#trying to have a life most people have without trying sucks so bad

[rawfather]

i should actually just kms

[deliciousdietdrpepper]

Something painful I’ve realized about POTs is that it’s alienating. Specifically, when everyone else has a head full of thoughts, when in a episode, it’s as if when I talk to them I’m not there. Mental connections are few and far between, and when in an episode, I might say things and voice insecurities that I otherwise wouldn’t. So when I’m in that position, I just don’t talk to people anymore. In a group, everyone will continue talking, but because it takes so long to piece what I’m truly thinking together, and so much effort to say it, I won’t bring up my thoughts or opinions—and that’s Bad! For relationships! I’ve realized that I have an unhealthy well of jealousy for people who are able to connect to each other—the able-bodied and able-minded. It’s not kind, and it’s not sustainable. Yet, I have to continue living with this condition. No option there. No cure, just a million little micro-adjustments in the hope that they bring me closer to myself and others. A gallon of water, testosterone, adhd medication, blood pressure medication—none of it separates me completely from the struggle to think and speak and move. I’m divorced from my own intelligence and intuition.

At the end of the day, I’m responsible for the insecurities I bring to the table, and those are formed within a situation outside of my control, and so unique that it doesn’t relate with the majority of people. Built in neurosis. Maybe this is why disabled voices are so important. I don’t know anyone in my own life who struggles to participate the same way I do, or if they do, their struggle is as invisible to me as mine is to them.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

i'm kind of amazed how most of the stardew marriage candidates just want you to be their manic pixie dream whatever by agreeing with everything they like and plying them with compliments or praise or whatever (which is fine but a bit. Much) but for shane his romance is just you being there for him while he figures his own shit out... dunno why i never wanted to romance him before he's so good

[lavender---sunshine]

in all seriousness i 90% sure im going to quit my job tomorrow and for a while i will have just enough money to live on and will have to spruce up my resume and job hunt and stress but MY GOD i need to do something else because this is making me suicidal

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[genderqueerdykes]

one of the most evil parts about me being told that i needed to lose weight before i could get my diseased gallbladder removed was that without telling me at all whatsoever, the physician's assistant who was responsible for my surgery consult silently gave me a referral for bariatric weight loss surgery. she told me that i'd have to get my gallbladder removal surgery with that department as well because they're used to working on bigger bodies.

she told me this, but that's not what she meant. she wanted me to get bariatric weight loss surgery all because i told her that i have poly cystic ovarian syndrome and that it's hard for me to willingly lose weight. when i called the bariatric surgeons about scheduling my consult for my gallbladder removal, they were extremely confused and were like "well is this for the bariatric surgery referral or the gallbladder removal referral?"

without my permission, without me asking, the physician's assistant silently signed me up for weight loss surgery that i never consented to. i never once mentioned wanting this surgery. i never once mentioned that my weight is affecting my health or bothering me. this person saw this as a mandatory step in order to get the surgery to remove my diseased organ. as if there were no other options. i never want to get bariatric weight loss surgery because i know it will completely devastate my health. this PA was so stuck on my weight. she could not get over it, she was literally obsessed. she did not care about my health, safety or well being, she was just obsessed with her hatred of fat people

she saw my weight as a higher priority than my diseased gallbladder. she was so stuck up her own ass that she was convinced that my weight was doing more damage to me than my gallbladder was. she wanted to keep blaming me for eating a high fat diet (i'm a vegetarian- i don't eat a high fat diet) and mocking me for being fat. she literally saw me being fat as a bigger issue than the fact that i had a literal rock stuck in the neck of one of my organs. if you ask me, if the surgeons and anesthesiologists have problems working on fat patients, that's a skill issue on them. that means you're a bad surgeon or anesthesiologist and you need to try to improve your skills. this is a literal skill issue, it's not the patient's fault that the medical professional fucking sucks at their job!

i can't describe to you how evil and insidious that is. the fact that she looked at me and went "oh my fucking god it's your weight that's the problem just go lose weight you fat asshole" just showed how much disregard she has for her fat patients. it's like she relishes torturing us or leaving us to be sick or die. there's no reason to behave this way. there's no reason to FORCE someone into weight loss surgery. my health is NOT being negatively impacted by my weight- gallstones are not caused by being overweight, and you can't give yourself gallstones. no matter how much fat you eat you can't give yourself gallstones- this is something that happens outside of your control

i hate medical professionals who are proudly fatphobic. they wear the fact that they let people remain sick and die as a badge of honor. like they're doing the world a favor. like staying sick or dying is better off for the patient. like the patient somehow doesn't "DESERVE" to be in good health. fat people DO deserve to be in good health. we DON'T have to "EARN" surgeries or life saving procedures. we are alive and human just like everyone else. this qualifies us for being cared for medically, no matter what. leave your prejudices at home. you can't just kill fat people because you don't like that we exist.

[misfortunegirl]

anyone who is inlove with me 👉👈

[endlessdreamworld]

God, I finally caught up on the HSR story and I'm so down bad for this man, this traumatized guy, my poor little meow meow.

So here's some yan! Aventurine X gn! reader headcanons that have been rotting inside my brain for the past few days. Bark bark bark rate up soon please haha!!

In the early stages of your relationship, his behavior matches his superficial self, the shell he shows everyone. One of his first gifts to you would be a credit card attached to his personal bank account. 'Don't ask! Just spend.' He'd get a hit of endorphins every single time he sees a charge coming through from you. He knows it's you because he named the profile attached to that card with some corny pet name with a slew of emojis beside it, taking up an obnoxious amount of space on the screen of his phone.

It doesn't take long for him to be utterly obsessed with you. How could he not? You're just so... everything! His everything. It's at this stage, the mask slips off. Material gifts are no longer enough, and the gifts he gives you are pieces of himself. He'll overrule whatever pet name you gave him in favor of honey -- a reference to his heritage.

And speaking of heritage, he's prepared quite the gift for your one year anniversary. Once the sun had long set on a sinfully indulgent all-day date, and after some desperate and incredibly needy sex when the two of you are tangled up in a knot of your sweat and burning feelings, he'll give you his present. Kakavasha, he'd mutter into the sensitive skin on the side of your neck mirroring his commodity code. It's one of the few things he owns that truly matter to him, and he can only hope you'll accept his humble gift.

He's needy, so very very needy in general, about everything, always, in every single way. Pathetically so. He can't hold your hand like a normal person, your fingers must be laced. Kissing? There's rarely a moment when you're not being kissed, and he's generous with the sheer variety he provides you with. Sometimes it's little soft sweet kisses that are more like whispers against your flesh. Other times, he'll kiss you on the hand or face only to never pull away as if he's moving into the real estate on your bare skin wherever he can find it.

And after a particularly horrible day, he'll return home without greeting you in his usual cheerful way. You'll immediately know something is up, even more so when he puts you into a vice grip, kissing you in such a way where it's like he's trying to suck the air out of your lungs. It's as if he believes you can baptize him with your spit and turn him into something worthy of walking around other human beings, a luxury he can never afford himself. On days like this, he feels so utterly unworthy of the life he's taken from the people who have been unfortunate enough to cross paths with him, one stolen day at a time. Of course, he's shameless enough to steal from you of all people -- the sweet little giving thing that you are.

He dreams about working up the nerve, or maybe stooping so low as to ask for your hand in marriage. Whichever comes first. It's something he would have thought a lot about up until that point. He's got more money than he could ever spend in his lifetime, even if one of his hobbies was lighting huge stacks of credits on fire just for fun. With that in mind, any gem no matter how priceless would be a bauble in comparison to what you deserve for putting up with him. Of course he could carve off a piece of his cornerstone, a piece of him, and give you a fragment of God to decorate your finger. But if life on Sigonia IV taught him anything, it's how quickly your most precious belongings can be taken.

So naturally, there's only one thing he could think of that would be more valuable than that, only one thing comes to mind that can't be taken. The idea came to him in passing, an idea that's quite literally staring him in the face.

He's tried getting rid of his commodity code in the past, but even with all of his money, there's nothing that can make it go away without leaving some sort of mark. It was just easier to accept it and it slowly faded into the background over time.

So what would be more valuable than a piece of him, a piece of God? Why, eternity of course, something truly priceless. It would only be proper to get your wedding band's tattooed. You'd even be considerate enough to encourage him to pick an Avgin pattern.

While the idea of a ring as a symbol of your bond is nice, a ring is an object. Objects can be stolen -- or worse, taken off. Countless times were the things he held dearest taken from him. Although those days are long gone, and even though he's a gambling man, he wasn't about to take any chances. Not now. Not with this.

Having your promise to love one another until death do you part sealed onto your skin would give him tremendous comfort. If anyone wanted to take this away from him, the symbol of his vow to you, they'd have to peel it off of his cold, dead body. But first, they'd have to manage to kill him, of course.

Aventurine is hard to get a read on, which is just how he likes it. He's been many thing: a scoundrel, a villain, a confidante, a friend, a rival, a whipping post, a beggar, a tool, a whore, a hound, a pawn, a con artist, and a killer; all things he wouldn't hesitate to become again if the situation demands it. It's in his nature to adapt to what he needs to do, and who he needs to become. But no matter how much of a shapeshifter he pretends to be, the core of his being is unchanging and inviolable, for better or worse.

He's still that scared, lucky, little shivering Avgin boy no matter how hard he tries to play dress up. He needs you to find Kakavasha underneath all of the masks and bullshit he hides behind.

Every day he bets on you to find him, the real him, and love him. The wager? Just the usual -- his life.

[spidey-webz]

jealous logan — headcanons

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: possessive logan, teasing, brief smut (including fingering, dirty talk), feelings of insecurity on logan’s side, angst, jealous behaviour obviously, 18+ ONLY

a/n: the logan brainrot is real. i can’t stop thinking about him so here are some headcanons while i’m writing a bigger one shot!

MASTERLIST | ASK

logan had always been the jealous type even though he would never admit it

seeing you with another guy always felt like trouble to him

of course, he accepted that you had other male friends and that was FINE, but going out with your boyfriend usually entailed having to make sure that he didn’t start a fight with someone

some people just wanted to cross a few lines and if they did so in logan’s presence, they’d be in for some trouble

violence wasn’t always the solution but a firm tug on another guy’s jacket usually made most of them run for the hills already

logan was a big, intimidating guy and the wolverine wasn’t exactly unknown

if you’re sitting at different ends of the table or at different tables altogether, he’s always going to keep an eye on you

because you’re his and he really can’t stand to see those slimy guys try their luck with you

strong arms would wrap around your waist as he’d casually join the conversation while another guy tried to talk to you

he does try to keep things civil if he can, even if he’s burning up inside

getting home after an encounter like this usually means that he’s just more desperate for you

strong hands would grab your waist, teeth nibbling at your ear as the deep rumble of his voice courses through your body

“i don’t like to see you talking to other guys. i don’t like to share.”

his finger would sometimes slip into your pants, brushing over your sensitive nub, teasing you

oh, he loves to be a tease

“only i know how to make you feel good”

his thick fingers would push past your entrance, curling in just the right way to find the perfect spot inside you

logan was always good at this but showing you that no one could ever satisfy you like he did gave him just the right bit of motivation to make it even better for you

“look how wet you are,” he’d whisper into your ear, often taking the time to suck his fingers clean after touching you

while he loved to remind you of who you belonged to, he also couldn’t shake the little bit of insecurity in him

especially if it was a younger man talking to you or someone who wasn’t mutant

he’d never be able to have a normal life and he’d grow much older than you, probably

what if you weren’t satisfied with this anymore one day?

what if something else just sounded better, more secure?

you’d always try to reassure him that you’re happy with him, but the feeling kept nagging at him every time he got jealous and had a bad day

because how could he live without you?

oh, he’d get so clingy when he’s jealous

when you’re alone in your shared home, he’d pull you into a tighter hug than usual before sleep

your head is buried in his hairy chest, his large hand moving up and down your back

“i don’t wanna lose you. shit, i hate to see you with other guys,” he’d say between gritted teeth, his eyes staring holes into the wall

when you look up at him, you meet his eyes and they’re filled with worry

“i don’t like the way other men look at you…” he mumbles

“then it’s good that i only want one specific man in my life,” you whisper in response, lips finding his in a slow kiss

[stellophiliac]

how to build a digital music collection and stuff

spotify sucks aaaass. so start downloading shit!!

file format glossary

.wav is highest quality and biggest

.mp3 is very small, but uses lossy compression which means it's lower quality

.flac is smaller than .wav, but uses lossless compression so it's high quality

.m4a is an audio file format that apple uses. that's all i really know

downloading the music

doubledouble.top is a life saver. you can download from a variety of services including but not limited to apple music, spotify, soundcloud, tidal, deezer, etc.

i'd recommend ripping your music from tidal or apple music since they're the best quality (i think apple music gives you lossless audio anyway. .m4a can be both lossy and lossless, but from the text on doubledouble i assume they're ripping HQ files off apple music)

i also love love love cobalt.tools for ripping audio/video from youtube (they support a lot of other platforms too!)

of course, many artists have their music on bandcamp — purchase or download directly from them if you can. bandcamp offers a variety of file formats for download

file conversion

if you're downloading from apple music with doubledouble, it spits out an .m4a file.

.m4a is ok for some people but if you prefer .flac, you may wanna convert it. ffmpeg is a CLI (terminal) tool to help with media conversion

if you're on linux or macOS, you can use parameter expansion to batch convert all files in a folder. put the files in one place first, then with your terminal, cd into the directory and run:

for i in *.m4a; do ffmpeg -i "$i" "${i%.*}.flac"; done

this converts from .m4a to .flac — change the file extensions if needed.

soulseek

another way to get music is through soulseek. soulseek is a peer-to-peer file sharing network which is mainly used for music. nicotine+ is a pretty intuitive (and open-source) client if you don't like the official one.

you can probably find a better tutorial on soulseek somewhere else. just wanted to make this option known

it's bad etiquette to download from people without sharing files of your own, so make sure you've got something shared. also try to avoid queuing up more than 1-2 albums from one person in a row

tagging & organizing your music

tagging: adding metadata to a music file (eg. song name, artist name, album) that music players can recognize and display

if you've ripped music from a streaming platform, chances are it's already tagged. i've gotten files with slightly incorrect tags from doubledouble though, so if you care about that then you might wanna look into it

i use musicbrainz picard for my tagging. they've got pretty extensive documentation, which will probably be more useful than me

basically, you can look up album data from an online database into the program, and then match each track with its file. the program will tag each file correctly for you (there's also options for renaming the file according to a certain structure if you're into that!)

there's also beets, which is a CLI tool for... a lot of music collection management stuff. i haven't really used it myself, but if you feel up to it then they've got extensive documentation too. for most people, though, it's not really a necessity

how you wanna organize your music is completely up to you. my preferred filestructure is:

artist > album > track # track

using a music player

the options for this are pretty expansive. commonly used players i see include VLC, foobar2000, clementine (or a fork of it called strawberry), and cmus (for the terminal)

you can also totally use iTunes or something. i don't know what audio players other systems come with

i personally use dopamine. it's a little bit slow, but it's got a nice UI and is themeable plus has last.fm support (!!!)

don't let the github page fool you, you don't have to build from source. you can find the releases here

click the "assets" dropdown on the most recent release, and download whichever one is compatible with your OS

syncing

if you're fine with your files just being on one device (perhaps your computer, but perhaps also an USB drive or an mp3 player), you don't have to do this

you can sync with something like google drive, but i hate google more than i hate spotify

you can get a free nextcloud account from one of their providers with 2GB of free storage. you can use webDAV to access your files from an app on your phone or other device (documents by readdle has webDAV support, which is what i use)

disroot and blahaj.land are a couple providers i know that offer other services as well as nextcloud (so you get more with your account), but accounts are manually approved. do give them a look though!!

if you're tech-savvy and have an unused machine lying around, look into self-hosting your own nextcloud, or better yet, your own media server. i've heard that navidrome is a pretty good audio server. i unfortunately don't have experience with self-hosting at the moment so i have like zero advice to give here. yunohost seems to be a really easy way to manage a server

afterword

i don't know if any of this is helpful, but i just wanted to consolidate my personal advice in one place. fuck big tech. own your media, they could take it away from you at any moment

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since. 

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

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

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Mr. Rogers’ office. This is Rosie, how can I hel--” 

“Where is he?” Peggy’s voice cuts over your own. 

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s currently in a meeting--” 

“Get him.” 

“Mrs.--” 

“Don’t argue with me. Go get him. Are you not his assistant?” She challenges brusquely. 

Her accent adds to the sharpness of her words. Her curt demeanour is a stark contrast to her husband. Your boss is always amiable, accommodating even, but the few times you’ve dealt with his wife have been similarly tense. You put a smile on so she can’t hear your anxiety. 

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers,” you preen, “I’ll put you on a quick hold.” 

“No, you will get him. No hold.” 

You suck in a sigh and hold your breath in your chest, “of course.” 

You set the phone down. You don’t see how her hearing your desktop will be any better but you wouldn’t want to irritate her further. It must be urgent. 

You stand and smooth out your dress. You step out from behind your desk, digging your nails into your palms as you ball your fists tight. You get nervous about most things. Answering the phone took your months to get used to and even now you tend to fumble over your words. 

You go to the door and brace yourself. You don’t know why you expect Mr. Rogers to be upset. He’s never been anything close to rude. Maybe short in times of stress but not unpleasant. You knock and wait as you twiddle your fingers against your striped pleats. 

It isn’t Mr. Rogers who answers by Mr. Barnes. You give a sheepish smile, “excuse me, doll.” 

He steps past you and you bid him a good day. He leaves without further courtesy and Mr. Rogers calls your name from within, “need something?” He asks. 

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Rogers is on the phone.” 

He doesn’t seem happy about that. His cheek dimples and he nods, wiggling his pen at you, “patch her through.” 

You go back to your desk and pick up the receiver, “hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s available now--” 

“I don’t want to talk to you, honey. Where is my husband?” 

You transfer her without another word. Phew. You almost feel bad for your boss as you hear him pick up in his office. His tone is low and dull. 

You try not to overhear, letting his conversation drone into a buzz. There’s enough work to be done without worrying about his personal life. Your own afterhours concerns are more than concerning. You wouldn’t say you have much going on and that’s the problem. It’s moment like those that ease your envy of others’ full plates. 

You haven’t seen the girls lately. The group chat’s been quiet but you suppose you could go ahead and say hi. Your weekly cocktails petered out to biweekly, then monthly, and now you can’t remember the last time you let go with a mimosa. 

You peek over your desk and back at your screen. It’s not only on them to keep things going. You pick up your phone and open the chat. The last message is a meme Elfie sent about printers. You shake your head and send a little waving sticker, keying in a message. 

‘Long time no see! I’m in need of drinks. Anyone free? When’s best? Hope you’re all taking care.’ 

You’re professional tone shines through even on WhatsApp. It’s a bit lame but you’re an entirely different person in text. Most people are surprised to meet the mousy secretary hiding behind her screen after the lively back and forth in Outlook. 

You set your phone down and try not to stare at it. A reply never comes while you’re waiting for it, nor does water boil when you’re watching it. As you click around and try to remember where you were, the silence sinks in. Your realisation brings your eyes up as quickly as Mr. Rogers shadow. 

You bat your lashes at him in surprise, “need something, sir?” 

He gives a half-smile, the type weighed down by disappointment. He sighs and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame, “you hungry?” 

“Um, well, it’s only eleven,” you shrug. 

“Mm, yeah,” he unfolds one arm to rub his neck, “I’m restless. You feel like getting lunch early?” 

“Sure, I can run out and grab you something,” you stand eagerly. 

“No, uh,” he drops his arm back over his other, “together. I had a reservation for me and Peggy but she canceled. I’d hate to inconvenience the restaurant and I just can’t sit and mope in my office.” 

“Oh, okay, I guess that works...” 

“Do you need to ask your boss?” He scoffs. 

You laugh at his joke, “do I?” 

He smiles, a real smile and drops his arms, “my treat. You know what, you earned it. You work so hard around here, a little employee appreciation is overdue.” 

“That’s so nice,” you chime, “uh, sir, I... I should leave an away message, should I?” 

“Oh, who cares, come on.” 

“Well, I mean...” 

“Ah, I get it, boss is a real hard ass,” he winks. 

“Sir,” you giggle nervously and teethe your lip. He watches your mouth. 

“You can catch up later. Come on, I haven’t played hooky in years.” 

“Hooky?” You stammer. 

He laughs, “a goody two shoes. It’s why I hired you but it’s okay to let loose once in a while.” 

“I know, Mr. Rogers, it’s just... it’s work.” 

“Too much of it and you’ll turn into me,” he huffs. “Please, I’m sure your husband would hate if you were never home. Never answered the phone.” 

“If I had one, probably,” you blurt out then look away shyly. 

“Really? I thought...” he begins and shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll go. I missed breakfast.” 

“Um, sure, sir,” you agree and put your hand on the phone. 

When he turns, you look down. Missie sent a reply; ‘please, drinks are required!’ Ooh! Yay. 

[whaddayadothatfor]

Ctenizidae

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re an anomaly from another universe. You’re not dangerous though, so Miguel’s made the executive decision to keep you around until more dangerous criminals are caught and sent home first. Unless that’s not the only reason he’s decided to keep you around…

Content warnings: dub-con, voyeurism, masturbation, obsessive!Miguel

WC: ~1k

AN: Y’all this is so unedited but I wanted to write smut for this man so I did! If y’all like it I can post a second, smuttier part.

MDNI

“Here.” You drop a small plastic bin of chocolate chip cookies in front of Miguel. As a peace offering. No, really.

Miguel raises his right eyebrow in question. He doesn’t even answer you anymore. The other Spider-people go about their day in the cafeteria, having seen this scene time and time again.

Every day for the past two weeks since you were suddenly teleported to Nueva York and promptly labeled an anomaly, you’ve been practically begging Miguel to send you home. He’s declined every time.

This is pretty much how the conversation goes each time:

“Miguel, I think I should—“

“No. We have to send the most dangerous anomalies back to their universe first—“

“I’m dangerous! I’m plenty dangerous.”

“The only thing you’ve maimed, tortured, and killed in the past month is a flippin’ houseplant. You’re staying.”

You see how frustrating this man is?

So you’ve decided that maybe bribery— sorry, a peace offering— will work better. Hence, the cookies.

“Maybe if you eat something sweet you’ll stop being so bitter and stubborn all the time,” you smile tightly. “Then you’ll find it in your heart— the one that shrunk three sizes— to let me go home.”

“I appreciate the offering— though you could use some more creativity in your approach— but just know that these won’t get you home.” He pries open the container and lifts one to his mouth before moaning in delight. “These are delicious. Thank you,” he said, sucking the melted chocolate off of his thumb. His overly enthusiastic groans were clearly a tactic to piss you off, and it worked.

You simmer in anger as he smirks while chewing his cookie. You try to snatch the bin back, but he moves it out of your way.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, pushing up from the small table he was sitting at and leaning down to whisper near your ear. “No take-backsies.”

He flustered you, and he knew it. He laughed as he walked away. You stuttered a retort in embarrassment, but he didn’t even have the decency to turn around.

“Ugh, I hate that guy,” you stomped in anger. You muttered several curses before you turned around to leave, only to see several wide-eyed Spideys staring at you in concern. This is why you wait until after you’re alone to throw a tantrum— it scares the locals. Whoops. “Uhh, carry on. My bad. Enjoy your lunch!”

You quickly walk away, feeling defeated. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve got nothing but time. You’ll catch him when he’s sleeping. He’s gotta be more amenable then.

Later

“You know, just for the record, I think you going to his room this late at night is a terrible idea,” Lyla warned as she flitted between standing and reclining with her arms crossed behind her neck.

“Well I think him keeping me here is a terrible idea. I guess we’re all full of them.”

“Seriously—“

“Lyla I don’t care! I’ve got a family to get back to. Friends, a life. I don’t care how fine that man is, I’m going back home. Tonight, preferably.”

“Whatever, it’s your funeral.” She acquiesced before disappearing into the ether, just as you arrived at his door.

“Wait, Lyla! Open the door.” Without a response, the door opened. “Thanks, Lyla.”

You walked in to the large room to see Miguel sitting up in a chair near the center of the room.

“Miguel, you need to listen to me—“

The sight that met you was so shocking you had to take it in one part at a time.

First, You see Miguel’s side profile as he faces the wall to the left of you. He’s breathing heavy, chest heaving as his hand vigorously moves up and down his— oh. Maybe you came at the wrong time.

With the sudden awkwardness that’s overtaken you, you look somewhere else, anywhere else, only to find the source of what he’s staring at— a video, no, porn. The second piece of the puzzle, you take in the video’s content. First, you just see flashes of skin and hear soft grunts and moans emanating from the screen. But then you realize, the voices sound familiar, really familiar. Then it hits you.

It is you.

And him. The both of you together. And that realization connects all the pieces of the puzzle together. He’s keeping you here, on purpose.

Your eyes dart back to Miguel, who has now abandoned his video in favor of the live view he has right in front of him. He’s shirtless but he still has some grey sweats on, pushed down just enough that he can jerk off. His hands move desperately over his cock, aborted grunts and breathy moans coming out sporadically.

He turned his head to the side, his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed with desire. You were frozen, stuck in time. Miguel kept stroking his cock while staring into your eyes. He did this right up until his orgasm overtook him, throwing his head back and jerking his hips upward as he called out your name.

His cum spurted out in waves, once, twice, three times. It was thick and opaque and made a mess all over his lower stomach. He sighed and sank back into his chair.

“Did you enjoy the show?” His voice is low and heady as he calls out to you. It takes you a moment to respond, because admittedly you’re still staring at his— well, his everything, dick included. Still It was a very, very nice, thick, veiny d—“Am I interrupting?”

His teasing knocks you out of your reverie.

“I-I should go.” You said. You’re starting to realize that Lyla might have been right. Maybe you should’ve waited until the morning. You start backing up to leave but Miguel shakes his head and the door shuts behind him.

“No, no, no. See, that’s your problem. You’re always trying to leave,” he chastises.

He stalks towards you, like you’re prey. You move backwards until your back hits the door. He reaches over you, placing an arm over your head and his index finger under your chin, lifting it upwards. He bends down, close enough that you can see even minute details of his face.

He narrows his eyes as he bares his fangs.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

[suugarbabe]

omg ok ok ok, I love your Sirius, so, I'm wondering if you could write a sirius x fem!reader who is maybe the grumpy to his sunshine? he's the one who is always super flirty and outgoing and the life of the party, and she would sort of rather die but begrudgingly puts up with it for him? OH but maybe one day she has a bad day and he gets to see a softer side of her 🥹 IDK idk I'm too excited to request this is so bad sorry my love xoxoxoxo kisses for youuuu

I am *living* for this okay. l i v i n g. because Sirius is my sunshine to my grumpy. I am the grumpy reader. okay let’s do this baby. kiss kiss kiss yoooou <3

Opposites attract right? At least that’s what others seemed to deem as the explanation for your relationship. Sirius was in a category all his own as far as you were concerned, but that category was nearly the opposite of where people would place you. Sirius was a people person, it came so easily to him it was like he never even had to try. It annoyed you to no fucking end when you first met him.

Being a descendent of the most noble and ancient House of Black had its advantages. Like incredibly sharp cheekbones, beautiful alabaster skin that contrasted perfectly with onyx locks and eyes so deep and blue you could drown in them. Sirius exuded this energy that seemed to pull people towards him; like he had his own force field. He could walk into a room and everything shifted, like he breathed extra life into the area and everyone was desperate to live.

Most people when asked about you would say you were…short-tempered. Your housemates tended to steer clear of your presence. Which was fine with you because you were easily annoyed by most of them. Ravenclaws were known for being know-it-alls and truthfully you found it rather repugnant. Thankfully you had Pandora as company. Usually her overly sweet demeanor would drive you insane, but you knew more than the rest. Being a Rosier sorted into Ravenclaw essentially meant she was the black sheep of her family. But that seemed to be your soft spot.

Pandora would tease that this was why you started falling for Sirius. Despite your more grumpy demeanor, you were never quite as grumpy when it came to Sirius. Hearing the ins and outs of what was going on over breaks from Pan made you want to take care of him.

The first time Sirius brought you around the rest of the marauders it was not without sideways glances. “Er, Pads, you seemed to have picked up a shadow,” James nodded towards your frame just behind Sirius. “Sod off, Potter,” you’d grumbled, Sirius’s palm big and flat against your back moving in slow circles. “S’alright love, he’s just teasing. Be nice, Prongs or she’ll hex you into next week and I won’t be able to stop her.”

“Not that you’d try to stop her, would ya mate. I’m Remus, but all these miserable gits call me Moony,” Remus gave a small fingered wave as he plopped onto the couch ceremoniously. He would eventually turn into the one that’d help you gang up on Sirius, if ever needed.

On this particular night, though, you were feeling just…down. It wasn’t often you felt like this, despite outward appearances. However when this feeling did hit you, there was only one person that could fully get you out of it. You knew that the Gryffindors were having their annual Halloween party. Which meant if you wanted to find Sirius that’s where he’d be.

You had of course agreed to come to the party ages ago; much to do with Sirius begging and pouting his pretty pink lips and sucking you in with his pretty blue eyes. Sirius had insisted that costumes were required, “Even for an angel like yourself” which earned him a particularly large eye roll. Thus, you threw on some fishnet tights and a black minidress with your signature black boots. Atop your head a small pair of black cat ears, thanks to Pandoras charm work.

She was dressed as an actual angel, charmed halo floating above her nearly white blonde locks. Any muggle would think they were truly hallucinating if they would have seen her. You greeted the fat lady with the password, “Hiddlypunks,” and she swung open. Within the first few steps one would be none the wiser. But two steps into the commonroom and the barrier was broken, music and singing and murmuring filling the room.

“Drinks yes? Please yes,” you nodded at Pandora who found her way to to the drink table to create what you were hoping were very strong concoctions. You didn’t need to look around in order to find him. That magnetic pull leading you closer and closer until you heard the boisterous laugh of Sirius Black. You were quiet in your approach, not drawing any attention to yourself on purpose. Even though you yearned for his touch you knew how much he enjoyed entertaining and didn’t want to interrupt.

Remus spots you of course, the observant bastard. He throws a playful wink in your direction; you responding with a middle finger and a forced smile. Sirius is in the middle of recalling “a truly amazing play, great play” from the last quidditch match, but Remus’s low chuckle from your display of affection towards him causes your boyfriend to turn around in search of who could have possibly pulled attention away from him.

His furrowed brows disperse as you catch his sights and smile lights his face, “Well, hello there, Kitten.” You give a weak smile in response, “Hi Siri.” His brows are furrowed once more. The others try to greet you but immediately you’re swept away to a farther corner of the room. Sirius swirls his wand around you both, muttering a quick muffliato, coating you both in silence. “Okay, out with it what’s wrong?” Sirius’s hands were laid gently on your waist, head dipped down to force your avoidant eyes to keep contact with his. “Come now, pet. You know I can’t do anything without knowing what’s wrong,” he urged, giving your waist a small squeeze.

You met his eyes and yours immediately began to brim with tears. In an instant Sirius has engulfed you, one hand grasping your head and holding you close to his chest while the other wraps around your back, squeezing you as close to him as possible and hoping the pressure of his pull is soothing. His heart breaks ever so slightly at the muffled sobs against him. Your emotions seem to be everywhere but embarrassment is toping the list as you begin to pull away, aggressively wiping your face with the heel of your palms, hoping no one but Sirius is noticing you in this state.

"I-I'm sorry Siri, 've just..." you trailed off, choked breaths causing your intake of air to stutter. Sirius's touch has yet to cease, one hand cupping your cheek gently while the other finds solace in the dip of your waist, "Rough day, love?" You nod once, looking to the ceiling and willing any tears to fall back into your head instead of trailing down your face. "Alright, let's go," his head tilts towards the spiral staircase that would lead to his dorm.

You sniffle quickly, shaking your head, "N-no, I'll be okay. I'm not going to take you away from the party, Siri. Not gonna steal you from your friends like that." Sirius can't help but scoff, "Fuck my friends." You laugh a little at his brashness and the sound makes Sirius grin again, "There you are, love." He takes a quick peek over his shoulder, "Now. Let's just go tell the others we're going up, Remus will make sure we're left alone for a good few hours then, hmm?"

You nod, agreeing, knowing that there's no use in arguing with Sirius when he's made up his mind. His fingers laced with yours and the cool feeling of his rings are such a contrast the the heat in your body that it's calming. He gives your hand an extra squeeze as you approach the group. You decide to try and stay hidden behind Sirius, almost burying your face against his shoulder blade, barely peeking one eye out to see the others.

Sirius explains that he's feeling tired and wants to go back to the room with you. James does not look convinced in the slightest. He looks even more confused by your seemingly shy and reserved demeanor. He doesn't think he's ever seen you look so...vulnerable. Remus is the only person you make eye contact with and he gives you a simple wink and a nod. The reassurance from the smallest action making you sigh in relief.

It's almost like Sirius can feel you relax slightly, turning to you and asking if you're ready to go. You give a feeble nod and a shy wave to the others, most of which look a little skeptical but say no protests in return.

When you make it to his dorm Sirius immediately goes to his trunk, pulling out his favorite concert tee and handing it to you. You take off your outfit slowly, pulling his shirt over your head and letting it consume you, the additional scent of Sirius now enveloping your body and adding to your relief. Sirius changes himself and then pulls back the duvet, "In you go, pet."

You oblige, going and getting comfortable on your back. Sirius climbs in after you, crawling over your form and placing two soft kisses on either apple of your cheek before giving you the most gentle yet firm kiss. He rests his head against yours, asking you almost in a whisper, "D'you wanna talk about it?"

"No," your response so soft it would've been missed had it not been only you two in the room, "Will you just...lay on me?" Sirius kissed you softly once more, scooching down just enough to lay his head on your chest. He wrapped his arms around you, relaxing himself and allowing his full weight to now lay on top of you. The weight of your boyfriend was the grounding you needed, your breathing now finally able to even out.

[sh1-n0bu]

Can't stop thinking about domming Calcharo

Idk for some reason I see him as breedable-

RAAAGHHH CALCHARO ASKS YEAAHHHHH🔥🔥 its actually super funny cuz ill be going “oh my cutie patootie🫶” “my shy princess🎀” “my wittle baby🥰” and then hes just there, murdering enemies in the background like “STRIKE👹SHIMMER👹unleash the fangs😡whos the prey now?”

service sub. you cannot tell me otherwise. brat? spoiled? nuh-uh. poor man never felt an ounce of normalcy in his life and his job is literally to serve to people who pays him, he’s a service sub

not exactly big on kinks or toys, i think. really likes soft and vanilla sex most of the times in private, in the comfort of your shared home where he can be vulnerable. but if he’s really feeling like it and too damn horny to function, he’ll indulge in the occasional handjob or blowjob behind a stacks of crates or walls

not exactly loud but not exactly dead silent either. not a full blown moaner, but he whines and whimpers so sweetly. likes to hug you or stay close to you so you can hear how quickly he’s turning into a putty in your hand while his hands desperately cling to your biceps or forearms for a little bit of grounding

won’t do anything without your permission, really. you wanna try something? sure. chastity cages? a ring around his cock? or even a vibrator you wanna shove up his hole while he tries to maintain composure? he’s all in for it. just please don’t torture him for too long, he might just lose his facade in the wrong place. would whine and apologize if he cums too quickly or without asking for your permission. weak knees ready to buckle beneath him while he whimpers out how sorry he is for cumming without your permission

he’s so cute :((

really loves markings, me thinks. scratching is fine but he really really really loves bitemarks. on him? on you? doesn’t matter. do whatever you want to him and he’ll take it like a good boy. don’t worry of his men seeing the marks, his clothes will cover him plenty, just hurry up and sink your fangs into his flesh, mark him as yours

might be into some predator/prey thing because of his voicelines,,,,,, and some size difference kink. he’s a big, intimidating guy so the thought of his lover being smaller than him even by a single inch and still being able to catch him or rat him out from hiding gets his pants feeling a little bit tighter. it doesn’t even have to completely sexual all the time too! just brush against him when reaching for something in the fridge, a hand over his waist when moving past him in a small space, guide him to give you some space with a hand on his lower back while you walk past him — and calcharo’s already thinking of how you could use those hand placements to fuck him dumb for the rest of the day

big nose, big dick!! and he really lives up to it. just like his body type, his cock is a bit on the fatter side i think. just a teensy bit thicker all around with a very cute sensitive tip. be sure to suck on his sensitive tip to get your puppy whining about how his mind is melting at record speed! he’ll be thrashing his legs and shaking his head, saying he can’t cum again but he refuses to safe word or push your head away. too bad calcharo, you’ll be crying in no time soon

hips mmmgghhhh… his hips are so squeeze-able when fucking him from behind. push him into a doggy style with his chest down against the bed, ass perched up for you to fuck his puckering hole. or just push him flat down against the mattress while you roughly fuck into him from behind while your hands leave bruises on his hips. he’ll whine about his cock being neglected as the poor thing weeps precum on the sheets, squished between his body and the material of the beddings with no mercy to touch himself. just slap his ass or squeeze his hips and he’ll learn to be a good boy again

also might be into some light pet play or simply being collared and leashed. y’know with the whole hound thing and stuff. leash him up and put him into a mating press and he’s whimpering and throwing his head back like the cute pup he is. will try to deny it, saying things like “n-not a… p-pu—uunngh haah aah annhcg puppy! not a puppy..!” with a shake of his head. just coo out that he does sound like one and he’s voice is sounding a bit higher as he whimpers loudly

idk why but i just have a feeling that he’ll be into sounding… idk whyyyyy okay?? it just,,, seems like something he would be into. has the fastest reactions and dry orgasms when his dick is all plugged up while your hand slowly jerks off his cock. you don’t even have to tease him and he’s already asking for a permission to cum