we can spend as many minutes together as you like, my darling. as long as you're happy and content.”

“i'm always happy and content with you, chan. you're my safe space.”

“and i hope i continue to be and provide you with that safe space, yn.”

#kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #straykidsland #skz angst #skz comfort #stray kids angst #stray kids comfort #bang chan #chan #chan x you #chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

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thebiballerina · 1 year ago

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I mostly concur with the above reblogger, but I wanted to add one thing:

I wouldn't say that anything you do will have zero impact. There are SOME things you can do that will have an impact, if you choose to put your time and energy into this issue. (Which you are not obligated to do, to be clear, unless you have some sort of role or job which implies that sort of responsibility.)

You aren't necessarily helpless. But subscribing to OP's mindset is a really good way to make yourself helpless.

I've seen that mindset, repeatedly. I had that mindset, at one point in time. You know what changed that, more than anything else? Becoming an actual activist.

The activists who hold on to the mindset that a mental health break is selfish? The ones that can't or won't emotionally distance themselves? The ones that don't acknowledge their right to care for themselves because someone, somewhere is suffering worse than them? They don't last, and they don't help.

The good ending for that road is to burn out, and then not be able to help anymore. The bad ending is to fall heavily into compassion fatigue, and then be so desensitized and unable to care that you cause real harm. Or there's the other bad ending, which is that you neglect yourself so thoroughly that you end up hurt, sick, or dead (and maybe hurt others while you are at it). You might even manage to do all three of these things.

If you want to make a real impact on more than a minuscule scale, you not only need to allow yourself mental health breaks (which, yes, sometimes include disengaging completely), you need to accept that they aren't selfish at all. They are sometimes the only way you'll be able to preserve your ability to help. Feeling personally affected by an issue is valid, and sometimes unavoidable, but it doesn't correlate to how much of a difference you make.

Hurting yourself doesn't automatically help others. Many of us have heard metaphor which references the airplane safety instruction to put on your oxygen mask before helping others do so. It's a good metaphor. A suffocating person isn't going to thank you for the valiant gesture of suffocating yourself alongside them, when you had the option to save the both of you.

I believe in sacrifice, in some cases. I believe in acknowledging my privilege. But sacrifice generally implies that you are giving something up to help someone else. If you are just giving something up�� it's more suffering in the world, not less.

Do you want to actually help? I bet you there are activism campaigns that would love to have you, in a variety of forms and levels of commitment. Including entirely remote efforts, if you aren't in a position or location to engage in in-person efforts. That goes for any cause, not just this one.

And you'll make a lot more difference in that sphere if you prioritize your impact, instead of your devotion to the issue.

i think anyone who is genuinely worried about their mental health bc of the situation in gaza probably needs to reformat their way of thinking about it. the answer is not to take a “mental health break” where you pretend whats happening in gaza doesnt exist and stop being vocal and refuse to hear people around you who are vocal. the way to do that “mental health break” much more effectively and not selfishly would be to remove yourself from constant streams of idiotic and/or murderously evil people. stop watching tiktok debates. stop reading genocidal reddit comments and news articles from sources you KNOW want palestine dead. stop putting the focus on the murderers and keep your attention on sympathy and love for the murdered, on hope and optimism (even if naive) and activism to do your part in making things better. dont get me wrong the murderers still need to be dealt with but if you as an individual feel like you’re getting too overwhelmed with despair to be helpful, the answer is to shift your focus away from those causing the despair, not to ignore and abandon those who have to actually live through it.

#activism wank #That's my tag for this sort of thing now.#compassion #compassion fatigue #burnout #mental health #guilt tripping #activism #copying my tags from my original reblog:#See: Clickhole article 'Selfish: This Man Found Time To Build A Birdhouse While JonBenét Ramsey’s Murder Is Still Unsolved'#There are so many important issues in this world. Many of them truly horrible and deliberate atrocities.#One person is not physically nor mentally capable of talking about every issue that needs to be talked about. Not even just in passing.#You are not going to have an impact that way either. There are people suffering in horrible ways all around this planet.#You can feel guilty for not talking about every single one of them. Or you can majorly help a few of them by focusing your time.#We live in a society for a reason. We specialize our professions because that works. Impactful activists specialize too.#I doubt OP is actively reading about every ongoing major human rights violation. Or even just ones Western countries are complicit in.#I never see this take about COVID anymore for that matter. Most people have more obligation and impact on that issue than Palestine.#So maybe we all instinctively understand that emotional reactions to every single important issue will hurt us and help no one.#Anyone has the right to their own hurt and pain and anger (though I would caution you to recognize when it reaches the point of self-harm).#But demanding it of others is unfair and harmful. And you don't have to let others or your own anxiety/guilt to demand that of you.#Compassion fatigue is real. We don't expect trained professionals to handle the burden of emotional involvement in every important case.#Why on Earth should we expect that of random strangers we know nothing about?#It's a lot kinder to distance yourself than it is to burn yourself out trying to care about everything and lose your compassion entirely.#That's part of why we get medical professionals who start with selfless motivations but are callous/cruel to patients a few years later.#I like making an impact and I'm not going to be sorry that I have to focus my mental effort to do that. I am one human.#My guilt isn't praxis. My pain and emotional investment isn't some sort of boon to the less privileged people of the world.#Also I help less when I have to spend time and energy to fend off people expecting an obligation from me that I didn't sign up for.#I DO engage in real-life political activism. Whenever I-P is in the news I usually have to take a break due to harassment from leftists.#Which is the kind of pointed irony you'd expect from a particularly unsubtle Star Trek episode.#palestine

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arilevenatz · 2 months ago

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Chasing Shadows - TEASER

Pairing: popular guy!yeosang x chubby!fem!reader

Genre: Angst (?), fluff

Word count: 582

Posted! Click here to read chasing Shadows!

Warnings: kinda frat boy yeosang, him and his friends are handsome (yes that's a warning), reader has anxiety, she is also insecure, anxiety attacks, yeo is cheeky, like really cheeky, you might wanna flick him a bit, bestfriend! San and wooyoung, suicide mentioned. Lmk if I missed any!!

AN: y'all bear with me this is my first time posting on Tumblr, I'm still figuring out stuff. I had a dream about this and I decided that I'm gonna write a yeo fic. And also if you wanna get tagged, you can give your @ in the comments I'll tag y'all. And also please reblog and like, so I can get more motivated!!

"stop mocking me. I know people like you. you guys go up to girls like me and say you like them only to say 'April fools' or say 'its a dare' later. I hate guys like you"

His grin fades, his expression turning serious, but his eyes still hold a glint of mischief. "You really think that's what I'm doing?" He tilts his head to the side, studying your face intently. He maintains eye contact, his expression unreadable. He sees the suspicion in your eyes, and it only seems to fuel his mischievous glint. He leans forward, his voice lowering. "Let me ask you something..." He studies your face intently, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "First off... do I look like I have a problem finding girls to talk to?" He gestures to himself, a hint of pride in his tone. "And second..." His voice drops lower as he deliberately maintains eye contact. "Second what?" You shout.

He leans in closer, and says "Second, would I really waste my time pretending to like someone just to play an April Fool's prank?" His words send a shiver down your spine as he pulls back, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or maybe..." He looks at you with a half-smirk, half-serious expression "You're actually quite... interesting. Not many people stand up to me like you do." His eyes crinkle again as he studies your reaction "And hey..." He reaches over and lightly taps your finger. You retreat your hand from his touch. His expression shifts to a playful pout, though his eyes still hold a glint of amusement "Wow, so I'm not even worthy of a tiny hand tap?" He leans back in his chair, studying your defensive posture with interest "You're not scared of me, are you?" He chuckles low in his throat, his gaze never leaving yours. "listen, can I not just like you? I like you. I want to be with you"

"No! people don't simply like girls like me" you felt like crying, but you can't. His expression turns mockingly serious, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, so you're saying you're not likeable? You think I can't like you because you're... what?" He crosses his arms, leaning forward again, his curiosity piqued.

"You know what I am"

"No I don't"

"Fuck. Fine! Im fat and ugly"

His face freezes and for a moment, he looks genuinely shocked. But then, he lets out a harsh laugh. "Fat and ugly? He shakes his head, his gaze raking over your form appraisingly. "You really think that's what I see when I look at you?"

"You don't need to look at me like that, I am like that so fuck off I don't need you laughing at my face."

You stand up harshly, take your bag and walk outside the library. He follows you and grabs your upper arm, not harshly but firmly enough to hold your attention. "Listen carefully..." His voice softens, losing its usual mocking tone. "I'm not some creep who goes around lying to get in girls' pants." You open your mouth to say something but he quickly shits you off. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who's honest, even if it hurts. I see someone who's strong, even when they feel weak. And I see someone who's fucking beautiful, inside and out."

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riseriseleo · 2 months ago

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i've been thinking about tim, lately. maybe he's so mad at jon for becoming a monster because he Knows that danny was also turned into one after he was taken (the assumption here being that tim, as an employee of the eye, has just a bit of extra knowledge). and. and do you think that tim wants to stop jon from being lost to him. because i don't think tim had a lot of friends in research besides sasha, drowning in grief as he was. danny is lost to him even as he can't accept that and now he's seeing, not a kidnapping where he doesn't know what's happening, but a slow transformation that he's unable to prevent.

he's already lost his brother and (though he doesn't know it yet) his best friend. he can't handle losing jon.

(and we see that in the season three finale, where he deliberately sets off the explosion in a way that he knows will take him with them.)

edit: because some people in the reblogs want to throw me into the buried for this, i instead encourage you to check out this post that i wrote earlier about jon and his grief over tim. enjoy!

#the magnus archives #tim stoker #tma #angst #grief #jon sims #sasha james #danny stoker #if you know me you know how ill i am about danny #so this shouldn't be a surprise #anyway uhh #tim and his grieving process #not the healthiest #leo angsts tma

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italianpersonwithashippersheart · 7 months ago

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We Are The Series: Why I Didn't Like It

I am writing this for the 3 people on this website who completed this but didn't love it.

@automaticpenguincreation tagging you because we talked about this and I said I would. Also chatting with you is what made me want to finally say something.

Disclaimers (Please Read Them):

I am going to be critical in this post, not hateful, I don't hate this show, but critical. Engage in good faith if you can, If you can't don't.

I do not want my criticism to be dismissed saying I must not be getting it. I spend weeks making sure I got it. Read all the praise and even reblogged the occasional post because I see the value this show has for people. All I am saying is that I don't like this.

Again some of my later critics are about the choices that were made in this series. I understand that a lot of what I am about to critique was made on porpouse and is indeed part of the appeal.

I have seen maybe 1 post on tumblr being overly critical (@bengiyo post and I guess mine) I don't know where people got the impression that this show is being hated. But If you geniuly want to know why some people might have not liked this show you can read my thoughts and see for yourself.

I have watched and enjoyed stuff like this before. I am not making any moral judgement on you. Just because I don't like this doesn't mean you can't like it.

Part One: Pros

I am going to start with the good things. My honest review of this show is: It's a Mid University BL that is doing something different with the friendship and quietly subverting a couple of of classical Uni BL tropes.

I can see how that would have valued for people that watched all the Uni BL. I get that part of the appeal.

The friendships in this show are very good, they are framed as just as important if not more important then the romances. And I appriciate that. It's also one of the only two realtionships the show set up writing wise and spend any ammount of writing effort making you want to root for. Chain and Pun being the other one.

Pon being added to the cast late and them having to reshoot things were handled beautifully, you can't actually tell there was ever any issues at all and it feels like Pon was always meant to be there.

PondPhuwin story with the you must be my slave bit was handled pretty well. It certantly could have done worse. I think the story does a pretty good job writing the resolution in a satisfying manner.

I can tell that this meant a lot to people both fans and the cast and crew. All art is subjective. Just because I don't feel any value from this doesn't mean it doesn't have it.

The story is escapism, it deliberately downplays all the negative bits of life and of queer life to make a fluffy cute show. It is a similar appeal to My School President. I can't find the post that talked about that anymore, but indeed the appeal of My School President is that for the majority of the story they just get to be normal high schoolers and this is treated like a normal romance.

I have always seen the homophobia at the end of MSP not as a break in the format but a sign our boys were growing up, almost out of the protective halls of high school (in the specific bubble version of high school the story set up) and into the real world.

That is the appeal of We Are the series. Which is why in my personal opinion it's not a pure slice of life series (which wasn't ever said in the negative at least by me), it certentaly might have slice of life inspirations, and it might be using a similar structure (see @shortpplfedup post's comparing this to Hospital Playlist a show I didn't see but I have seen called Slice of Life by multiple other people). I don't personally feel like a show can be slife of life and escapism at the same time. You are 100% free to have a different opinion on this.

I am not going to give it more praise simply because the website is full of praise for this show and because those are the main points that i enjoyed.

Part Two: Cons

Let's start with the big one the plot has no throughline (I first encounter this term on this website which I highly reccomend the TLDR is: A throughline is the core "problem" of a show, the part of the structure that ties all the events together).

Exemples of throughline from a slice of life ql I watched recentely (and I am simplying to use this as an exemple). She Loves To Cook and She Loves to eat: Our main girls are alone, they go through life missing a connection, they both have needs that could be met by another person. During the course of the story they form a connect to each other and other people. They form a bond. The story ends with them moving in together, permanentely affirming that they are a unit now, and therefor will never go through life alone again. The "problem" of the start is resolved.

We Are the Series doesn't have that. And it doesn't have that by desing. Uni BL usual throughline is main relationship but they can do that here. What I would have put as the throughline is the friendships. Making the "problem" is the friendship group of long time friends going to survive Uni and various romantic relationships.

But the show doesn't that, because that would mean having arcs, and conflict and that is something the show doesn't want to do to not hurt the escapism.

It is a stylistic choice I don't like but it doesn't I understand why it wasn't made.

This is why to some people it feels like We Are the Series doesn't have a story. It is very common for story with no throughline to give that feeling to people.

Events happen, characters made decision, they talk to each other. But it doesn't feel like it has a narrative plot.

It is also why it doesn't have a classical climax. I know we clown a lot on episodes 11 and penultimate episodes of BLs and some of them are not well handled and too dramtic, or too high stakes for the resolution we are going to get. But the reason we get those it's because it's a climax, the highest point of tension in the story.

She Loves To Cook and She Loves to Eat climax is the problems with finding a place to go, because that is the highest point of tension of the throughline. We Are the series had no conflicts in the penultimate episodes because it doesn't have anything to raise, the story has no tension what so over.

Conflict and Tension don't just mean break up and fight scenes, a low key slice of life story can have both tension and conflict the exemple GL I have given has both.

As I mention before the only thing this show had any interesting in setting up and writing with any sort of effort was the friendships and ChainPun.

The reason why I feel like ChainPun were the best written ship is because all the other ships assume your engagement instead of writing reasons to make us care.

Tangent to explain what I mean: Back when playbooy was airing I exchanged a couple of mgs with @my-rose-tinted-glasses talking about not being able to get attached to any of the character. In my answear I said I started the series already attached because I was keeping up with the characters and plot and got pre-excited about it. So my investment was already high.

I think something similar is happening with We Are the series and the known ships. What I mean is most of the people watching this have already seen at least one show with almost all the main pair. We know what their deal is, what their chemestry is, what their dynamic will be like. The details might be different but we already know them. And I feel like the writing of the series relyed on this fact too much. I don't think there was any effort being made into making you root for them. Maybe PondPhuwin having to write the resolution to you must be my slave plotline. But that is it.

AouBoom get together at episode 5. We barely know anything about either of them, Fang is such a non character at the point I could maybe tell you three things about him. I am not sure how I am supposed to care about them except for the fact that it is AouBoom and I have seen and loved them in other shows and like many people desperately want them to be mains.

ChainPun was the only expeption, they had to use crumbs and a slow writing and only making them get together at the end because they are the only ship we never saw before. The only ships the writer couldn't assume you the audience already be invested in from the get go. (Also why I was at this point near the end only invested in them much like @respectthepetty)

I want to be super clear about something: I AM NOT CRITICISING YOU THE AUDIENCE FOR THIS RESPONSE. I am criticising the writing for relying on that response and not writing any extra stuff that would help with engement. God knows that I will be guilt of the same thing in other shows. I get pre-invested in shows with Cooheart or Fluke Natouch just because I love those two actors. And If I ever get my Fluke Natouch criminal fucked up character of my dreams in a modern bl that show will be my forever fave are you kidding, they could mess up everything but that character and it would be a 10 out of 10. I am not immune to investing in something just because you love a ship or the actors. I am just saying the writing could have done more to support the ships and assume that would be a small % of the viewers that needed more time and proper writing to get attached to the other ships.

Another big problem for me was something that actually happened to me before with playboyy. See at some point my the middle of Playboyy I realized that the show was never going to have the time to actually go has deep into characters and relationship dynamic they set up as much as I wanted them to. So my emotional engement wained a bit. I still had a lot of fun with it. But I wasn't as much into it as I was in the beggining emotionally speaking. With We Are the Series I realized that pretty much at the begging and got confirmation at episode 5 when AouBoom's character just got together like that. With no arc, no story, no effort. And I know that a story was there, We were told that. But I would have liked to have seen the story instead of it being told to us later.

And I know I am not the only one that found the WinnySatang resolution to be lacking and a little off. You can see @heretherebedork post x x x x about it, I agree with them.

Part Three: Conclusion

Ultimately this show is mid. It's value comes from escapism and the fact that it came out right now, amongs other more plot heavy bls and experimental genre dips. That it does something a little different then all the other Uni BL that came before. And that is actors we already know and love.

It's average for me. But it obviosly meant something for people and that matters.

I want to leave this review but again point out, critiques are not hate, a person not liking a show you like is not an attack on you or your judgement. I know it can be upsetting I have been there. I make a lot of effort to understand different POVs of shows and trying to see what the other person saw in this media, and what kind of life biases (bias as in we all have them, art is subjective and we all look at it according to who we are as people) could make them feel the way they do.

If you do like this show and have read this full post thank you, even if you disagree with me.

I want to leave you with this Italian Idiom: Il mondo è bello perchè è vario. The world is beautiful because its varied.

#we are the series #ITA Original

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lemotmo · 4 days ago

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My god give this to me!!!!

Q. Do you think they might actually go the unrequited route? I mean not permanently but do you think they might let Buck pine for a few episodes before Eddie has his realization moment?

A. I personally don't see them going this route. That doesn't mean they won't, but I just don't see the show putting the audience in the position of having to watch Buck pine for someone who isn't an option for him. The audience is pretty protective when it comes to Buck, I mean we love him most but we beg for them to drop a car on top of him, lol. The audience in general is pretty protective of him. They've watched him grow up so watching him set himself up for heartbreak is just not something I think the show will do. That route also puts Eddie in an unfair situation with the audience. Doesn't mean they won't do it. Doesn't mean they can't do it and do it really successfully. I just don't personally see it happening that way.

I still think we're going to get a fairly mutual realization, maybe not in the same episode but back to back episodes at least. I think neither one will tell the other for fear that the feelings aren't reciprocated. So I think we'll kind of get mutual pinning. I think Buck will confide in Maddie about his feelings. I'm not sure if Eddie will tell someone or if we'll just see Eddie's realization moment. I think one or both of them will have some kind of accident or incident on the job where one or both of them believe they're dying and they don't want to die without the other knowing how they feel. Oliver talking about an overnight shoot in the rain pretty much reinforces my belief in that. Rain is just such a Buddie thing on this show. And I don't see Tim being able to resist the big dramatic 'I love you ' where they're concerned. It's been 7 years in the making so I don't see it being a quiet moment. I think the show will go all in for the drama of it all. And they will get their quiet moment together after the fact.

I will say that I've seen a couple of posts and received a couple of asks urging people to remain skeptical because queerbaiting is very real and often intentionally used by shows to attract viewers. That is absolutely true but this show has never intentionally, verbally and openly queerbaited before. And Oliver doesn't talk about it a lot for fear of being accused of misleading people. Oliver would simply not do that. He's bent over backwards for 7 years to make sure he never even accidentally said something that could get him accused of doing that. I simply do not believe Tim, the show and especially Oliver would knowingly and deliberately bait like that. Ryan has been just as careful to try and avoid doing anything like that. I just don't believe that's what's happening here. For gods sake people let yourselves be excited.

Thank you Nonny! Much appreciated!

This was made and posted after the Oliver interview!

Nope, an unrequited storyline isn't going to happen. I'm even more convinced that this won't happen than Ali.

It wouldn't make sense in the grand scheme of things. We've seen that Eddie has started to look for joy, right at the moment when Buck will realise he is in love with him. For years now Eddie's relationships with women have fizzled out because he never felt that he could fully commit for some reason. Yet they keep showing us the close bond he has with his best friend.

No uhuh, Buck is going to figure it out and Eddie is going to come to some conclusions of his own while in El Paso. It will take them some time to actually act upon their feelings, because that is how these stories go. But the end-result will always be fully realised canon Buddie.

I also firmly believe that there is no queerbait going on here. They are too upfront about it.

Believe what you see this time. Allow yourself to believe it.

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #nonnies galore #buddie #buddie speculation #8b speculation

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talenlee · 28 days ago

Text

Game Pile: The Comprehensive Videogames History of Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty

Watch this video on YouTube

Thumbnail and script below the fold!

You might have found this because you would Rather Be Listening to Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty. This is because, inexplicably, the internet loves Rob Thomas, a walking meme of a man with whom I have a weirdly complicated relationship, not in any small part because for as long as I’ve been able to tell you what pop music is, he has been part of something in it that’s cool.

Not necessarily something that’s very cool.

But pretty cool.

At least, cooler than me, a guy who thinks Rob Thomas is cool.

Rob Thomas (of Matchbox 20) lives somewhere in the same space as All Star or Lazytown, a meme that is shallower than you think and yet better known and more well-liked than you’d expect. Meme fodder. That kind of memetic status is what led to the time, back in 2015, Nicholas Kula to design a T-shirt with the excessively specific and middlingly funny I’d Rather Be Listening to Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty shirt slogan shirt. Kula put the shirt on Redbubble, it got a little bit of attention, and then it got copied and then it became a wildly successful meme raising upwards of hundreds of dollars, reblogged by Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty), then shut down by the representatives of Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty) for violating the copyright of amongst other people, Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty). The design is back up, now, I suppose?

You might have seen this shirt, maybe on some streamer or the like, a really deliberately ironically un-funny funny thing that exists in that special place of meme magic that has no value but to remind you that hey.

Products exist.

It’s still a thing that put Rob Thomas, who hadn’t had a hit on the radio since, really, 1999 and also, what the hell is a radio, on the radar around that time, so that meant that after all this furore in 2016, it was a time ripe for the retrospect. Rolling Stone took the time to strike while the iron was gone, and three years later (around the song’s twentieth anniversary, I suppose), and it was thanks to a guy named Rob Wesley sharing an excerpt of the article that the conversation takes a turn for the gamer.

What Wesley shared in the thread is a section where the narration outlines the way that Rob Thomas was playing Silent Hill and how that was important to Santana’s relationship with him – that their friendship during the songwriting of the song Smooth was marked by long stretches of Rob Thomas playing Silent Hill games while Santana got stoned and told him what to do.

[Excerpts on screen]

This presents us with an interesting question: Was Carlos Santana playing a videogame?

Now there’s a way to discard this argument pretty conveniently; you can say ‘no,’ and that’s that. That’s fine, if you want to be boring about it, but that also shows an unwillingness to engage with the question, to work out what the question is asking and what kind of answers present ways to view the world.

What Carlos Santana was doing was passing instructions to another player, while probably chemically compromised, and that player – ostensibly enacted their will. How is Carlos not playing that game? If we assume that you need direct control over a game for it to count, then a lot of chess games in history were played by nobody. Fancy lads with fancy hats would send one another letters with chess moves in them, and then the recipient would put those moves in action on their chessboard and send a letter with their own moves in it, in response to the state they were both maintaining. Now in no case did either of these players have direct hand on the chess pieces on the other board, meaning that if directing a player to enact your intention doesn’t count, then these people were playing against literally nobody, and therefore, not playing chess, and therefore, probably didn’t exist.

This also runs into the problem of Dungeon Masters or Gamemasters or whatever – after all, in all those games, you have to give your game actions to another player, and then they enact your intentions. This capacity of confusing intention and outcome is a thing I refer to as enrolment, where you become enmeshed in the behaviour of the game. One of those things that games just do is that when you partake in playing in the game, you are committing actions whose outcome is uncertain; not impossible or unknowable, but just that when a game becomes inevitable, it loses something, and players tangibly react to the nature of a game being decided. You know what it means when you’re entering endgame. Players often can predict the outcome of the end of the game when it becomes inevitable and either fold or scrap for their last points.

That means there is some clear element of game playing that is the way that the control mechanism, while maybe feeling good, is not necessarily capable of delivering perfect outcomes. You don’t need your control scheme to be reliable for you to to be playing the game. After all, one-handed play or players for whom an interface is incompatible aren’t not playing a game just because the controller wasn’t designed for them, they’re just dealing with an interface problem.

Now to look at the alternate side of things, how about some people in a similar situation, trying to influence a game, badly, with a control mechanism that doesn’t reliably work, by talking to someone else? Ie, what about people watching a stream?

Stream audiences clearly try to have impact on the game they’re watch. In popular channels, it’s not uncommon for them to cheer, to try and remember or suggest strategies, to try and ask the streamer to take a more explicit or clear route through their thinking process. They will try and influence the conversation happening around the game, where they will invite the streamer to speak on a topic, and that has an impact on how the game is played. There is a stimulus, a response, an uncertain outcome, and a control scheme. They are engaged with the stream, and the streamer is affected by that engagement.

Okay, what about the chat where the player is wholly unaffected?

What about streams where the players are isolated? What about streams without chat, or without the audience necessarily speaking to the streamer? Are they going to have an impact on the game, as it is played? Are they playing the game through their presence? Is their observation an engagement with the game of the stream? Streamers will often explain that the presence of an audience transforms the experience of playing a game – that when you have to be aware of an audience, it changes one’s focuses and reactions. Even if that audience is elsewhere, even if that audience does not interact with the streamer through conventional interface, is the fact of being observed a thing that can be done as the engagement surface of a game?

Well, they’re doing something, right? If the audience, if the crowd, wasn’t a factor in a game, well, the most obvious example of spectators in a game, sports, wouldn’t have a meaningful idea of ‘home team’ advantage. We know that spectators in a sport influence the game that’s being played, after all — if nothing else, there are a lot of times in Baseball’s history in particular where a game was concluded, thanks to the actions of the spectators. Bless you battery hucking weirdoes. Now, hang on, you might argue that that’s not playing the game, and yeah, maybe it’s not. It’s concluding the game, with a different set of priorities. But the knowledge that fans can do that kind of thing, concerns that the reactions of the fans could curtail the game certainly play into the game’s players’ functions. They are an influence on the playing of the game, so we can definitely not say that they are separate from it.

But let’s say that that’s a material concern; that the game is agnostic of the spectator behaviour, and that the game is only defined by the rules that they experience. This is a great big discussion, something you can delve into at length through The Philosophy Of Sport, but that mighty tome is built on the work of Bernard Suits, the author of that book Grasshopper, Life Games And Utopia. From this book I draw my definition of games, where he defines games as the voluntary overcoming of unnecessary obstacles. Under that definition, there are definitely some things to squint at. It’s a very broad definition, after all, and you may feel it includes some things that don’t count. It means that you can’t be coerced into playing a game, and that can ask questions about whether people who are playing a game as a job are still playing a game, if their continued livelihood is contingent on it. It is a definition you use for what it lets you do.

What it lets me do, is talk about games in a way that includes lots of different types of game.

Something that book describes is that just because people are all playing a game together that doesn’t mean they’re playing the same game. Suits describes the way that a player might be cheating, which immediately means they’re playing a different game, since you can’t both play a game and violate its rules. There’s also players playing for reasons to impede the game, the spoilsports, who are following the rules but playing in a way that reduces the play or the fun of the other players. Similarly, what if I’m playing a game with a little kid, and I know the game much better than they do, but I’m deliberately trying to impose rules on my self to ensure that kid isn’t blown out? We might both be playing Rhino Hero but I’ve set myself an extra, additional limitation – I’m trying to beat the game, I’m trying to win, but I’m trying to do so in a way that keeps the game close, while also making sure this other player doesn’t feel like they’re being humoured, and trying to make it fun for myself. This may involve imposing new, other rules on myself. I’m playing the game, but I’m also playing another, nested game on top of it.

If you accept it of game experiences as maximally inclusive, you have a tool for when you can sit at these odd intersections and ask the question: Are the audience playing a game? And if you’re trying to be maximally inclusive, and you want to include the idea that engaging with the game, trying things, hoping, cheering, hypothesising strategies and seeing how your strategies relate to the enacted ones, then you are playing a game, it’s just a game with an entire other game as one of its components. A lottery is a game, and that’s a game where you’re trying to correctly guess a number with exactly one attempt, and the result of that is a stunningly engaging game if the incentives are lined up right.

What about an audience who are completely disconnected? What if we took the audience completely out of the sport, let’s put them in a remote location, where they can’t say or do anything to the players, like the esports community of South Korea’s Starcraft channels. For lower-tier matches, outside of code A (at least ten years ago when I was paying a lot more attention), players weren’t getting a live audience, but their games were being broadcast to satisfy a bottomless demand… and we know in that case, that nerves, choking, all are factors that the audience’s existence can impose on the players.

Okay, so what if we remove the ability of the audience to influence the players. What if the players are somehow, emotionally, unaffectable by the attention of an audience? What if they were cold, efficient, and entirely automated in their play experience in a way that could be equalised and fair? And in order to make sure they’re not too complex, let’s make these game players as simple as possible such that they can’t fail or break or be otherwise impacted, meaning the game can operate in the purest possible way, without any psychological influence of the audience.

Are those spectators playing a game, with these ideas of enrolment and maximally inclusive game definition?

Yes.

In that simplest possible definition, there is a goal, and the spectator is trying to achieve the goal, with a consensually-chosen unnecessary obstacle: Specifically, the goal is to get their chosen simplified actor into a victory position, with a control mechanism that is completely deprived of all functional agency. The spectator wants a player to win, they want to succeed, but the only means they have to influence the game are by cheering and by wanting. They negotiate, they pray, they plan, they strategise, they try to find a way to see their chosen player win, or get better results, or wind up where they want them to be, all through no means at all, through the least effective means possible. They are in many cases, trying to construct visions of the future for what can happen if it does happen, to get the outcome they want, which is itself, a prediction game that can be satisfied or not.

I forward then that the audience are playing a game when they map out expectations, when they cheer, when they connect with one another. They are playing a game just as Carlos Santana was playing a game when he, stoned as hell, gave instructions to Rob Thomas; he wasn’t necessarily playing the same game as Rob Thomas.

…

The story about Rob Thomas and Santana is completely false, by the way. When I first wrote about this was when I learned, because it took me four years to get around to checking the source material.

I mean…

It doesn’t matter if it’s false.

But it is a pretty funny example.

And chances are, you might have thought that Carlos Santana was a Silent Hill fan for some reason.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Game Pile #Games

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kristallioness · 6 days ago

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If you support Putin and / or Trump - feel free to unfollow me right now. I have some very unpleasant things to say and you're not gonna like hearing this ugly, bitter truth. For others who are like-minded - feel free to reblog this callout post.

Do you know what I've been feeling lately? I feel anger, maybe even fury or rage.

I'm angry that 49.8% of the American population are either completely ignorant, self-centered, arrogant or just plain stupid enough people who simply don't care or didn't pay enough attention during history (or any other kind of) class at school to be able to understand what chaos they're unleashing into the whole world by supporting a narcissistic, oligarchic idiot of a tyrant who's only interested in showing off and admiring himself, making deals that benefit himself, his business(es) and "associates" while everybody else suffers as a consequence since they're too busy having to deal with and clean up after his messes or analyzing the nonsense he's spitting out constantly.

Because Trump can't stand losing and will fight back at every accusation made against him by telling you that black is white. I have no respect or sympathy for any of you who blindly follow and support his ideas 100% like a herd of sheep. (I didn't wanna say 'dumb sheep' cause I would've felt bad for insulting the sheep as a species. Just wanted to bring in the metaphor about their behaviour as a herd.)

Also, I don't take kindly to threats - he's not my president, I don't have to obey his every command. I wish the majority of Europe and the rest of the world would stop groveling at his feet in order not to be in his crosshairs. He's a bully and should be treated as such.

Yesterday (as I was pouring my anger out into this writing) and today (after watching our local news), I feel helpless.

I feel helpless watching how our biggest ally - the United States of America, a supposed powerhouse among the biggest countries in the world - is claiming that it's NOT realistic for Ukraine to take back ALL of its territory and that they DON'T belong in NATO if they want "peace". WHAT.. THE.. FUCK!? What kind of peace are you talking about here? The one where Trump's lackeys (i.e. his appointed ministers) are declaring Ukraine's surrender and are basically giving in to Putin's demands even before any peace / truce negotiations have started?

The only reason it's so unrealistic is because YOU haven't done EVERYTHING in YOUR power to actually help them WIN! (Western Europe deserves some evil looks, too…) Why would you cut off their aid or deliberately hold back on giving them the weapons they desperately need (I'm looking at the Democrats and former President Joe Biden here as well) that would help them force the Russians out of their land?

I know why - because you don't WANT them to win. OR because you're too afraid of what Russia will do when they start to lose, or what'll happen if Russia eventually collapses. You Americans (and Western Europe, for that matter) have developed an irrational fear of a nuclear war due to the Cold War era in the 20th century. Well, what's the alternative - we let Russia take Ukraine, then the rest of Eastern Europe piece by piece, until they eventually reach Berlin and Paris, maybe even London and Madrid…? Then what? We subdue ourselves, learn to speak Russian and Europe becomes the rosy Russian Empire? Guess what - my nation and my people have already lived through this alternative and we're NOT going back to that hellhole.

By forcing Ukraine behind the negotiation table in a weak position without any security guarantees, do you even realize the can of worms that you're opening? This is a bloody (literally BLOODY) green light to Russia and all the other dictatorships in the world that they CAN conquer foreign land by force if they're stronger than their opponents (e.g. how China sees Taiwan).

And now, America ITSELF has declared an interest in taking other lands by force if they don't comply with your demands: (Sarcasm begins.)

Mexico "lost" its gulf (I'll fucking correct anyone who dares call it the Gulf of "America");

Canada should become a new state that's bigger in size than the existing 50 states put together, but go off I guess;

Panama should give away their canal;

Greenland is so rich in minerals that America basically has the "rights" to their land since Denmark "doesn't really own them" and it's for "security" reasons;

Palestine is in such a bad state that the most "sensible" thing to do, of course, is to deport all of its citizens and rebuild it into a fancy American riviera so that they could never go back to their homes…

So, logically speaking, the deal with Putin will be that he gets the whole of Europe and can do "whatever the fuck he wants with them", and America will attack the countries in the Northern and Southern continents to expand their states? (Sarcasm ends.)

I am witnessing how the world order is being changed as we speak and I don't intend to sit in silence. I will continue to donate to organizations and charities that provide Ukrainians the help they need to keep on fighting our battle (the more Russians they kill and the more Russia is crippled, the better for all of us here). Please find my post here with some options for doing that.

As for America - I hope all of you Trump supporters get to witness and actually realize that your own country is burning in hell because of his decisions (and that your opponents put up a damn good fight to keep the entire country from falling into pieces). I remember the last 4 years of his reign far too well, but this time I can't stay this quiet when it concerns the destiny of multiple nations in the entire world, including mine and - to put it nicely - our more sensible and trustworthy allies. Ukraine's blood will be just as much on America's hands as it is on Russia's already if you betray them. The eyes of the entire world are watching you this time, and history will judge you.

TLDR:

As I said in the beginning - haters are welcome to leave any time.

Trump is a tyrant who's about to stab Ukraine in the back and should rot in jail.

Putin is a dictator, war criminal and the sole person responsible for inciting this war of aggression towards a peaceful neighbour ONLY in order to gain power over their land (and his ambitions don't stop there, the rest of Europe is next).

Russia MUST lose this war and pay reparations to Ukraine.

Ukraine is NOT weak (they've been much more fearless and powerful than the US and Western Europe combined together, given the little support they've gotten), they did NOT provoke Russia in any way, they are 100% the victim in this conflict and WE need to do everything we can to help them WIN.

Слава Україні! 🇺🇦 🫂 🇪🇪 (For those who don't believe me - here's a pretty decent article for you to read.)

#StandWithUkraine #Ukraine #America #notmypresident #personal #shards of Kristal

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matan4il · 1 year ago

Text

To the Nonnie who sent me the four anti-Israel Twitter users with blue checks, with claims to being "journalists" or similar titles... You're very right. I looked into them, and they are Assad apologists. They're literally ignoring the murder of hundreds of thousands of people by Assad's regime, including countless Palestinians who were living in Syria, while supposedly being against genocide and for Palestinians.

I didn't see something about Andrew Tate, but I didn't dig too far back, and I do believe that women who can post the following would side with a man charged with rape and human trafficking:

IDK if they're being quoted here, on Tumblr? If they are, I haven't seen that. At least not since Oct 7.

I guess the bigger issue is that when people on Tumblr see a post meant to trigger righteous rage, they don't check the source. Especially if they think they already know who the side in the wrong is, based on popular Tumblr opinion. So people automatically reblog and help spread these hateful, antisemitic massacre apologists.

Then again, the whole world is reporting Hamas' numbers on how many people have died in Gaza, how many of them were civilians, how many kids... Don't get me wrong, many people died in Gaza, and when Hamas uses civilians as human shields, many of the victims would be civilians indeed, kids included. But:

Hamas is motivated to inflate the number of fatalities

Hamas is motivated to inflate the number of civilians killed

Hamas is motivated to inflate the number of kids killed

And of course Hamas doesn't allow into Gaza any organization that can verify its stated numbers. Hamas has a complete monopoly on access to the areas affected in Gaza, and therefore on the "truth" that you get from there

Hamas has not reported a single terrorists from among the victims, they're all reported together, as if they're all civilians

Over 10% of rockets fired from Gaza at Israel are known to fail, fall inside Gaza and kill Palestinians, but Hamas doesn't report how many of the fatalities were people killed by Palestinian rockets, they're all reported together as if they were all killed by Israel

Terror tunnels built by Hamas have been well documented (there are reportedly over 1,300 such tunnels in Gaza), some sink holes that killed Palestinians are clearly the result of Hamas deliberately building those tunnels under civilian residential areas, but Hamas won't report its culpability for those deaths

There's new footage emerging from Gaza, showing people who tried to evacuate from the north, and who had been slaughtered by Hamas. You can be sure that these fatalities aren't being reported by Hamas either, so the world will be led to believe that these people were killed by Israel, too

(I'm not sharing the footage, because... it's graphic. And just like the Israelis murdered by Hamas deserve their dignity, so do the Palestinians killed by Hamas, but here you can listen to a subtitled conversation, where a Gazan says Hamas is shooting people who are trying to evacuate)

While we're on the subject of Hamas and its lack of reliability, today Hamas used a humanitarian window provided by the IDF to attack. Please remember this when Israelis point out that Hamas has broken every ceasefire ever. Including the one that existed on Oct 6.

If respectable journalists were more vocal about questioning Hamas and the numbers it reports (not to mentions their breakdown), then maybe people online would be a bit more critical, too.

I hope you're taking care of yourself, and you're not drowning in the biased material of these hate driven people! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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gffa · 4 months ago

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This is a long rant and I apologise if this comes off as too much 😅 I just want to let you know that I'm SO GLAD you're part of the star wars fandom. You're one of the few reasons my interest in this franchise has survived despite the toxicness that it has seeped into everything the past few years. Yes, star wars fandom has always been pretty much a mess but I feel like these days it's somehow gotten even worse. And there isn't even anything coming out that could distract everyone from the constant drama.

Your blog and your posts about the books are always a breath of fresh air in all this. I really appreciate that you take time to make all these long canon references and share them with us. And that you actually engage with canon content! For some reason that seems to be a tall order for most 'fans' these days.

It's exhausting seeing the ice cold takes about the jedi be repeated over and over again by people who seem to have barely even watched the films, let alone read the random book they're referencing to show how the jedi are So Evil and failed poor anakin by Forcing him to let go of his Attachments so they definitely deserved to all get massacred down to the last child!!! And if you push back by citing literally anything canonical to show how ridiculous their takes are they reference a random obscure legends novel (that they are often twisting and also usually haven't even read) And if you point out that, no, Legends isn't canon (and never has been) and we could discuss it as its own separate thing instead of dragging it into canon discussions, they completely flip and say they don't care and to stop taking star wars so seriously 🙄 ( u can probably tell I've had some pretty frustrating fandom arguments recently lol)

It does feel like groundhog day sometimes with the same arguments being repeated over and over again to villainize the jedi while absolving the genocidal mass enslaving space fascists that are Very Clearly the Bad Guys. And it feels pretty much deliberate at this point when people misunderstand star wars' canon definition of attachment and project all their issues in their own lives with their christian upbringing onto the space monks... This has only been exacerbated by people like Headland jumping onto the franchise and doing this with fuckass disney's approval, so now the racist anti jedi youtubers have started attacking this new anti jedi show so if I defend the jedi I get lumped in with them *sigh*

Anyway, I just listened to Padawan's Pride because of your posts and it was fun and a much needed palate cleanser for me after the months of anti jedi takes. I also started reading your jedi citations project and it's gotten me back into reading some other of my favorite jedi fics and maybe writing some of my own. So tldr; Thank You!

Oh, anon, I hear you and I went through a lot of similar feelings over the last few months. In between a lot of IRL stuff coming up and the fandom getting incredibly weird about Jedi fans (soooo much projection going on that it started getting unsettling sometimes) and the same old constant beratement on my posts, I was thinking that I was just too tired to deal with any of it.

It did get hard some days because it felt like no matter how hard I tried to be friendly and make a point to say that everyone needed to be allowed their space whether we agreed or not, that I would still get words put in my mouth or my posts misinterpreted or accused of trying to shut down other people's conversations, when I've never even interacted with that person, I've never reblogged anything from them, never talked about them, just made my own posts about the Jedi on my own blog.

That aspect of how, if we write posts that cite Lucas quotes or moments from the movies and shows, we're taking things too seriously (or the super weird one of how we're trying to "force" people to have to take Lucas' commentary as a holy grail or whatever), then we're taking it too seriously is SO REAL, I have been through that SO MUCH. And it's like, no! Nobody has to take authorial intention into consideration! But if you're going to say that I ~missed the point~ of what Lucas intended with the movies, I'm going to break out the Lucas quotes to show that, no, I didn't miss the point. You're still not obligated to agree, but the point is that I'm not coming out of nowhere with my views and deriding me as not a ~true fan~ or whatever is asshole behavior.

And it's hard to have that groundhogs day feeling, especially because you don't necessarily want to spend that time getting into arguments with people--they are allowed their own space, if they want it! But if they're coming into our space, then yes we get to respond with an essay if we like. (And, hey, some of us genuinely like writing essays, it's satisfying!) But I've found the best mindset for me to have when arguing is: I'm not going to convince this person in front of me and that's fine, they're not going to convince me, either. But there are other people watching this discussion and they are seeing which one of us is being a pill and which one of us looks kinda fun to hang out with.

Which is my way of winding around to what I really want to say--I'm so glad that I can help you want to have fun in this corner of fandom! There's always going to be times to respond with sharp edges to Jedi-critical stuff (especially when it starts dipping into the racist, xenophobic, bigoted nonsense)(not all of Jedi criticism is this, but it does happen all too often), I don't blame Jedi fans for having their nerves scraped raw by people feeling absolutely free to treat our posts like public property instead of them coming into someone else's lane to make a mess. (I've met some very nice Jedi critical people, this isn't about them, this is about the assholes.)

But is it really worth being in a fandom where that's all we do anymore? We can't avoid the negativity, we can't avoid people being assholes to us, but we can work on making the content we want to see at the end of a long day when we get home and log onto the computer and want to see something that makes us feel joyful.

I hope I'm doing my part to make it fun to stick around the fandom, to want to read some of the books or some of the fic, I love the artists who are drawing the cutest Jedi art, I love the fic writers who are writing great Jedi-positive stories, I love people who make silly shitposts about how funny the Jedi fan be, I love people who cry over the deaths of their favorite Jedi, they help make the fandom worthwhile.

It really does make a huge difference, I think! Whenever I need that same palette cleanser, I just take a week or so to push aside all discourse (don't even go look), just pick up some of my favorite Jedi fics, just go looking for some of my favorite Jedi art, reread "Padawan" or "Padawan's Pride" or "Obi-Wan & Anakin" or "The Living Force" or "Dark Rendezvous" and just spend time thinking about the things I love about the Jedi in canon, thinking up headcanons about lineages or nerdy Jedi philosophy arguments or adrenaline junkies, and it helps create the space I want to be in.

Hearing that I can help you with that is a huge boost as well--I hope you know that it helps me in return to know that we can help build something together here in our corner of the Star Wars internet. We're in this together and we can cheer each other up with cute content and I am getting out the pom-poms for you to have fun with that fic! <3

#lumi.txt #star wars

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halsteadlover · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤

*Gif not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Adam Ruzek x Female!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: one of your worst nightmares becomes reality when you find yourself stuck on a ferris wheel. And what makes everything worse, with the person you hate most… Or at least that's what you thought.

• Warnings: maybe few curse words

• Word count: 3,7K.

• A/N: hope you enjoy it! Comment, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated, I love you all <3

A thousand thoughts ran through your brain but all of them ended the same way.

How the hell did I end up in this situation?

Fate must’ve played some tricks, you must’ve committed some crime in your past life because there must’ve been a serious reason why you had found yourself stuck on a damn Ferris wheel. Suspended in the air.

There had to be a reason, because what were the odds that the Ferris wheel would stuck in mid-air just when it was your turn to take a ride.

And there had to be an equally precise reason why, among so many people, it was Adam Ruzek you were stuck with.

God probably hated you, there was no other explanation, he wanted to take revenge for some wrong things you had done and make atonement for your sins.

Why the fuck did you let yourself be convinced to get in that damned killing machine? Whose brilliant idea was it? And why with Adam among everyone?

That evening you had decided to go to a fair with your friends and some of your colleagues including Adam, Jay, Vanessa, Kim and Hailey, a good opportunity to spend time together without there being any robbery or murder to solve.

The atmosphere was light, the fair was overflowing with people who couldn't wait to try all the attractions there. Somehow you managed to avoid everything that required going ‘up’ but couldn’t escape the damn Ferris wheel.

The queue was very long and you had tried several times to escape but the words of your friends convinced you to at least make an attempt since it was quiet and the ride wouldn't last more than five minutes.

The entire Ferris wheel consisted of five small cabins that could accommodate a maximum of two people at a time and you couldn’t even ask to any of them, that the pairs had already been formed and you and Adam found yourselves exchanging annoyed glances, both being the only ones left.

You didn't ignore the giggles and looks your friends sent to both of you, making you realize they had deliberately done it to let you and Adam be alone.

Your relationship with him was, well… Weird, to say at least.

The bickering between you two was the order of the day, there was nothing you said that he didn't laugh at, making fun of you at every chance he got. That man could zap every single nerve in your body and drive you crazy with just one word and you hated him for that.

And the fact you were tremendously attracted to him despite this didn't work in your favor.

He was equally attracted to you, which is why one night – dead drunk – you ended up in his bed and woke up the next day with feelings of guilt and shame and pretended you didn't even know each other. This however didn’t last long as he wasted no time in returning to bother you and argue, making your life at work a living hell.

Adam drove you crazy, he always managed to confuse you, especially when he went from wanting to argue to making sexual jokes and flirting with you and then go back to arguing in a small amount of time.

You hated him, you hated how he made you feel and you hated yourself even more because despite this you couldn't help but be deeply attracted to him, to the point that everyone – both colleagues and your friends – did nothing but tease you and do everything to get you and Adam together, claiming to stop acting stupid because you both clearly wanted each other.

And that's how you ended up stuck on a damn Ferris wheel with the person you most wanted to be away from, about to have a panic attack.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered to yourself when everything stopped suddenly. You looked around, realizing with horror you were several meters above the ground, suspended in mid-air in a cabin that continued to oscillate with every slightest gust of wind.

You pressed your back against the seat, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, feeling the panic starting to build up inside you.

Saying you were absolutely terrified of heights was an understatement.

Adam, however, remained impassive, only huffing at the annoyance of having to be stuck there and rolled his eyes when he noticed your eyes were closed and you refused to open them. “Oh don't be dramatic now. It’s just a stupid Ferris wheel, we’ll get down soon.”

“Adam just shut the fuck up if you don't have anything smart to say,” you spat through clenched teeth, a mix of emotions between pure terror and anger coursing through you.

Adam chuckled, clearly amused by the situation. “Our little detective is afraid of heights isn't she?”.

He looked at you carefully and saw you open your eyelids as you looked up at the ceiling and continued to take deep breaths. You didn't answer him, that's why he decided continuing to tease you was great idea.

“Stop being a pussy and enjoy the view instead. Don't think I like the idea of being stuck with you either.”

Adam didn't really mean it, he wasn't really mad at you, he just madly loved making you angry and teasing you until you’d explode. You were so hot and sexy when you were angry and all worked up, he couldn't help himself even though he was aware he was being an asshole 99% of the time.

He ignored the part of his conscience that told him this was just a way to get you to stay away from him because he didn't have the strength to do it, because for some absurd reason you attracted him like a moth was attracted to the light.

He tried to convince himself it was just physical attraction, although he knew full well what he felt for you was deeper than that.

But this time you didn't respond to any of his taunts, your fear too strong to even think about what he said.

Adam continued to look at you and noticed the way your chest rose and fell quickly, your breathing was frantic, your hands continued to shake despite being clenched into fists, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. The smirk he had plastered on his face slowly disappeared when he realized it wasn't just a little fear, you were completely terrified.

“You okay?” He tried to ask you stupidly. It was clear you weren’t okay at all.

Anxiety was hardly twisting your stomach you feared you’d vomit on his shoes at any moment. Nausea was paralyzing you and the dizziness made your head spin so much you thought you’d pass out right then and there.

You didn't know why you were so afraid of heights, why the fear paralyzed you to the point you couldn't move a muscle and made your heart beat so fast it almost stopped. You just wanted to go down and put your feet on dry land and kill whoever had convinced you to get on that thing.

“Y/n. You hear me?!” Adam's urgent voice brought you back to reality for a moment. You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes which you kept opening and closing in an attempt to calm yourself a bit.

Adam realized you were about to have a panic attack so without even thinking twice, he knelt down in front of you and placed his hands on your knees, worried. “Hey look at me.”

But you couldn't seem to hear him, your body was there but your mind had flown away.

“Y/n look at me please,” he continued, but kept his voice calm so as not to make the situation worse. You opened your eyes and looked at him, too anxious and terrified to realize what he was doing. His eyes shone as they looked at you with concern, making you think for a few seconds how rare that way of looking at you was.

“Breathe with me okay?” He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “Let's do this together, breathe with me. Breathe in…” he said “C’mon, you can do it angel. I’m here with you.”

Your eyes let out some tears and he raised a hand, gently wiping them away and making you lose your mind even more.

“It's okay, you're not alone. I'm right here.”

Was this man really Adam Ruzek? The same Adam who made your life impossible? The same obnoxious Adam?

You couldn’t believe it but you were too scared to react.

“C’mon, breathe with me,” he smiled faintly to encourage you and you nodded, starting to inhale deeply and following him, letting the air out of your lungs.

Your eyes never left each other for a second as he stayed there with you making you take deep breaths, slowly getting your breathing back to a normal pace.

“You're doing great, just keep going,” he murmured as he continued to look at you and smile comfortingly. His thumbs caressed your knees and for some strange, absurd reason this gesture comforted you more than the breathing exercises you had done up until that moment.

“Everything will be fine you hear me? They'll start this piece of junk again and we'll get out of here before you know it. Nothing will happen, you’re safe,” he spoke as his eyes scanned your facial features carefully. He tried to ignore how beautiful you were under those lights, you were so breathtaking and he couldn't stop looking at you. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

What the hell?

I won't let anything happen to you? Really Adam?

You remained silent for a few moments as your blurry eyes got lost in his. You wanted so much to be able to read inside him, to know what he thought, how he felt as he looked at you but you couldn't. God, that man was such a mystery.

You knew he was telling you those things just to make you calm down but you couldn't help but wonder if deep down he really meant those words. For an instant you convinced yourself he did, your heart wanted to think for just a second he had feelings for you.

Adam swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to stop the thoughts that tortured his mind at the moment. His expression seemed calm, but an exhausting battle between was taking place inside him.

He struggled between the desire to have you, to just kiss you right there, and the desire to stay away from you because you truly were the most annoying person on the planet sometimes.

He looked away as he sat next to you on that narrow seat no longer able to maintain eye-contact without fear of doing or saying something stupid.

A sudden gust of wind made the small cabin sway considerably, plunging you into complete panic again and almost making your heart stop beating.

A scream of terror escaped you and before you even realized it, you threw yourself into Adam's arms, looking for some kind of protection.

Adam was a little taken aback at first, not expecting this in any way but he returned that hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you tightly to him as his fingers caressed you in an attempt to calm you down.

“Shh it's okay, it was just a little wind. We're fine,” he whispered to you, mentally praying you couldn't hear how hard his heart was beating. That was the first time you had hugged in the years you had known each other and he was about to lose his mind.

“Adam, p-please… I want to get off…” you muttered desperately, your face pressed against his chest as you trembled like a leaf.

His heart sank at the sight. You had always been so strong and brave in his eyes, as if nothing could affect you, so seeing you in that state caused him a sensation he hated, and that he was sure he’d never want to feel again in his life.

“Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here okay? You’ll be fine, they’re all working to get us all down. I promise it’ll be over soon,” he whispered, stroking your arms and tightening his grip around you even more. “Talk to me, don't shut yourself down.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Anything you want, just focus on me.”

You thought about it for a second and told him the first thing that came to mind. “At one point I thought about throwing you off this damn Ferris wheel.”

His chest vibrated as he laughed and you found yourself smiling back, turning serious right back when you realized what you were doing.

Your mind had decided to turn itself off when you realized what was happening: you were hugging Adam and the thing shocked you the most was that you felt really good in his arms. In other moments you probably would’ve walked away but right then you didn't want to think about it, he managed to calm you down and you needed it.

Adam leaned his head against yours, the skin of his cheek slightly pinched by your hair as he involuntarily inhaled the scent of it.

God what am I doing?

What are you doing to me Y/n?

“Well, now is a good time if you want.”

“Don't tempt me, I could actually do it and plead insanity.”

You then took a deep breath as your heartbeat returned to a normal pace and the agitation slowly passed. For the first time since you'd met, you and Adam were able to have a conversation where neither of you let out insults or threatened to put a bullet in the other's foot.

You couldn't understand how much time had passed since the Ferris wheel had stopped but thanks to Adam you managed not to think about it as he talked to you the whole time to keep you distracted.

“Can I ask you a question?” You dared to ask after a small moment of silence. You were still sitting next to each other, his arms around you and your head resting on his chest and you were almost afraid to move, fearing he’d let you go if you did.

“Hmm,” he hummed positively as his eyes looked around the cabin.

“Why do you hate me?” You asked in a voice so low you feared he hadn't heard you, your breath caught in your throat.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I don't hate you... Well yes, but I hate you because you hate me and because you’ve been an asshole since the first day I joined the team.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. C’mon...”

“Adam,” you interrupted him with firm tone.

He chuckled. “Okay, okay, maybe just a little bit.”

“And why? I don't think I've ever done anything to you.”

Silence reigned supreme for a few seconds while he reflected on your words, his eyes observing the metallic ceiling.

Why did he hate you?

He had asked himself this many times but he had never been able to give himself an answer. He didn't know the real reason, you were right, you had never done anything to him, you had always been kind to everyone from the first moment. But then why?

Maybe because it easier, maybe because he knew from the very beginning you were going to mess up his whole life so hating you was the best thing he could do to keep you away, to not let himself fall for you.

But however, this inevitably happened against the odds and his will.

You took courage and raised your head slightly to look at him and at that same moment his eyes met yours. You were incredibly close, closer than you ever would’ve been even if you were drunk.

His breath tickled your lips as his eyes looked at you with so much intensity so felt like a thousand-volt electrical discharge went though your body, as if he was somehow trying to read your soul.

What the hell are you thinking about Adam?

His eyes were so hard to read, so enigmatic. They were like a puzzle and you struggled to find the necessary pieces to be able to complete it and understand what he was thinking and feeling.

He moved his gaze between your eyes and your lips, trying to maintain a neutral expression even if every cell in his body screamed to close that little gap and press his lips to yours.

But he couldn't, especially not at that moment.

And, above all, why did he think ‘not at that moment’? Did this mean he actually wanted to kiss you?

It was a question he didn't even try to answer, his mind was too clouded to think logically.

One of his hands moved to your face and with a gentleness you struggled to recognize he caressed your cheek, fixing some small, messy locks of hair. Your breathing stopped and your heart started wildly pounding again, this time not because of the dizziness and the fear of falling down.

You were paralyzed under his intense and magnetic gaze, you wanted so much to be able to say something, to break that deafening silence but the words inevitably died in your throat.

He continued to alternate his gaze between your eyes and your lips, you actually unaware of the internal battle he was eagerly fighting.

Anyone who saw you two would think this was just a romantic moment that a couple in love was sharing, anyone could see the way you both looked at each other and no one would’ve doubted you actually hated each other.

Or at least that's what you thought.

You thought you hated him.

You forced yourself to do it, as if to reciprocate his hatred, because of the way he treated you.

But you didn't hate him, not as much as you wanted to. Sure, he made your blood boil in your veins like very few other people in the world did, there were countless times when you would’ve punched him in the face after some of his pranks, but you couldn't deny how much you desired that man just as intensely.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered as he continued to covertly caress your face. Suddenly, however, he moved his hand away, making you instantly feel the feeling of emptiness and cold that his touch had left. His fingers trailed down to your hand, still clenched into a fist without realizing it.

“What are you thinking?” You whispered back as you saw his lips part slightly. His fingers lightly caressed your skin, almost as imperceptibly as he had done to your cheek and you relaxed almost instantly, making you subconsciously hate yourself for the way your body responded so easily to him.

“Don't answer a question with another question.” His lips lifted into a small smirk and your heart simultaneously came out of your rib cage and crashed onto the asphalt.

His fingers played with yours for a while, his fingertips dragging over your skin, as if studying every feature and little imperfection. Your stomach twisted on itself as he intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed your hand, drawing little imaginary circles on it with his thumb.

“Says the one who still haven't answered my initial question,” you replied in the same mischievous tone.

“Touché,” he chuckled “I guess… I just think it was easier.”

You frowned a little bit and he refrained himself from kiss it away.

“Easier?”.

He didn't answer this question, leaving it still hanging in the air. But the he leaned even closer to you, almost imperceptibly but when his lips lightly brushed yours, you forgot what that question was and even your damn name. “Push me away angel.”

You didn't do it even though you knew you had to.

Your brain was aware of it but your body couldn't move, instead it continued to crave his touch, his mouth on yours.

“Why?” you whispered as you brushed your lips against his again, and again, until every part of you exploded in desire and passion.

Were you going to regret it? Probably yes, but in that moment you couldn't care less, you were too caught up and overwhelmed by the hurricane that was Adam Ruzek to be able to think rationally.

“Because I might do something stupid…” he breathed out, having a hard time to keep control of himself, his hands tightening their grip on you. “Fuck… You drive me crazy.”

His lips continued brushing yours, this time in such a way you felt like you were being swallowed up by a hurricane and spat out and then thrown forcefully against a truck. Only a millimeter was missing, just a single one for the kiss you were both waiting and desiring so intensely.

You were both waiting for one of you to pull back, to realize the stupid thing you were about to do but neither of you did, even though you both knew if you crossed this line there would be no turning back. You had already crossed this line, sure, but you actually didn't remember a thing from the night you ended up in his bed.

There would be no alcohol or liquor to blame this time, just your stupid minds and bodies that didn't want to be apart from each other.

However a sudden thud made you literally jump and suddenly move away from him, panic starting to take over again as you feared your time had come. Nevertheless as soon as you realized the Ferris wheel was finally unblocked and it had started to rotate again, you let out a sigh of relief.

When you finally reached the ground, you came out of that cabin at the speed of light, almost bursting into tears when you realized it was really over.

Your gaze followed Adam for a moment, who started talking and laughing with Jay and Kim as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't been about to kiss you until a few moments before.

Your friends were talking to you and asking how you were but your mind was completely elsewhere, still stuck in the moment when you were so close to him and about to kiss.

His eyes met yours for a moment. He looked at you with such intensity that your knees almost buckled, a little smirk on his lips making your heart drop with anticipation and that was probably the first time you were able to understand his unspoken words.

Whatever happened up there wasn't over.

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