#we all always feel like everything we do and say is being scrutinized

[unmakingandincorporeality]

I get the sentiment of this last comment but I think it's important to emphasize that the problem is not 'kids these days aren't doing the specific things I have happy memories of,' it's 'kids these days are going to form a generation that almost universally either had to recover from addiction as a child or have not recovered.

And like this post doesn't even touch on surveillance. There are kinds of play, that are necessary for learning and identity development, that only happen when the people doing it feel unobserved. As a 33 year old who internalized a sense of absolute surveillance as a child I cannot overstate how much it sucks having to learn how to feel alone as an adult. I still address my journal entries to hypothetical archivists.

Like no generation of children in modernity has not been systematically traumatized in new and exciting ways. It'd be really cool if we were making it better, but instead we're making it different. Maybe worse, because it doesn't seem like we're getting rid of the last generation's flavour of trauma either.

not to be all “think of the children” but the fact that companies can openly admit to using methods to intentionally form addictions in children and we’re not killing their ceos in the streets yet is astounding

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

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

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

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

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

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

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

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

Why is he about to fight a cat?

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

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

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

“Ask away.”

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

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

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

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

“Fucking, you mean.”

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

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

“I can walk on my own.”

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

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

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

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

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

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

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

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

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid.”

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

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

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

“Do you have an off switch?”

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

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

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

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

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

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

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

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

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

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

“What if—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t.”

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

“I said I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

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

“How did you pass History in high school?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, homey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

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

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

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

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

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

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

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

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

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey.

You again.

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

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

Okay.

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

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

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

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

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

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

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

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

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

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

Lord have mercy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

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

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

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

“Drop it, kid.”

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

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

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

God, you love it when he’s mean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Inside.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

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

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

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

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

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

[just-zy]

Cursed Bloodsucker

pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader!

summary: A day of the week, you'd think curses and hexes was all on the same day, but surely it wasn't that bad.. You had a girlfriend, didn't you?

A/N: I feel good tonight, and I feel like I didn't do pretty shitty here..

Warnings!: ermmm....ooc wednesday probably..

Masterlist

Being a vampire had its perks, but everything seemed to be..a downside for a certain individual today, specifically, friday. One might say, 'Oh, but how bad can it be?', well...

"O–Ow, Jesus Christ, easy on the stitches Wednesday.."

"If you'd just listen to what I had told you, we wouldn't be in this predicament."

Waking up early wasn't a problem for the vampire, so instead of listening to Wednesday, she decided to sleep in, and look where that got the bloodsucker. Running off to her second period while trying to neat out her wrinkled vest. She couldn't see well really, having her satchel slinging on her shoulder for dear life, her sunglasses almost falling off before she got inside the classroom, what a sight to see.

Disheveled hair, wrinkled clothes, slipping satchel, she thought it couldn't get worse.

She might've jinxed that one, that for a moment she thought she was cursed for living on specific days.

Walking was supposedly calming for the vampire, but today just seemed to be a day you wanted to get over with.

"Okay, what's for lunch, ooh– gimme!"

"Y– Y/N! Stop—!"

She was determined to have a bite of whatever Enid was having for lunch, unknowingly, the utensil Enid decided to use for todays lunch was silvered utensils. Why did that school have silvered utensils anyway? Well, labels. They have labels.

She reacted instantly to the object, dropping the spoon, immediately. "Fucks sake! Wha–"

"That's silver!"

If only she didn't let her intrusive thoughts win for once, maybe then she'd live another day.

Another problem, a full moon was happening tonight, what a coincidence!

She felt too worn out to even go out and feed, but she just had to, didn't she.

That same night, she did quite have an interaction with a shifting wolf, then gets mauled. What are the chances, huh? Thankfully, Wednesday was there to save the day! Or night.

"I feel exhausted, thank goodness it's the weekend tomorrow..I don't always have the best luck on friday's I swear, I'm cursed."

"Perhaps it's because you think you are."

Wednesday tidies the kit and stitches on the vampires bed, making her way in the bathroom and began cleansing her hands filled with the blood of her girlfriend.

"No– I really do have bad lucks on fridays.. Remember that one time I had an essay due? And I accidentally poured coffee, everywhere. Then there was that time when I slipped on the stairs and nipped my fucking tooth, and had my lip busted. But, I guess��� they weren't as bad.. Because I had a lovely, gorgeous girlfriend to help me recover from all of that.."

The raven sat next to the vampire, scrutinizing her lover. She had a light smirk plastered on her lips, she leaned forward, your lips mere inches away from touching. You waited, you always did. You closed your eyes, awaiting her plump crimson lips making contact with yours, but that didn't happen. Tonight was different, she felt like tormenting you. She had only pecked your cheek.

What. The. Fuck.

Bothered, you gazed at her as she began inspecting the stitches on your arm. "Stitches look horrendous on you, Cara Mia."

"You're just pure evil, like the devil, did you know that?" You grumbled, unhappy that she still hasn't given you the one thing that you were waiting for all day, considering she was out with Eugene the whole day.

"Some consider me as Lucifer's daughter, but that isn't new, no."

Her eyes looked rather, luminous under the moons emitting light, you were ready to do everything she'd order you to, even let her redo the perfect stitches she's done just so she could have all her attention back at you, while she enjoys at what she does best. Being your girlfriend.

You didn't dare disrespect her, or even trespass her boundaries and limitations. Never in your life would anything hurtful leave that mouth of yours, you love her too much to do so.

Your gaze didn't leave her still figure, if anything it made you more focused on her, and only her. Your fingertips grazing on her pale skin, feeling her burgundy lips on your finger, to your desperate bloodied lips.

Fridays in the morning were a no, but the night time was an exception.

______+______

A/N: Wednesday has my heart, but she's soo difficult to write for sometimes 💔 this is a makeup for the recent imagine 😌

[faithshouseofchaos]

Franco x driver reader- She is a rookie who started before him and the others on the grid are protective of her since she has no one with her (her family never goes to see her or supports her). They start talking and the other drivers act like older brothers.

A/n— Hi 👋 @alex-wotton I went with the last one because it really stood out to me because I realized last night that if I was a f1 driver traveling to races would be pretty lonely as my mom has lupus and is in pain all the time and my siblings are still in school while my dad works out on the road. I will also be doing the others to.

Oh one more thing this is just a little look into the big fic around this request I’ll be doing later… depending on how well this does.

"They mean well" — Franco Colapinto x fem! rookie diver! Reader

Fluff slightly angsty

Word count—1122

Summary — Franco befriend's the female Alpine rookie the only problem is that he now has to deal with her guard dogs.

The first few weeks on the grid were a whirlwind, especially since you were a rookie in a sport where every second counts, and every move you make is scrutinized. It was hard, almost overwhelming, and though you knew the other drivers were competitive, you quickly realized that there was a quieter, more supportive side to them. You couldn’t deny how much it helped to have the older drivers looking out for you.

Lando had taken to teasing you right away. His cheeky humor and constant lighthearted comments were always enough to make you laugh, even on the toughest days. “You’re doing better than most of the vets, you know,” he’d say after a particularly good lap, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Next time, you’ll have to give me some pointers!”

Max, who often seemed aloof to others, was surprisingly attentive. He noticed when you were on your own, after long days when you would simply wander the paddock, minding your own business. Without a word, he would sidle up next to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and talk about the most mundane things—anything to take your mind off the pressure. “Have you ever tried the coffee from the new stand near the paddock? Best one in town,” he’d comment, knowing full well it was an excuse to pull you into a conversation that wasn’t about racing for once.

Charles, ever the older brother type, was the one who would make sure you didn’t slip into your head too much. He could tell when the weight of everything was starting to build up on your shoulders. “Hey,” he’d say, voice gentle but firm. “You’re doing fine. Don’t let the stress get to you. You have a team behind you.”

And then there was Franco. He was quieter than the others, but his presence was undeniable. He’d only just joined the grid, and the others were quick to embrace him, but it was clear that his personality was different—calmer, more reserved. You found that, over time, you felt a quiet connection with him. It wasn’t an in-your-face, loud support, but a steady, reassuring presence.

One evening, after another intense qualifying session, you found yourself walking alone by the garages, replaying every corner of the track in your head. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, but you didn’t want to be a burden to the others, so you walked it off in silence. Franco noticed you from across the paddock and, with a knowing look, excused himself from a conversation he was having with Lando.

When he reached you, there was no fanfare, just a casual ease that made you relax almost immediately.

“Hey, everything okay?” Franco asked, his voice soft yet direct.

You smiled, a little weary, but grateful. “Just thinking about the session. Could’ve done better.”

He shook his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “You did fine. We all have those moments, don’t overthink it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s just… hard sometimes. Being the rookie and feeling like you’re always falling short.”

Franco tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before replying. “I get it. I’m still the new guy here too, remember? But honestly, the others are looking out for you. They’ve got your back.”

The way he said it was simple, but there was a sincerity behind it that made something inside you relax. Franco wasn’t offering empty words—he meant it.

And it wasn’t just him. The next time you walked into the paddock and bumped into Max, he clapped you on the shoulder with a grin. “You looked a bit off yesterday. If you need a break, you know where to find me.”

Lando, catching wind of the exchange, chimed in from a few feet away. “Yeah, don’t make us have to drag you into our fun. We’re here for more than just the racing.”

The protectiveness came in waves. Sometimes it was subtle—Charles, pulling you aside to offer advice on staying focused during the race, or Lando, joking around to make you laugh when the stress of the weekend was beginning to get to you. But sometimes, it was a little more overt.

The first time you really felt the weight of their protectiveness was after a particularly tough race, where you finished outside the points. The media was relentless, questions flying about whether you were cut out for the sport, and you could feel the eyes of the paddock on you.

As you were heading back to your garage, head down, trying to shut out the noise, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. It was Max.

“You don’t let them get to you,” he said quietly, looking you in the eyes. “It’s one race. And you’ll get them next time.”

Before you could respond, Lando appeared, his usual grin plastered across his face. “Max is right, of course. And if they keep giving you trouble, just let me know. I’m pretty good at handling the media.”

Charles joined them, his voice more serious than usual. “We’ve all been there. Don’t let them make you doubt yourself. We’re all in this together.”

That was when it hit you—this wasn’t just about the competition on the track. They truly cared about you, and despite the pressures of racing, they weren’t about to let you face it alone.

Franco appeared just as they were finishing up, walking over to the group with a quiet smile. “Everyone’s right,” he added, offering a knowing look. “And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always around. No need to fight your battles alone.”

From that moment on, you felt the weight of their protectiveness more than ever. It wasn’t just about them looking out for a rookie; it was about them making sure you knew that no matter what happened, you weren’t alone on the grid.

The bond between you and Franco deepened as the weeks went on. In between races, the two of you shared quiet conversations in the back of the garage, or while waiting for your cars to be prepped. You spoke about everything—racing, family, the weird quirks of the Formula 1 lifestyle, and even the things you’d been avoiding thinking about. Franco’s steady support and dry humor became something you could rely on, and the way he listened without judgment made him one of the few you truly felt comfortable with.

In a world that often felt like a competition to survive, you finally understood: you had people here, and they weren’t just teammates or rivals—they were your family.

And Franco, despite being new to the grid himself, was starting to feel more like a brother than just a teammate.

[cutielando]

Can we have a Lando x reader who's a little chubby?

chubby | l.n.

warnings!!: reader is described as being chubby, self-consciousness

my masterlist

You hadn’t always had doubts regarding the way you looked.

Seeing so many models around you at every step, feeling the eyes burning into the back of your neck and scrutinizing you for simply the way you looked. But you never cared about any of that.

You weren’t ugly, far from it. You were as beautiful as they come, but slightly a little chubby. You had some meat on your thighs and you weren’t afraid to show it off or feel confident in your body.

Well, that was before.

Ever since you started dating Lando, everything changed.

The amount of eyes that were on you before was nothing compared to the moment when you were introduced to the world as Lando’s girlfriend.

You had decided to keep your relationship a secret for the first couple of months, just until you tested out the waters and figured out what would come of the whole thing. You had tried to limit your expectations from the very beginning, knowing that Lando could leave you for anyone and nobody would ever know.

But it didn’t happen, and you were sure that what you had was real after months and months of expecting the worst.

After many talks, both you and Lando decided that it would be best for you to attend the Silverstone Grand Prix as your first official race as his girlfriend. It was his home Grand Prix, at the end of the way, he wanted you there with his family, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Are you sure you want me to come? I can stay back, I don’t mind” you said as you were waiting for Lando to finish getting ready so you could all leave for the track.

He looked at you, blankly staring at you. You’d had the same conversation 10 times since you guys woke up, and he didn’t know how to stress it well enough that he wanted you there with him.

“Baby, I don’t know how else to say this. I want you there with me, my family wants you there as well. Why are you so nervous?” he was holding your arms, softly running his finger up and down your soft skin.

You had the answer, but you didn’t want to give it to him. You already knew what he was going to say and how he was going to react, but you couldn’t lie to him when he looked at you with those eyes of his that stared deep into your soul.

“I know what people are going to say when they see you with me” you mumbled, staring down at your shoes.

Lando frowned, not understanding what his fans had to do with anything. Why would you care about what his fans would say? He didn’t, why would you?

“What do you mean?” he asked, bringing you closer to his body.

You sighed against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist loosely.

“People are going to say things when they see you with me” your voice was small, unsure of your own words.

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed, confused as to what you meant. But he didn’t say anything when you sighed, letting you get everything off of your chest.

“I don’t look like the girls you are usually seen with, and people noticed that. They always have something to say about the way I look next to you and that I’m not like your exes and that you don’t really like me and are using me for clout. I know it’s not true, but sometimes they get to me” you confessed, a weight slowly lifting off of your conscience.

You weren’t used to being in the public eye as much as Lando, so you’d never before had to deal with people commenting about your appearance and judging every single thing you did or said.

It was something you took a while getting used to, but it was worth it if it meant being with Lando. And Lando was very grateful for all the sacrifices you had made for him.

“Baby, look at me” he said, taking your face in his hands so you would look him in the eyes. “I don’t care what anybody has to say about you. I love you for who you are, just the way you are. You’re gorgeous in my eyes and nobody could ever convince me otherwise” he said, speaking slowly so you could absorb his words carefully.

You looked at him, biting your lip as you studied his face and especially his eyes. They were sincere, holding more honesty and love than you thought you could ever comprehend.

“You mean that?” you whispered, feeling hot tears building into the corners of your eyes.

Lando smiled and leaned down, kissing you deeply. “I love you, and I don’t care what anyone has to say about us. We’re happy, nobody else matters”

You bit your lip again but nodded, prompting a big smile to break out on Lando’s face.

“Then let’s rock Silverstone”

♡♡♡♡♡

The paddock was buzzing when you arrived with Lando and his family. Dozens of fans were screaming your boyfriend’s name, and even though he smiled and waved at them while keeping his distance, you could tell his smile was not 100% honest.

You tried not to look at his fans if you could help it, knowing you would be met with some looks you’d be better off not seeing. Lando saw that, and he only wrapped his arm around your shoulders to keep you even closer as you made your way together to the garage.

“How are you feeling?” Lando asked once you were in the safety of his driver’s room, away from the screaming fans and photographers.

You smiled, your heart warming at the fact that his most pressing concern, even on the toughest race weekends, was you.

“I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me” you reassured him, smiling lightly.

He looked at you for a moment, studying your face and eyes intently. He didn’t like knowing that his fans were not supportive of his relationship and of you in particular, he thought it was absolutely ridiculous.

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable being here” he said, sighing before pulling you into a hug.

“I’ve known from the beginning that being in the public eye wouldn’t always be sunshine and roses. This is just an example of that, we can’t control it. People are allowed to have opinions, I just have to learn how to deal with them” you said, enjoying the warmth emanating from his body.

Lando nodded, but still felt like he should make it clear how wrong everybody else was about you.

He pulled away from the hug, only to take your face in his hands. “I want you to know that, no matter what anyone might say, I love you just the way you are. I don’t care if you’re skinny, if you’re a little chubby, if you have short or long hair, I care about you in any form. I love you for who you are, not for the way you look” he said, making tears well up in the corners of your eyes.

You had always known Lando loved you, but this right there proved it to you 1000 times over.

Not being able to resist, you practically threw yourself against his body, kissing him so fiercely you both became lightheaded. Pouring every ounce of love you felt for one another into a kiss, sealing a promise that you would always be there to lift each other up, no matter what.

Why?

Because nothing else mattered besides you two.

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[ginkgo-phyta]

heyy do you write for hotch? If yes can I request a fic with hotch falling asleep on reader's shoulder on the jet. like there are so many fics with reader sleeping on his shoulder and he's all soft about it and lets her. how would the bau react to see their tough boss just cuddle up with his girlfriend after a long case (it can be established relationship or before that too). thanku!

A/N: im screaming HAHA i LOVE THIS! i made this an established relationship hehe i hope you enjoy, my love! 

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

fluff, BAU!reader, gender-neutral reader, mention of cannon type violence/hostage situation/nothing explicit or detailed, 1.8k words

“Hey, you okay?” Your tired eyes peered up at Aaron as he neared your seat on the jet, tie loosened and top button of his shirt undone. He had just gotten off the phone with the section chief, who, undoubtedly, scolded him as if he were a wayward adolescent. Although the smile he offered you in response was tight lipped and less-than-giving, his eyes told a different tale. They softened as they met yours, shedding their cold and hard façade to reveal a weary truth, littered with hints of desperation. 

This case had been long and grueling, tensions insurmountably higher than usual with Erin Strauss breathing down Hotch’s neck, scrutinizing every decision he and the rest of the team made. You barely got a chance to talk to Aaron about how he was doing, always being waved off by the older man with “We can talk later,” or “It doesn’t matter right now, let’s focus on the case,”. Begrudgingly, you obliged, understanding there was no point in pushing him. It would only add to his stress. Although the case was solved, the end was arduous. The unsub had taken a hostage and, with the rest of the BAU’s input, the negotiation tactics went a different way than what Erin deemed appropriate. 

A heavy sigh parted Aaron’s lips as he slumped into his seat, you could practically see steam of stress billowing off of him. “It’s fine, everything’s fine.” He spoke quietly, eyes closed, but you could tell he didn’t believe it to be true. 

“Strauss tear you a new one?” Rossi piqued from across the table. 

The unit chief huffed out a short laugh. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Rossi just nodded at this, turning his attention back to his notepad. Hotch looked to the rest of his team as they settled into their desired spots, “Let’s all get some rest, alright?” 

Everyone wordlessly nodded, not having to be told twice. 

Aaron lazily turned his head to you with a book in your lap, “You, too, Agent.” He gave you a playfully pointed look.

You breathed out a quiet chuckle, “I will, don’t worry.” You shut the book and turned to give your beloved undivided attention, gazing into his suddenly undecipherable, deep hickory eyes. “You wanna talk about it?” 

He gently shook his head, eyelids feeling heavy as his blinks became slower and slower, “At home,” he whispered, your stomach doing a somersault at the notion. Aaron tried to fight sleep for just a few seconds longer, wanting to just stare at you for a bit.

You faced him, head leaned against the headrest, smile so warm and endearing. The way you chuckled at him was like getting a glimpse of heaven. He couldn’t wait to go home and have you all to yourself. The feeling of your arms wrapped around him was his life raft in the tumultuous storm of his emotions. It was hard for him to express what he was feeling all the time, but with you around his walls of reinforced concrete tumbled. Aaron gave you a small, sleepy smile.

Before he could say anything else, you spoke up. “Sleep,” it was a simple command, and the usually stubborn man melted into his seat at your word. 

You took a couple minutes longer to watch him immediately fall into a deep slumber, his breaths becoming deeper and longer, lips parted ever-so-slightly, eyebrows twitching here and there. With a breathy laugh, you fought the urge to reach up and caress his face and move the little stray strands of hair off of his forehead, still aware that your coworkers could witness such an intimate moment. The two of you had begun dating five months ago, but it wasn’t until three months later that you broke the news to the team. 

It had been a long time coming; for quite a while everyone knew about the feelings you harbored for your boss- even Hotch himself knew. You didn’t do a very good job of hiding it, taking every opportunity you could to blithely flirt with him. Some might just assume you did so in a similar way to how Penelope and Derek toy with each other, but the profilers knew in the back of their minds it wasn’t the case. Aaron fought you at first, pleading with you to stop calling him “handsome”, “big man”, or even “honey” in one case. You never gave in, though, buckling down on your efforts upon seeing the way he would chuckle caught off guard and almost blush in many instances. Slowly yet surely, he gave in to your teases. You burrowed your way into the stoic man’s heart, creating a place you would die before giving up. Aaron didn’t even realize it was happening until his world came crashing down on him one fateful evening. 

A routine questioning of a suspect had led to you getting held hostage, the man whose house you went to turning out to be the unsub. This had happened many times before in the history of the BAU, but for some reason Aaron was more on edge. There was no covert entrance into the home and the unsub refused to open up a line of communication with the agents, leaving everyone in the dark wondering what the state of your wellbeing was. Aaron had begun pacing back and forth in the tent they had set up outside the house you were being held in, hands held to his head. 

“Hotch, it’s going to be okay.” Derek stepped forward, trying to calm his superior’s nerves. 

“He’s right, Aaron.” Rossi piped in. “We’ve dealt with this before, we can fix this.”   

“No,” Hotch murmured back, “This isn’t the same. It’s not the same.” His pacing didn’t let up. “This is my fault, I should have told someone to go, too. I could have prevented this.”

The others held unspoken conversations within the glances they shared. 

“Hotch-” Emily tried to speak up, to convince him that wasn’t the case.

“NO!” He yelled suddenly, stopping in his tracks. “You don’t understand, I can’t lose them!” His voice was heavy with despair, eyes wide in anguish.

All eyes were trained on him, his coworkers at loss for words at the confession. 

“I can’t lose them…” Aaron mumbled this himself before roughly pushing out of the tent.

You smiled to yourself as you took a last glance towards the sleeping man next to you before turning back to your book. Safe to say, you were incredibly shocked when Aaron showed up on your doorstep in the dark of the night all those months ago, soaked in the rain, kissing you with a sense of urgency before you could even ask him what he was doing there. You bit your lip at the memory, but shook it out of your head to try and focus in on the jumbled words swimming in your lap. From the get-go, the two of you decided you would remain extremely professional around your coworkers, and you did just that. You stopped your teasing, for the most part at least, and made sure to never initiate physical contact on the job. Anyone that didn’t already know you were in a relationship would never have guessed. The most you allowed yourselves was sitting next to one another on the jet, just like you were doing now. 

An unintelligible murmur and huff sounding from your side drew your short-lived attention away from the delicate pages in front of you. Just as you were about to look over to Aaron and make sure he was okay, a heavy weight thumped onto your shoulder. His head. You were taken aback, a giggle slipping through your lips before you could help it. Your fingers flew up to your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet as you noticed him shift a bit, making himself more comfortable. Sure, you’d accidentally fallen against Hotch’s shoulder in your sleep a couple times before the two of you entered a relationship, but never in a million years did you expect him to do the same to you. On the jet. In front of everyone. Of course, he couldn’t control his actions in his sleep, you reasoned. And maybe you should gently shrug him off to help retain his authority around the teasing profilers. But, this time, you fought off that thinking and gave in to your instinct. He had been so tense and strung out this entire case, you knew he needed this.

To hell with professionalism. You thought with a devilish grin, happy in your resolution. And so, you gently closed your book and slid it onto the table in front of you, trying your best to move as little as possible before leaning your head against his own and closing your eyes. With the gentle hum of the jet engines and the comforting sounds of Aaron’s breathing, you were lulled into a wonderful slumber in no time.

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed out, garnering the attention of Spencer who rested in the same group of seats as her. He looked up at her with one eye from where he was slumped over in his window seat, trying to get some shut-eye. 

“Huh?” the sleepy doctor grumbled, pushing himself a bit more upright when he noticed Emily looking at something on the other side of the jet, her face a mixture of shock and glee. 

The raven-haired agent began slapping Derek’s shoulder, who sat peacefully next to her with his eyes closed and headphones over his ears. His eyes flew open, looking over to Emily with annoyance as he took off his headphones, “What! What!”    

Immediately Emily shushed him, “Look!” she whispered, hand flying wildly in the air, eyes still unmoving. 

Derek followed her line of sight the scene before him pulling a laugh of disbelief from his lungs. “Well, well, well…” 

Emily’s hands covered her mouth in astonishment. “JJ!” she whispered over to the blonde who lay curled up on the sofa next to them. “Ugh,” she groaned quietly, unable to wake her coworker. 

“I can’t believe this,” she whispered mostly to herself, settling back in her seat, garnering a shake of Morgan’s head.

The view of their hard-headed unit chief sleeping peacefully on the shoulder of his subordinate, the latter’s head resting sweetly back on his was suddenly blacked by the side of Rossi’s body as he stuck his arm out, trying to get the best angle to immortalize this moment on camera.

“Good for them,” Morgan grinned, his voice proudly announcing his amusement as he put his headphones back over his head.

“Rossi, you better send me that!” Emily spoke up just a little bit louder, the old man looking back and motioning his phone towards her in acknowledgement.

“What? What!?” Spencer whisper-yelled, unsuccessfully craning his head above and between the seats to get a glimpse of what all the hubbub was about, “What are you guys looking at!?”    

“Penelope’s gonna flip,” Emily mumbled to herself, a teasing smile playing on her face as she looked down at the picture Rossi sent her. Without a second thought, she saved the photo onto her phone. They’re never gonna live this down.     

A/N: i hope you liked this!! i had a fun time writing it ehehe hotch is such a dilf, like an ACTUAL dilf im not even attracted to fathers but hotch?? all day, every day, baby!

[detectiveluke7]

Hot take, it is just as parasocial to hate or freak out over every single cc because they “took too long” to respond or speak about everything going on with Shelby and Will as it is to hero worship them. I want to touch on some things, as there are people on here conveniently forgetting empathy as soon as it no longer fits a situation they feel strongly about.

Let’s start with the fact that many of the creators involved did not chose to speak on matters until they felt "safe" to do so, as I've seen some users on here saying. Yes, it's true. Many of them didn't publicly show support for Shelby or condemn Will until he made his own statement. Supposedly, many of them also knew about his behavior weeks/months. But let's look at the facts.

Firstly, these content creators are going to go about their public images very carefully. It's their job after all, and they are hyper aware that anything they say and do is going to get scrutinized to no end. Of course they're prioritizing self preservation. I think shaming any of them for that is the same as shaming a customer service worker for being polite to a rude customer. For the ccs, it's always going to be a doomed if they do speak up, doomed if they don't. It doesn't hurt to note that it's very smart for these people to think before they speak. The last guy who didn't think before yapping had people spreading around that he was a child groomer for a year.

Secondly, hindsight is a bitch. We all like to think we know better, but guess how people become victims of abuse in the first place? When someone is generally liked by other people, and all of your friends seem to get along fine with him, you might overlook any strange or off behavior that makes you uncomfortable. Especially if you see this person once in a blue moon, it could feel wrong to make a big deal out of something that might just be a you problem.

We also have no idea what could be going on behind the scenes. Who reached out to Shelby privately to show their support, who had a pr team telling them to wait before doing anything, who thought it was best for themselves to wait so they don't act purely on emotion, who had other pressing matters that they needed to attend to regarding their personal lives, etc etc. It's so easy to forget that the guy in our screen is a person, and that they too do other things that we don't see.

I don't think anyone is a bad person for no longer wanting to watch and support these creators. People can do what they want with their own time, which is a nice little perk we got when we have autonomy. Guess what though? No one is wrong for still wanting to support and watch those content creators either, as they aren't guilty of shit.

At the end of the day, it's pretty counterproductive to be creating more problems out of something that was supposed to be about warning everyone of a gross man, and any other signs of abuse to look out for in our own lives. Instead of making this situation a "keep the ccs accountable" party, lets make this a "support Shelby and other victims," affair. And yes, let's keep denouncing Will, the actual abuser.

[lucettapanchetta]

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment [ After putting some thought into it, it isn't surprising that Moon took the route she chose. ]

[ What makes you say that? ]

[ Imagine your closest friends were cursed to constantly search for a solution to an almost problem... ]

[ ...and then imagine being given some information that could potentially be used to "find" the solution. ]

[ You don't have to remind me of my mistakes. Sometimes, it's already hard enough to realize your perception of a friend was far off from what you had hoped. ]

[ Sorry, I didn't mean to scrutinize you. ]

[ ... ]

[ You know, when Sliver of Straw fired off the Triple Affirmative, it must have had a heavy impact on Moon's sense of self.]

[ I know, I wouldn't be surprised if it made her develop a martyr complex. She's always been known for wanting to help others, even to her own detriment. ]

[ Maybe she thought that pushing herself to the limit was the best way to solve the Great Problem. But we all know that was wrong. ]

[ Feels hard to believe that Moon did what she did... ]

[ Honestly, I feel like if I were desperate enough, I would have done the same. Especially with everything before that. ]

[ At least you would've been doing harm to only yourself. Unfortunately, it's a different story when you are dangerously close to your neighbor. ]

[ Besides, no matter how much you rationalize it, what she did was extremely idiotic. ]

[yallthemwitches]

Inconspicuous and Warm

A little fluffy first date for @jilytoberfest Day 5, prompt “Get the car packed, throw me the keys. Run away with me.” 

We love when James is a cute sappy idiot~ AO3 link here!

Wear something inconspicuous and warm.

-J

Marlene looked at the note, turning it around as though new words would appear from a different angle. 

“Any thoughts?”

“Yeah, you’re going on a date with a nutter.”

Lily sat on her bed. She had been in a state of dressing and undressing for the past half hour, nearly trying on everything in her trunk that would be remotely considered either of the two adjectives written on the piece of paper. 

Lily threw another jumper into the heap of clothes on the floor. “It’s like he is trying to mess with me or something–”

“And what? Sabotage his own date? I mean, you have seen him since you said yes right? The bloke practically has heaven’s light bursting out of his ears he's so chuffed.”

Lily moved to the ground looking at all of her discarded clothing, feeling defeated. It felt so good to say yes to him, to watch his face completely twist into joy from the word, she couldn’t turn back now. 

She dug her hand through the pile and pulled out a muggle dress she usually only saved for holidays at home. Pulling it over her head, she lifted her arms to Marlene in an indulgent shrug. 

“I think it’s as inconspicuous and warm as it’s going to get.”

Merlene nodded.“He’s going to piss himself when he sees you in that.”

******

Marlene wasn’t too far off. As she approached him in front of the great hall, his eyes turned wide and glassy, like he was set in front of a moving piece of art.

“You look incredible–”

“Thanks. You look—like a muggle.”

It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary to see James in a muggle shirt, but today he was in full regalia, complete with brown suede jacket that Lily knew was currently the rage in muggle circles. 

“Remus helped me—though he didn’t love being my personal shopper.”

His eyes shifted from one side to the other, a hand twitched up to his hair and curled through the front strands before contracting in realization and falling back down to his side.

“You look good too–I’ll make sure to thank Remus for his efforts.”

“Yeah?” 

His eyes twinkled up at her, lips twisting into a grin. Lily felt her face flush again. He really did look good–so good in fact that she wondered if they could just call off the outing portion all together and cozy up near the common room fire….

“C’mon Potter,” she said, abandoning her own thought before getting too caught up, “time to go be inconspicuous and warm somewhere.”

James barked out a laugh but was clipped short by the sight of Lily’s outstretched hand. He carefully reached out and threaded their fingers together, a paragon of happiness. 

“Wow—I’ve always wanted to do this.” He kept looking down at their interlaced hands which hovered between them. 

Lily snorted, pulling him along into the crowds of students bustling towards Hogsmeade. His hand felt warm in hers, calloused but strong. He gave her a quick squeeze, almost like he was reminding himself that she was real flesh and blood beside him. With any other bloke it would have been annoying, but that was the unnerving part about him, he made everything bearable. 

“Woah, Evans, where do you think you’re going?”

James tugged her hand back as she continued to walk where the main doors and the stone path to Hogsmeade village began. Lily stopped, watching the throngs of students weave past them like an endless stream. 

“Uh, Hogsmeade? You know, the place you have asked me to go on a date with you since fifth year?”

“C’mon Evans, that’s not original!”

She gave him a scrutinizing glance. He was being serious. Maybe they were just going to bum around the castle—

James pulled her towards the diverging path towards the main gates. It was rare to ever go back to the main entrance unless leaving for school holidays. The path empty, Lily walked at a reluctant pace while James ushered her onwards, face growing ruddy by the cold wind coming off the lake. 

“James, if this involves any sort of rule breaking–”

“Indulge me.”

She snorted. “Something tells me this isn’t going to be the last time I hear you say that.”

James cocked his head to the side, flashing a cheeky grin. “Are you implying that there will be more dates after this one?”

“Depends on what kind of rule breaking we are doing,” she quipped.

“The kind you will like–I hope.”

They crossed past the lake and into the small wooded area that lined the barrier of the main gate. As the stone structure approached, James fished into his pockets, pulling out a hefty set of keys that seemed too bulky to be easily hidden in his jacket.

“Don’t be angry–I nicked them from Filch, but I promise to give them back.”

He looked sheepish as Lily gave him a warning glare. 

“Please, Lily–”

“Go on with it then, we are already here.”

He dropped her hand to search through the keys. With his hand gone, the cold rushed into her palm and she missed the comfort it brought to have a part of him against her. She realized that it had been keeping her stable, staving off the nerves that now rushed back into her stomach.

The gate clicked open. James tucked the keys back into his jacket, then reached back for her hand. Warmth spread into her at the reconnection.

Now officially off Hogwarts grounds, James stalled in front of the gate and air of nervousness shrouded him again. 

“Right–so. Before we get on with it I wanted to tell you something–”

She could feel his hand quivering in hers and she instinctively reached out her other arm to grasp onto his shoulder. 

“I…really like you Evans.”

She couldn’t help but laugh from the ridiculousness of it all.

 “Potter, you didn’t need to break us off of school grounds to tell me that.” His expression didn’t waver.

 “Evans—indulge me.”

“There’s that word again–” Lily teased and James flushed, pouting. 

“Ok, sorry, go on—you like me.”

“I like you,” he repeated, “So much. I want to know everything about you.” The wind ruffled some of her hair into her face and James used his free hand to brush it away, thumb lingering against her cheek.

“We’ve spent seven years in this bloody castle together and I still feel like I’m picking up bread crumbs of who you are, but every piece is brilliant.”

Lily felt herself going absolutely red. He was locked in, his gaze unwavering on hers despite the nervousness that jumped in his eyes. 

“There’s a whole part of you I don’t even know—but I want to. So, I thought–”

“Please don’t tell me you are proposing to me Potter.”

She was only half kidding. His gaze had been so intense, sincere. But instead of becoming bashful, he took it in stride, squeezing her hand.

“Don’t worry, that comes later,” a grin cut through the nervousness before he continued.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. And it will mean a lot to do it with you.”

She felt his arm wrap around to the small of her back and he pulled her in tightly to his chest. He smelled like spice and woods, like an autumn day that echoed in some far off memory. Despite the nerves, the awkwardness of a first date, the compliance to rule breaking, she would have been perfectly happy if they stayed right there, swaying in the cold air, suspended from the rest of the world. 

“You ready?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. The forest shifted around them, blurring into just refracted beams of color. She closed her eyes to not feel sick, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. 

Noise. Lots of noise. Muggle noise. She took a deep breath, blinked open her eyes. A car rushed past, halting quickly as the light at the end of the block turned red. Men and women in muggle clothes rushed past them, perfectly oblivious to the embracing couple who had appeared just moments ago. 

James let her go with the exception of her hand, fingers still threaded from when they first left to the grounds. 

“Woah.”

He said it on instinct, like seeing a great wonder of the world. His head darted in all angles, trying to take in everything at once. All the awe that James directed at Muggle London, Lily directed at him. She had known she was a witch for seven years. Lived among friends who knew she was a muggleborn and came back to the muggle world every time she stepped out of school grounds. None of them, none of them, had ever once asked what life was like outside of those walls. Not until now. 

“Will you show it to me?” She hadn’t realized he had turned back to her. She could feel tears bubbling in her eyes, but blinked them away.   

“Yeah–definitely.”

He smiled, relieved. An excitement buzzed through him. It was infectious, like everything about him.

She pulled him down a side street, falling in step with crowds of muggles continuing their daily lives, hand warm in his. No longer distinguishable from the rest.

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 1

Here we go! I have it planned that I will be updating this story on Fridays, so yay! I have 10 parts set out as of now, but we'll see where this story takes me.

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Friends with Benefits, ANGST, unrequited feelings, lots more to come!

Word Count: 1,200

Prologue

You were right to doubt Natasha's words.

Waking up next to Bucky just gets harder and harder as time goes on. Listening to his soft murmurs and heavy sighs, the feel of his bare skin against yours. Every time you find yourself between his sheets, you resent him a little. But it’s not his fault, it’s yours. Every time.

Because you know that if you ever take that one crucial step towards him, you’ll lose him. Lose this closeness, this connection.

So you don’t take that step. You haven’t opened up and told him how you feel for months now. And it drives a knife into your heart with every second that passes where you don’t confess.

Every time you sneak away from parties to some hidden room for a quick fuck, or when he’s pounding into you under a street light on some deserted road with your leg hiked over his motorcycle at 3 am, you can’t help but imagine that all this passion has to mean something to him. Like it means something to you.

So you test it.

You invite him on adventures between missions, visiting museums and parks and 24/7 diners that you know are perfect date spots. He always readily agrees to hang out and stays with you the whole time, his arm slung over your shoulders while he laughs in your ear.

Spending time with Bucky like this leaves you effervescent. You always leave his arms smiling like a fool – because that’s what you are.

Because these movie tickets are just an excuse, really. 

Bucky’s been so busy these last couple of weeks that you’ve hardly seen him, let alone spent any "quality" time with him. You’re currently on your longest dry spell you’ve ever had with him, and the lack of contact leaves you delusional.

Delusional enough to do something stupid. 

Delusional enough to tell Bucky how you feel.

The air is cold as you and Bucky stroll from the movie theater, your heart buzzing in your chest as you contemplate how best to approach the topic. Bucky gives you the perfect opportunity with his next sentence.

“Damn, dollface, forgot how much fun it was to hang out with you. Feels like it’s been ages.”

“We could always hang out more,” you respond coyly, taking his hand and curling yourself against his side. You don’t think you can look him in the eyes while you confess to him.

“Yeah, we should,” Bucky says, and you can’t hold back your next words.

“We could go on a real date sometime.”

You feel a nearly imperceptible jolt in Bucky’s muscles, and his voice is slightly bemused when he replies. “What?” 

There’s confusion behind the words, but you hope against hope that it’s because he’s thinking your suggestion through.

“Well, I mean, we’ve already kind of been going on dates and doing other things that couples do? It wouldn’t be so hard to just make it more concrete, you know?” Your words squeeze around the lump in your throat, your insides shivering in desperation.

Bucky stops in his tracks and pulls you off to the side of the street out of other people’s way. He turns you to face him, his palms resting on your shoulders, his blue eyes searching your face for any sign of the joke you must surely be playing. Because you’ve talked about this. He was very clear. And you had agreed all those months ago – agreed that it was just sex. Agreed that neither of you had any romantic feelings for the other.

“Uh, doll? What are you…?”

Your cheeks burn and your fingers tingle. Your heart can’t handle being scrutinized so intensely at this moment. You avert your eyes to where you’re scuffing your shoe back and forth, back and forth, across the pavement.

“I’m saying… I–I like you, Bucky.” Heart in youth throat, you finally look back into his eyes when you say his name. 

But his expression as he looks back at you isn’t the one you were wanting to see. Bucky looks panicked. Like you’ve just told him that you’re holding a bomb that’s set to detonate in seconds. 

“Jesus,” Bucky says your name in exasperation as he removes his hands from your arms and runs them through his long hair, “why would you–”

Fuck. 

You quickly back-pedal, trying to keep the panic out of your voice while scrambling to pick your bleeding heart off the dirty sidewalk.

“No, no, no. Wait, Bucky. Listen. I know we’ve talked about this before and you said you weren’t looking for anything serious.” Your hands are flying all over the place as you try and explain away your feelings. “But we’ve been hanging out a lot and maybe I just got the wrong idea–”

“Yeah. You did,” Bucky interjects, sending a dagger into the mess of an organ clutched desperately between your hands. “It’s flattering and all, but… you know I’m not interested in you like that.”

You’re successfully holding back tears against the burning in your eyes, but the need to release all the pain you’re feeling is overwhelming. You wrap one arm protectively around yourself and grab on to your other bicep, squeezing hard to feel the physical hurt instead of the emotional.

“No, yeah, you’re right. I’m – I just thought I should be honest? But, seriously, don’t even worry about it.” You hold your hands up in a placating gesture and give as convincing a smile as possible. “This won’t change anything, I promise. And besides, I’ll get over it soon enough!”

Bucky gives you a skeptical look, but nods his head slowly. “So… we’re taking sex off the table, obviously.”

You give a breathy laugh and try to roll your eyes playfully. “Probably not the best idea at the moment,” you respond.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, “probably not.”

You both stand in awkward silence, not really looking at each other. You can only stand it for so long until you casually throw a thumb over your shoulder and suggest heading back home.

It’s a long, long ride back on his motorcycle. But at least the wind lashing your face gives you an excuse for the tears that fall.

***

You make it to your floor without seeing another person, but your luck runs out when you find Nat and Wanda watching a movie together in your bed. The sight of your two best friends smiling warmly at your entrance shatters the last of your strength.

You can’t stop the hiccuping sob that leaves your throat – it refuses to be held back any longer. Both women’s eyes widen and they immediately start to sit up, but you’ve collapsed on top of the covers between them before they could move. You can feel Wanda’s fingers in your hair and Nat’s hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulders.

Your sobs eventually turn into sniffles, and that’s when Wanda speaks.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

You take a shuddering breath in before saying, “I was stupid.”

“What–” Wanda begins, but Natasha immediately knows what you mean.

“Fuck.” She sighs heavily and leans down to place a kiss on the crown of your head.

Part 2

[ellethespaceunicorn]

I hope you are having a woooooonderful Friday!! 🥰

I was the anon requesting the Lloyd fic with him accidentally discovering that his assistant is hot lol and I LOVED IT. I can see she won't make it easy for him!

I wanted to know what you would think of Lloyd running into one of those toxic red pill/alpha male types after they corner his girl (or who he claims as his girl 😏 that's up to you) being gross to her.

Those types just make me so mad, I think Lloyd would teach them a good lesson and put them in their place 😈

TYSM for your time and the lovely words you give us! 💜

OMG my sweet Lloyd nonnie, this took me two months to post but literally only like three days to write. I'm a whole mess, but I really like this story and I hope you do too!!!!

Title: A Duke and His Duchess

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Lloyd Hansen x Chubby!Black!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2K

Summary: The night takes a dark turn when you are harassed at the club, but Lloyd comes to your rescue.

Warnings: Lloyd is a warning all on his own: possessive!Lloyd, soft!dark!Lloyd, lovey-dovey!Lloyd. Toxic “alpha male” behavior, Lloyd’s butterfly knife making an appearance, physical violence (some involving Reader), vaginal fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids.

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

The look that crosses his face says everything before his mouth can do so. He groans in the back of his throat, walking over to where you stand in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your outfit. He winks at you in the reflection and kisses where your neck meets your shoulder. His hands slide over your ample hips and grab a handful of your plump rump.

“Don’t you get started. You promised me that we were going out tonight,” you say, turning around and putting your manicured hands on his pecs.

“That’s not fair, Duchess. You put on this outfit, and my blood flow goes straight to my cock,” he sighs, pulling you closer so you can feel his heavy erection pressing against your mound.

Sliding your hands down his chest, you palm his length, and he hisses in response. “Is this all for me, Duke?” You squeeze him, and he closes his eyes, leaning his head back.

“Who the fuck else would it be for? I mean, look at you,” he implores, letting his eyes wander over your clothing. 

He was always a fan of this outfit because it hugs all your curves. The halter top accents your full breasts with a healthy amount of cleavage. The high-waisted fitted skirt shows off your wide hips and thick thighs and stops under your knee. A pair of stilettos with a little buckle that Lloyd bends down to secure completes the ensemble.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks and praise the melanin gods that blessed you with the ability to hide your blushing. Lloyd finishes buckling your heel, then rises to his full height. Holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger, he lays a sweet kiss upon your lips before nuzzling his nose with yours. 

“After you, Duchess,” he croons, stepping out of the way and letting you walk ahead of him. You already know that he just wants to watch your hips sway while you walk in front of him, but damn if you don’t love how much he covets your body. And if you put a little extra oomph in your step, he wasn’t mad about it.

Lloyd stops the car at the curb and exits the car, tossing the keys to the valet. Walking around to the passenger side, he shoos away the other attendant trying to assist you in exiting the vehicle. 

Nobody touches you when Lloyd is around.

He takes your hand, and you step onto the sidewalk, taking in the view of the line to get into the club. Lloyd pulls you along with him as he bypasses the line and walks up to the bouncer. They exchange a few words, and the very large, and probably armed, man at the door unlatches the velvet rope and ushers you in.

The lights in the place are spinning in dizzying patterns with blues, purples, and pinks. The music is both heard and felt as it thumpingly exits the speakers. Lloyd waves down a girl and she comes running. You’re a bit confused as he whispers something in her ear. Before you can ask him about it, you’re pulled in the direction of one of the tables on the upper level that overlooks the dancefloor.

In true Lloyd fashion, he gets the best table, and there is already champagne on ice waiting for you when you sit down. He pops the bottle and pours you both a healthy amount of the bubbly golden liquid. He toasts to you, as always. You clink your glasses and empty your drink in one go. Lloyd is there to refill your glass, watching and smiling as you dance a little in your seat as the DJ rolls from one song to the next. 

The opening notes of Cobra hit your ears, and you can’t stop yourself from singing along with Megan Thee Stallion.

🎶

Long as everybody gettin' paid, right?

Everything'll be okay, right?

I'm winnin', so nobody trippin'

Bet if I ever fall off, everybody go missin'

🎶

You don’t remember closing your eyes in the middle of singing and enjoying the song. When you open them, Lloyd is sitting next to you, and he has that look on his face. The look that expressly means that he wants to watch you dance, and more specifically, he wants to watch you shake that thang. 

You don’t keep him waiting for long. Standing up, you set your glass down on the table in front of you. Moving over to stand in front of Lloyd, you let the music move through your body as you start to give him a little show.

You sway your hips, bending forward to lean on the table. With your ass in the air, you twerk for your man, and he is in heaven. When you make it clap, you feel his hands on your ass. 

He doesn’t want to stop you; he just wants to feel ‘the motion of the ocean’ as you dance just for him. You look over your shoulder at him, and he is definitely in his happy place. His tongue snakes out to wet his lips, his eyes laser-focused on your derriere until you giggle. Blue eyes meet yours, and his mouth upturns; that devilish little smirk silently tells you he’s pleased.

He moves his hands to your hips and pulls you back to sit in his lap. Between your gyrations, you can feel how pleased he truly is. That is if the hardness in his pants is anything to go by. 

Song after song, you tease him with a lap dance. Making sure to grind into him this way and that, allowing him the opportunity for his hands to wander. As the music changes to something a little different, you notice that you and Lloyd have emptied the champagne. He offers to have another bottle brought over, but you wouldn’t mind walking up to the bar yourself.

He begrudgingly lets you raise from his lap. You saunter away, heading to the bar on the lower level. Ordering a margarita, you wait while the bartender makes a few drinks at the same time. 

You feel eyes on you and turn to see a man watching you from a distance. His hazel eyes catch yours, and you smile politely, then turn away. The bartender hands you the strawberry-flavored drink, and before you can pay him, a hand reaches over yours and beats you to it. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing paying for her drinks?” A deep baritone escapes his boringly pretty face, and you instantly feel something off about him.

“Can’t a woman just buy a drink without the third degree?” You pick up your drink and sip while looking him up and down.

“Please don’t act like you’re not impressed. Just calm down, baby,” he says.

“Don’t call me baby, first of all. Secondly, what do I have to be impressed about? The fact you can pay for a $12 drink? Good job. Not interested,” you lament, turning to walk away. A hand gripping your arm stops you.

“Look, we got off on the wrong foot. How about you recognize when a man is being nice to you? You must not be used to getting attention. Let me break it down for you: I buy you a drink; we enjoy a little time together. And if you’re lucky, I might even fuck you,” he negs, standing up straight so he towers over you.

“Let my arm go, creep!” You shout, failing to tug your arm out of his grasp.

The grip on your arm gets impossibly tighter as he leans in to speak, “Listen here, you fat bitch. Ain’t nobody here looking out for you. So, it would be best if you do as you’re told and be a good little slut.”

Your eyes shut tight out of fear, and suddenly the clench on your arm is gone. You open your eyes, and the man is still in front of you; his eyes are wide as a butterfly knife is held under his throat.

“Alright, man! Be cool! I wasn’t-”

“Oh, what? You weren’t doing anything? You weren’t treating my woman like some piece of meat, like what? Fucking toxic, red pill, alpha male wannabe. No, I bet you weren’t doing anything,” Lloyd seethes, pressing the knife a bit further into the man’s skin. “I think you owe her an apology before I cut your fucking head off, sweet pea.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I swear,” he cries, a tear escaping one eye and wetting his silk shirt.

Lloyd turns to you and sees you cradling your arm. His anger reaches a boiling point, and he moves the knife to his left hand before punching the man in the jaw and knocking him out. “Apology accepted, asshole,” he spits, stepping over him to get to you.

He carefully examines your arm while the other clubgoers start to gather. He turns back to the asshole, and you watch as his jaw clenches. You know he wants to cut this man up and feed him to the dogs, but you bring his attention back to you. 

“Duke!” You shout, and when his eyes meet yours, you pull him behind you to the exit. Once the valet brings the car around, Lloyd opens your door and closes it behind you softly. Walking around the front of the car, he runs a finger through his hair before entering the car and slamming the door shut.

He pulls away from the curb and starts down the busy street, mumbling to himself about how he wanted to kill that shithead for laying even a finger on you. At a red light, you notice his grip on the steering wheel is leaving his knuckles white. You reach a hand over to lay atop his, and he starts to calm down finally.

Then you get an idea.

You loosen his hand from the steering wheel and place it under your skirt between your thighs. Once his fingers meet your saturated folds, his shoulders relax. 

“You defended my honor tonight and slayed a beast for me. Now, either get us home fast or pull this car over so I can thank you properly,” you beg, already clenching around his digits.

You’ve never seen Lloyd drive faster than that night. You only make it to the driveway of your place before he adjusts his seat and pulls you over to sit in his lap with your skirt pulled up around your waist.

As soon as he is inside you, you get to riding, and you don’t let up until you’ve got him whimpering underneath you. You beg him to fill you, and he barely makes it through your plea before he’s emptying his balls inside your welcoming heat.

You lay kisses all over his face as he comes down from his high. As his softening length slips from you, you open the driver’s side door and exit as his spunk leaks out of you. You adjust your skirt and thank the heavens that the carport hides you for the most part. Lloyd stuffs himself back in his pants and follows after you. Locking the car with the fob, he steps ahead of you to unlock the front door.

“Well, I’d say our night out was eventful,” he jokes, and you are happy to hear that he’s not as upset as earlier.

“That’s one way to put it,” you laugh, kicking off your shoes and walking toward the bedroom. “Now, why don’t you come put me to bed properly, Duke?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice, Duchess,” he purrs, catching up to you in three long strides. He leans in to kiss your lips, reaching down to hold you close before turning you around to nibble at your neck.

You love this man with all of your heart. For all of his flaws, he always gets this part right. He treats you like royalty. But what else would you expect? He works hard, and he loves hard. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: I would love to know what you think!!! Feedback is appreciated!

**Tag List**

@deandoesthingstome @cakesandtom @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25

@kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @sweetandgentlecreature @foxyjwls007 @art2emily

@titty-teetee @motivation-idontknowher @buckysteveloki-me @magnificentsaladllama @gyusbrownie

@milknhonies @sultry-rachael @itsthestutterforme @nemesyaaa @ronearoundblindly

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

[qalijahbydior]

Mirrors — Tom Blyth x Actress!reader

a/n: happy birthday to the internet's boyfriend!! LOL HE'S 29 already I FEEL SO YOUNG 😔🤌 anyway i decided to write since i had to post something while my story is still being written. newayz enjoy reading!

warnings : none just pure fluff

Tom has been in love with you the moment he heard you speak, it might be not the softest tone or soothing but there's something that draws him into you. He finds you pretty, hilarious, oddly funny and you give off that 'sunshine energy' He feels giddy when talking to you and do you feel the same thing? You do. You just love it when he laughs to your stories and hype your jokes especially when he listens to you. You two have always been teasing each other and that's what makes your friendship go on.

"Tom, come here! Look what I've found!" You say as you carry the ginger kitten and pat it. He came running to you and was already planning to touch the cat but you pulled it away. "Let me guess, you want to adopt it right?" he said, crossing his arms and tilted his head to the side. "Of course I do but the owner of my apartment specifically said no pets." You frowned at the thought of it. You really wanted to adopt the cat even if you just met him. Tom looked at you, scrutinizing your reaction. He then took the cat and rubbed its throat.

"You adopt it but it goes home to me, how does that sound?" He looked at you and the cat lovingly, his words made your face lit up and squeal at excitement. Him volunteering for the cat to live in his house meant having you over so he thought it was a good idea. "What, really? Are you serious?" you say as your eyes fluttered. You didn't think that he'd also like to take care of the cat that you were holding. "Yeah besides I feel like my house can use a pet since I don't have one." He shrugged, still petting the cat. You clung to his arms and hugged it "Yay! I now have a cat!" you squealed again then he looked at you, smiling.

she's so cute i can adopt a lot of cats if her reaction will be like this everytime he thought to himself

"But, I will name him. That's the condition, alright?" his tone was teasing because he knows that you already have a name for the cat. And you gladly let him name the cat, you nodded. "Alright, you name him." and just by a snap of a finger he already has a name for the cat. "His name is Miku, cute right?" he turned to you then smiled.

if loving this cat means getting even closer to you then i will love him and cherish him because he'll always remind me of you he thought as he was looking at your face, like it was illuminating and he loved it.

As for you, you thought that he's so kind to even offer the cat that you were adopting a roof to live in. Tom has always been nice to you and everything you love, you do, and you liked he liked it all too. As if he's now mirroring you. Everything he does is now a reflection of you.

"Nice choice, it is cute." you thought the name was cute but it had a hidden meaning and he knows. Miku is a japanese name and it means 'beautiful sky' it's name matches the way he looks at you. You're the sunshine and now the cat is the beautiful sky.

"I'll put the cat on my dressing room." you gently tried to get the cat from him but he refuses. "Nuuh, I'll hold him for a while. I'm the Dad after all." he said, a smirk creeping on his face. You furrowed your eyebrows and scrunched your nose as a reaction. "Let me hold him, you get to take him home later." you still tried to get Miku for him but he doesn't budge.

"No, I'll hold him first so he can get used to me." he's still pulling the cat away from you and tou seem to figure out a good way to deal with this and it's by distracting him. "Wait, let's buy something for him real quick. There's a pet shop five blocks away from here. We'll be quick we just need to buy uhhh a collar, wet food for kittens and his very own plate." You smiled as you pat Miku.

You and Tom, both carrying the kitten in your arms, went to the pet shop five blocks from your set. You had come to buy everything the kitten needed, and despite some hesitation by the shopkeeper - who warned you this was a lot of responsibility - you were confident that you could do it. The kitten meowed softly as it was carried away from the safety of his littermates and the familiar surroundings of the pet shop, clearly a bit anxious and unsure of what was to come next.

You and Tom carry the kitten back to the set. The kitten is a bit fussy and wants to explore everything, but eventually settles down in Tom's arms. As the kitten falls asleep, you can't help but marvel at just how cute and adorable it is. You have to admit that the pet shop was right, cats are a lot of work. But it's so worth it when the kitten is snuggled up against your chest, purring softly. It makes all the work feel worth it. You took your phone then took a picture of you, Tom and Miku.

you two will make such good cat parents and you know it.

You're now sitting at Tom's couch, inside his house as you insisted that you come and feed Miku. This day went on so fast a while ago you're contemplating whether to get Miku or just leave him there but you now have him! Tom is also loving Miku as the cat always clings onto him and purrs on his touch. You asked him if you can stay at his house for a while before you go home and he agreed.

"You know what it's starting to look like you're Miku's owner and not me but either way, it seems like he really likes you." you crossed your legs and picked Miku up to put him on your lap and pet him. "We're his owner, babe. Chill. Besides I used to have a cat that's why he seemed to like me." his words warmed your heart and did he just call you babe...? The thought of the two of you owning a cat is so cute and it just fuels your feelings towards him even more.

"Thank you, really, Tom. I appreciate this so much. I love that you also love Miku." you smiled at him as he was setting up Miku's bed. "Anything for you, pretty girl." He looks at you with love in his eyes, and the butterflies on your stomach felt like they're going to explode. You felt blood rushing through your face, feeling flustered. You just bit your lower lip, stopping yourself from smiling and continued to pet Miku.

Tom has always been like this, he compliments you at the most unexpected moments and it just gets you all red and flustered. You love his compliments and he loves giving it to you. He likes seeing you smile, laugh and jolly because seeing you happy makes him happy too. Your enthusiasm is like a virus once he gets to you. And you also love making him happy, that man's happiness is just simple. You don't know how you make him happy but you just do anything anyway.

Your friendship with him has been a rollercoaster ride, it gets crazy the more that it lasts. You wanted to tell him how you feel towards him but It also scared you, the thought of losing your friendship just because of your feelings towards him scared you.

You always fought the urge to tell him how you felt, so instead of telling him you just express it. Physical touch, words of affirmation and acts of service has always been your love language. You liked being near him, you liked clinging onto him like he's going to disappear anytime.

He now sat down beside you and just looked at you as you were playing with Miku. "Y/N" he called and you turned to him, smiling. "Yeah?" his expression softened as he spoke once again. He looked like he was in deep thought before he spoke. "How come you're not dating anyone? I've never seen you go around and date someone?" he asked, he always thought of that but if ever that you really did it would hurt. Just the thought of you dating another guy that isn't him is already piercing his heart.

"I'm not interested. That's it, I'm not looking for anything because I've already got what I need. I can never ask for more." and that's how you really felt through out your friendship with him. You know that he probably doesn't think of your friendship like you two were tied to each other but it always felt that way.

"But do you like someone right now or I don't know, used to like someone?" he knows that this question might be a risk but he still asked it, desperate for an answer. Like his whole feelings depended on it. You didn't know how to answer the question because you were afraid that he might think that he's the one you're talking about. But you're going to make the most out of it

"Well, there's this friend of mine. He really makes me happy. What's for sure is I like him but I can never tell him what I feel. What if my growing feelings ruin our friendship? I enjoy what we have. I feel like I'm already tied to him but not in a bad way, you get me? This friend has been there for me since we met, and lately I've been feeling that I'm seeing myself through him. Not in a selfish way." you explained and that got him thinking of the things that he's done to you or with you these days, trying to connect the dots and see if it would make sense.

And now, it did make sense. He just now realized that he's mirroring you, too. You two are the reflections of each other

"Y/N, it's me isn't it?" he asked, wanting to confirm his thoughts. You looked down and nodded. He was so happy that It was him and you felt the same. He put Miku aside and held both of your hands, he made you face him. His ocean blue eyes looking at you.

"You know why I stuck with you the moment we met? There's like an invisible force pulling me towards you. Your smile, your laugh, your funny antics had got me. It's just so addicting that I found myself always crawling towards you. You're like a ray of sunshine that wherever you go you lighten up everything." he removed his other hand from your grip and caressed the side of your face, and you finding comfort in it. His words made your heart melt even more. You loved him the same as he's the reason why you laugh and smile.

"I never knew that you saw me like that. I now know why you always tease me and make me laugh. To be honest I feel the same, there's a missing part of me whenever you're away from me even just feets away. There's something lacking when you're not there making me laugh and it has been a routine ever since. Your presence and existence completes me." you gave him a sweet smile then looked down at your hands intertwined.

The butterflies on your stomach felt crazy. His hands holding you, his ocean blue eyes fixated on you and love just filling the room felt right and perfect. He looks at you the way he always looks at you all the time, eyes full of admiration and love. You've always tried to shake off that thought when he looks at you thinking that you're just mistaken or seeing things but now it's all clear. He loves you, likes you, adores you like you're the only thing that's meant to be adored.

And you also tried to hide that look in your eyes but now that got you thinking, did he always see right through me?

The moment feels euphoric for Tom, and he can't contain his excitement as he shares his true feelings with you. He has waited for this moment for so long, and finally, it's here. Tom confesses his love for you, and you can sense the genuine and pure emotion behind his words. Seeing your reaction, he feels beyond happy and satisfied that you now know how he feels. He feels like he has accomplished something special, and the sight of your face only makes the whole experience even sweeter.

The vacancy that sat in my heart, is a space that now you hold.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 3 - I warned you

Warnings: brief discussion of child trafficking/single line mentioning red room torture

Word Count: 1.7k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha is blindsided by a debrief, made to talk of her past and justify her actions.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

The debrief room is different.

Clint looks to her in an apology as he leads her left instead of right, and stops at the door instead of following her in.

She balks at the change, halting her movements when she sees three men inside.

Looking back at Clint, a question on her lips, he just mouths he’s sorry, and nudges her inside.

She feels sick as the door bangs shut and locks.

She knows what three men in a room can do, and the advantage is not on her side.

Looking around for any weapon, all she has is the handcuffs on her wrists and maybe the long table.

The chair is bolted to the floor so that gives nothing by way of help. Maybe the fact that there’s three can work to her advantage instead of against.

She should never have trusted Clint.

He said he’d be here through it all.

He lied.

Anger and fear wells in her chest but she remains passive at the door.

“Sit,” the tallest of the three commands.

The three men stand as she’s seated and the imbalance of power feels overwhelming.

She has ways to play this.

Fight, fawn, play dumb, stay mute, let them talk.

The options play out quick in front of her.

Like a chess game, she needs to think at least three moves ahead; it’s just hard when she doesn’t know what this is about, or why there’s been a change.

“We are going to start by introducing ourselves, and then we are going to ask you some questions. After this you will return to your normal debrief. Is that understood?”

Natasha nods.

The verbal schedule of events helps to dampen the anxiety that’s building.

“My name is Director Thompson, next to me is Agent Fury and Agent Coulson.”

She remembers the latter two from her debriefs but it feels good to know their names.

The Director is new. She suspects he’s always been behind the two way mirror, just never showing his face.

He pauses.

“State your name.”

Natasha looks at the three of them.

“Natasha Romanoff.”

He nods.

“Do you remember your charges?”

Natasha doesn’t answer as the charges are read again.

Espionage, murder; it’s nothing new.

She takes the time as he’s reading, to look at the three men.

Fury hasn’t stopped watching her.

Though he has one eye patched, it’s uncanny how scrutinized she feels by the other. Coulson looks up from his notepad every now and then, writing something before looking back at her.

Thompson, however, is the one that has black eyes, suspicion and anger alternating as he reads from his notepad.

“You’ve been brought here under the protection of laws that our country has for defectors. Do you plead guilty?”

Natasha frowns.

Not willing to answer, she doesn’t move.

“How do you plead?”

Natasha considers the question.

There’s no doubt that it’s not that simple. She could say the words they want, but in a moment of compulsion, she feels herself start talking in defense.

Frustration and anger at the last month of being interrogated, of her food having ground glass, and the water being contaminated with something she couldn’t pick, of the constant debrief, and fear that battered her psyche.

“I was born into the Red Room,” she starts, staring down Thompson.

“Every day of my life, we were told who the enemy was.”

“You.”

“This.”

“Here.”

“It was beaten into us, to know that western propaganda would poison us.”

“Do you know what that’s like?”

“Do you know, what’s it’s like to leave that behind and for every day to feel like you’re betraying everything and everyone you’ve ever known?”

“I’m under no delusion, Director Thompson, that what I have done under their regime falls under terrorism, espionage or whatever you want to call it. But do you want to know what they call it?”

She lets the words hang.

“Glory.”

“Do you want to know what that gets you in the Red Room?”

She looks to Fury and Coulson.

Thompson may not understand, but for some reason she thinks they might.

“Reprieve.”

Quieter now, she leans forward.

“You fail and the world falls out. Beaten, raped, tortured, for the failure of a mission. There’s a reason they traffic women. Girls.”

She feels anger and grief swell at the vulnerability of herself and those that came before; and pauses to catch a hold of herself.

“And you do anything to make it stop. Even become the best at something you hate, so that it never happens again.”

She underestimated how much this conversation would take and immediately regrets talking in the first place.

“I didn’t fail. I can’t fail, and yes; if that means that from your point of view I am guilty for doing the things you say. But from mine, it means that I didn’t die.”

Director Thompson shuffles his paper and stands.

The room is silent.

“I do not like you, or trust you,” he starts.

His voice is neutral but there’s a note of anger.

“I think you are a liability, and I very much hate the position Barton has put us in, by bringing you in. That being said, given the information you have already conceded, the information you have promised, and your statement will be taken under advisement. But I warn you Romanoff, I am warning you, that one step, one toe out of line, and the full wrath of SHIELD and the American government will rain down on you.”

His chair bangs as he stands to leave; giving her one last look.

Fury looks to Coulson, with a slight nod, he stands, moving behind Natasha at a strange angle where she can still see him, but obscured by the camera.

She eyes them suspiciously, her heart beating audibly in her ears.

Fury is first to talk.

“He’s an asshole, but he’s not wrong. He will put you into prison if there’s ever anything that they deem as a toe out of line. You’re never going to get a fair trial and this is probably as good as it’s going to be for a while.”

Natasha stares at her hands, hating that she gave up on her own freedom for this.

She feels so angry at Clint and his kind words.

She should have just run.

The allure of the protection of America, too great in her desperation.

“But that’s not to say it’s all it’s going to be. You are a great asset to us,” Coulson continues, softening the words, and giving a small smile.

“And we want this to work. That being said, the psychiatrist reports tell us that you haven’t been talking, and the debrief reports, well, we know you’ve been holding back.”

He leaves the statement hanging.

Natasha chooses to say nothing. What is it she can say? They’re not wrong.

“As it stands, we expect more from you. Engage with the psychiatrists, do better at debrief.”

Fury waits until she meets his eyes.

The warning is clear.

“If you do, we can start to think about moving you out of the glass box.”

Natasha sighs inwardly, wondering just how much more she can give without losing herself.

The two men stand, and wait for her to do the same.

They frog march her back to the glass dungeon, Fury standing at the door, taking the handcuffs off.

“I warned you when you first came in, to not make me regret this. Do better,” he says gruffly, “and we can do more.”

Taking two steps back as she does with Clint, she watches them leave and then sits on the floor, legs crossed and things to think about.

.

Clint stands at the glass and watches her.

He waits until she looks up at him, her face unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were going to do that. I got told as we entered that they were waiting. I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again… not without warning at least.”

He pushes dinner under the latch and she looks at it.

Everything is packaged.

There’s no loose foods.

Natasha frowns at the food, and she wonders if he knows.

“It seemed safer?” he confesses. “Can I come in?”

Natasha shakes her head, just slightly, but the meaning and loss of trust clear.

She doesn’t expect him to stay there.

But he does.

It shouldn’t be a shock, but it does surprise her, to have her wants respected.

Clint nods, perhaps understanding that she’s not ready to forgive him just yet.

“I’ll leave it here then. They’ve told me debrief is tomorrow at 9am, I’ll be down here at 8.30 same as always. Maybe we can have breakfast together?”

Natasha looks to the food, the prepackaged safe foods that she doesn’t have to think about.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

“Okay.”

There’s a smile on his face, one that feels genuine.

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

He stays for a second longer and then leaves.

She waits until she hears the second beep, and then lets her breath go.

It’s been a harrowing day and she places herself back to her position on the floor.

Sitting down, she closes her eyes, ignoring the pangs of hunger that bite at her.

.

Natasha thinks it’s around midnight when the second nightmare wakes her, and she looks to the food still on the floor.

Sighing, she drinks the bottled water and eats the packaged cheese and crackers.

He can’t know that the food’s been unsafe. Unless it was him, which she doubts. Nothing has been fatal, just warnings, she thinks.

The glass in breakfast foods, the slight taste of bleach in soup broths; it’s kids games compared to what she’s used to.

Before everything became what it was in the Red Room, the older girls used to bait the younger ones. Poisoning food with laxatives, sprinkling eggshells in rice, making the water undrinkable were all ways of weakening the others, keeping them hungry and dehydrated.

An easy way to get into your opponent's psyche.

She thinks about Clint and the small kindnesses he’s shown, and as she eats the sweet chocolate bar, then of Coulson and Fury, even Maria. The four people that she’s had most contact with, have not been unkind.

What she’s unsure of is the wider compound.

She’s not sure where her food comes from, who’s watching behind the camera and who has access to her psych reports. There are too many things she does not know and does not like.

She thinks of the warnings of the day, both spoken and not.

Natasha feels stupid.

If today is anything to go by, Natasha knows she needs an ally; she’s too vulnerable in the world here for her not to.

And Clint is about as close as she’s going to get.

.

<3

[lhazaar]

hey. i'm turning my chair around and sitting in it backwards now because i want to speak specifically to people with ocd. this is a targeted post and is not meant to apply to the userbase of this website at large or to serve as a policy decision.

hi. do you know what scrupulosity means? it is a strong, intense, often painful concern about morality or religion. it's very common for religious people with ocd, actually—the fear that you've sinned, that you will sin, that your thoughts themselves are sinful. you're afraid of being an evil person. every thought and feeling you have is scrutinized to exhaustion in case it's proof that you're evil. this also happens for non-religious people with ocd, it's just that ours will look different; it's often a preoccupation with social justice issues. you care a lot about being a good person, right! most people do. you want to be a good person, you want to be kind to others and to dismantle oppressive systems where you can. i'm making some assumptions here, but they're based on my specific audience base.

so, there's this thing that happens online, especially on tumblr and twitter—not because bluh bluh platforms bad, but because of the ways in which information is propagated on here. people used to tag for these posts sporadically but don't do so as much anymore. you know posts that exhort you, the reader, specifically, to take action? they tell you not to look away, not to bury your head in the sand. they tell you to give and to agitate and to donate time, money, resources.

those posts used to make me intensely, deeply anxious. i don't mean mild agitation, i mean life-ruining, day-occupying panic that seizes your entire body, and thoughts that don't leave your brain. guilt that paralzyes you because you, personally, cannot go kill the politicians responsible. you don't have enough money to do more than donate a few dollars, and sometimes you don't even have that. but because of where you live, because of the fact that you have internet access and you're literate enough to read these posts, you know that you have a level of privilege that most people never will. you're aware of that privilege because you're reasonably in-tune with social justice movements and you've probably spent some time dissecting your own privilege to examine your biases. (that's not a bad thing; i'm not here to condemn that. stay with me, if you can.)

there's a thing that can happen if you've lived with ocd like this for a long time where you become kind of incapable of telling what's addressed to you personally and what isn't. everything feels like a personal exhortation. you have trouble saying no, or knowing when you're overextended, because other people have it worse. how dare you enjoy relative comfort when people are being bombed or drowning in a climate change -induced flood or being crushed to death in a crowd panic. how dare you not be aware of it at all times, always, constantly. how dare you look away. don't look away.

i want to tell you about something i went through, if that's okay. a lot of people who follow me will already know this, but i haven't talked about this aspect of it very much publicly. in 2020, while visiting my partner in southern oregon, we had to evacuate from wildfires twice in under 24 hours. that was a really, really bad fire season, caused and perpetuated by a combination of global climate change and colonialization practices that destroyed traditional indigenous fire management strategies across the west coast of north america. fires stretched from bc to california. we wound up fleeing south, and then had to flee back north again, hemmed in on three sides. i flew back home to bc shortly afterwards, and i have this vivid, awful memory of seeing my home mountain range, the cascades, choked out with smoke from the window of an airplane. the woman in front of me sobbed the entire time until we touched down.

i remember thinking at that time that it was insane the entire world wasn't stopping. what i was experiencing was apocalyptic in scale—the fire we ran from the first time was part of a complex that chewed up entire towns. it wasn't the first fire season, nor the worst for the continent, nor the world. but all i could think in the moment was why aren't we doing anything, this is going to be all of us in a decade, why are people looking away.

if i had gone online and posted that, it would not have been morally wrong of me. there's no ascribing morality to a reaction like that. i mean, if i'd gone to someone who suffered in the years prior in australia or california and told them that ours was So Much Worse, that would have made me an asshole, but i didn't do that. i made some upset facebook posts targeted at the trump voters in my family, but i had no way to express at the time the sort of clawing panic of WHY AREN'T PEOPLE DOING ANYTHING??

the answer to that, which you probably know, is: what would they have done? we were sheltered by friends we evacuated with, but what power did a mutual in new york or wales or singapore have to affect a wildfire in oregon?

so, come back to the present day with me again, if you will. i said above that posts worded like this used to make me really, really anxious. in the span of time after the fire, i developed ptsd, and my ocd ruined my life. i took an extra year to graduate after i'd finished all my coursework because i could not send in the forms required. i was too busy spending 10-16 hours a day rearranging furniture in my room, or lying in bed, full-body tense, until it felt like my teeth would crack from the pressure. i'm medicated now. i'm grateful for it. i have more tolerance for these posts because i've been there. i know the op isn't doing anything wrong, because they're not wrong. why isn't the world stopping to look at a natural disaster, or a genocide? the world should not be like this.

you are not the world. you are someone with a brain that will torture you to death given the chance. you know how learning to reckon with your privileges, whatever they may be, requires you to not try and escape them? you need to be able to hold in your head that yes, you benefit from something that isn't fair; yes, other people should have that benefit, and that they don't is unjust. but you need to, for example, not try and weasel your way out of being white because you're uncomfortable with the guilt that it produces. you need to not go online and say well not ALL americans because you can't sit with the idea of being complicit in american imperialism. if you have ocd, you need to apply that to your own brain, too. you need to apply it to every post that you see. you need to know that people are not speaking directly to you, they are crying out in pain and fear. they are not doing anything wrong. they are scared and hurting.

they do not benefit from you taking on all the guilt of that fear and pain. i am not saying this to absolve you of the guilt. i am saying that you need to be able to exist with that level of guilt without allowing it to paralyze and destroy you. if you can't do that right now, i'm not here to cast judgement on you. blacklist phrases. i had "wildfire" blacklisted for a long time. i'm sure i missed aid posts because of it. the alternative was me being nonfunctional. for a long time, i had donation posts blacklisted across the board, because the way my ocd worked meant that i was neurologically incapable of knowing where my own limits were, and i would give money i did not have. if you need to do that, this is me giving you permission. doing this does not make you evil. it does not make you morally bankrupt. it makes you someone whose brain is trying to fucking kill them, and the world needs you to not let that happen.

this is not a post about how you're exempt from caring about the world if you're mentally ill, it's about how you cannot apply that care to anything useful if you're having massive panic spirals every other day about the guilt that you feel. your guilt should not rule your life. if it does, i say this kindly, but you very likely need medication. i'm sorry if you don't have access to that right now. you cannot think your way out of ocd. you cannot think your way into stopping neural activity. you cannot guilt your way into being a good person; you have to be able to exist with the guilt and not let it rule you in order to do that. nobody benefits from your brain trying to martyr you in the name of solving the world's suffering.

you need to be able to function, free of crushing and paralyzing guilt, before you can help anyone. you are not an effective ally like this just because your brain tells you that it's necessary.

[ourmadmusings]

‘Come home,’ the Hexie mountain said, to begin another end - 

Miguel O’Hara is a proud man - he’s built a reputation from zero, the leader of the spider-people, tasked with the fate of the multiverse. He’s proud of the burden he’s placed on himself, if he didn’t shoulder it, who would? With such great responsibility, it warrants great sacrifice. Sacrifice is something he’s very friendly with, the concept hangs on him like a tattered blanket, the idea that at any moment, it can and will get worse.  And worse it does get. He comes back from a long and tedious mission only to find a smiling Jess at his control center, “I think I found someone you’d be keen to meet, O’Hara.” She’s standing proud, back straight as you peek around her back, bent slightly at the waist, you give a small wave. You’re smiling, despite the mask wrapped around your head, “hi, I’m fro-” “What did I say about bringing people back here without explicit permission?” He’s curt. His mask is intimidating, the red stands starkly around the black, but you can tell he's scrutinizing your every breath. “Well, hey, give’em a chance, will’ya? You haven’t seen what-”  “No.” He’s turning his back to the two of you as quickly as he’d come in. “No variants that I don’t approve of in this operation. Protocol, you know that.” You feel yourself shrink back behind Jess subconsciously, trying to escape the fire. He’s quick to leave the two of you without another word. Jess offers some supportive words, that he’s not nearly as bull-headed as he’s pretending to be, just give him time to warm up. She sends you back home with a wry smile.

You fill your time at home, in your own world, doing your routine rounds. Keeping things in check when it happens - a soft hum turns into a static buzz, it pulls the hair to stand up on the back of your neck. The littering of pebbles on your building's rooftop start to pull away from the flat top, as if fishing wire had pulled them up in a pathetic magic trick. They come crashing down as a chorus of car alarms ring out around you, your feet carry you to the edge and you stare, wide-eyed, as Electro visualizes out of thin air. You take a second to consider the possibilities when you hear a familiar voice - “I knew we’d see more of you, kid.” It’s Jess, coming from behind you, “lend us a hand, let’s show O’Hara what you’re made of, yeah?” She’s smiling at you, springing into action without another word.  You go through the motions with her, and she contains the anomaly, as she put it, so he’s ready for transfer. You’re only catching half of what she’s saying, “come on, Miguel, you’re being obtuse, we could always use an extra hand, we can keep’em on the back burner, let me lend a watch, please?” You hear the device on her wrist sigh, an exasperated fine, and a click. She tosses you a gold watch soon thereafter, “we’ll be in touch, honey.” She’s all smiles, winking at you as she speeds away, a dark cloud opens up, several spider-people emerge, collect the out-of-place Electro, and everything goes silent. 

You get called back to the citadel a few weeks later.  It’s all hustle and bustle, a perky brunet meets you with a rather standoffish spider, he’s all smiles as he pulls you back through the halls, explaining the in’s-and-out’s. He does a bang-up job explaining the transfer systems, containment, how the watches work to connect the web of spiders to one another to help sort out anomalies in the multiverse, it’s our job, he says with hands on his hips, to make sure none of us have to sacrifice more than necessary. You’re trying to convey your understanding from behind the mask, “you can take it off here, you know?” The tall man says, he’d been close on your heels, never really chiming in on your little tour until now, “we’re all pretty safe here. All things considered,” he mumbles the last part, but you tell them you’d be more comfortable keeping it on for now, “ah, you’re probably smart for that,” Hobie finally says. You’re not sure what he means, but you’re thankful he lets it go after that. The tour ends at the control center, you’d been here before, you tell Pav. He’s a little surprised when you tell him you’d even met O’Hara before. Not formally, of course, but he’d made your acquaintance. Hobie laughs, “yeah, well, he ain’t one for chit-chat.”  “Enough,” he finally chimes in, just as curt as you remember, and in habit you shrink into yourself, “don’t you have somewhere else to be?”  “Oh, yeah…” Pav trails off as he grabs Hobie’s arm, pulling him away. They’re quick to say their goodbye’s to you and head off into the hallways, leaving you with mister boss-man himself, alone. He’s bigger this time, it feels like. Or maybe you just feel smaller.  You’re not quick to say anything this time, without his mask, you can see the scowl on his face, he looks tired. The urge to comment bubbles in your guts, but you busy yourself picking at the hem of your glove - “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself, Spider-woman from Earth twenty-fifty-four?” You’re not sure what he means by the Earth part, but you feel your back go rod-straight, “O-oh yeah, sorry I’m-”  “Don’t apologize,” he sounds frustrated, “I already know who you are, I’ve been keeping an eye on you at Jessica’s request.”  “The Spider-woman who brought me here the first time, right? The one who gave me the watch?” You’re trying to keep up with everything, but the way he stalks over to you, eyeing you up and down, scrutinizing your every move is unnerving. You’re sure he’s doing it on purpose, trying to intimidate you, and you hate to admit that it’s working. The hair on the back of your neck has been itching since Pav and Hobie said goodbye. “Yeah, that’s right. Can I ask, why are you keeping your mask on in here?” It sounds like a genuine question coming from him, like he’s a little hurt you don’t trust the safety he’s built yet.  “Oh, just - Uh, just cause.” You smile under the mask, nervous and apprehensive. You don’t want to admit that you’re intimidated by him, the mask being your only source of mock-confidence in situations like this. “It’s just more comfortable.”  “I know that’s a lie, mine gets so muggy I can hardly stand it some days.” He’s turning away from you as he says it, the blase way in which the statement rolls off his tongue surprises you a little. Maybe he’s offering an olive branch, trying to ease you into his presence.  “When I first started all this stuff, I used to keep a dryer sheet tucked behind my head.” You’re speaking before you realize, suddenly embarrassed, “it helped a little, but it was itchy…” you hear him chuckle, a low rumble from his place in front of you, he turns with the comment, “really? I’ve never heard of someone doin’ that, it really worked?”  “Heh - y-yeah, but it would make my hair really greasy, too. I stopped doing it and just changed the material around my mouth to help instead,” your hand flies to the back of your head, the faint itch from the memory lures your hand to scratch.  His eyes crease with a smile, “that’s kind’a funny…”  The quick conversation ends there and he gets to business, telling you where he needs you, what’s expected, and how to properly use his little device to catch an anomaly. He’s trusting you to go with a Peter variant, he tells you Peter B. Parker doesn’t venture out on missions very often anymore, though he’s very familiar with the tech, so he’ll help you, but you were in charge of the heavy lifting on this one - a trial run, he’d said. You thank him for the opportunity and tap at your watch until the portal opens, you step through and start your working-interview for the spider-society.

a/n: lets start from the beginning, how did a guy like you end up with O’Hara wrapped around your little finger? Pt. 1 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 -

[invisibleraven]

36 for Best Dad Ray Molina please

Ray Molina isn't used to being alone-he had grown up in a large, overbearing family, had lots of friends, and loved living in big cities where he was surrounded by people. But that didn't mean he was close to any of them.

Sure, he had buddies he could grab a beer with, but they never got into anything deep. So when Rose died, leaving him a widower before the age of fifty with two kids who desperately missed their mother, he felt like he was drowning.

Victoria was a lifesaver of course, coming over to make sure they were fed and supported. Got Julie into therapy when it became obvious that she wasn't getting better.

"I can make an appointment for you too, if you want," she offered.

"Oh no, I'm okay," he said, waving his hands at her.

"Okay," she replied with a shrug, but her eyes said she didn't believe him. She never pushed-and maybe that was what he needed as his days became routine. He had to get up in the mornings to get the kids to school, and himself to work-he couldn't afford to wallow, not with mounting bills and no second income.

But it was hard, being so strong. He nearly had a breakdown one day at the dinner table as he turned to ask Rose for the salt-he always underseasoned everything-and she wasn't there.

They had set her place automatically, but Rose wasn't there any more. She never would be, and that fact hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Excuse me kids I just have to-" he ran off to the kitchen then, sitting on the floor, muffling his sobs into his fist. He couldn't let Julie and Carlos see him cry, not when they were finally coming around the bend of their own grief.

"Papi?" Julie called out.

Ray frantically swiped at his eyes, and put on a face that he hoped was neutral, popping up. "What's up mija?"

"Are-are you okay?"

"Oh yes, just a spot of indigestions, I took something, no worries."

Julie gave hima scrutinizing look. "You don't look fine. In fact you look like I did during my first session with Dr. Turner." At the mention of the therapists name, her nose screwed up.

"I thought you liked him."

"He's alright I guess," she shrugged. "But he's always saying stuff like “No one’s asking you to get over this immediately.  Take your time and heal.” which I get, but it doesn't seem true. It feels like everyone is expecting us-all of us-to be fine right now because mami passed away more than a month ago."

"He's right though," Ray stated. "I know it's been hard on you-you were so close to your mother. You do need time to heal-otherwise you'll wear yourself out and break all over again."

"Like when you tried to walk on your sprained ankle after a few hours when the doctor told you to stay off it for a few days and almost broke it?" Julie giggled.

Ray cracked a smile at that. "Exactly like that. No one in your family and friend circle expects you to get over this-grief is a process, that's why there are stages to it. And if anyone ever does tell you to 'get over it', then you point them my way."

"Will do papi," Julie said, going into his arms for a hug. "And you do the same for me."

"I can fight my own battles Julie."

"So can I," she replied. "But we shouldn't have to."

Ray felt his eyes leak at that. His daughter-barely fifteen, and already so wise. "Yeah, you're right mija."

"Are we having a hug fest in here and no one invited me?" Carlos joked from the entryway.

"Come on in sport," Ray said, widening his arms.

Carlos wasn't usually tactile, but he immediately ran into the hug, and Ray squeezed his kids all the tighter. "We'll be okay."

"Eventually," Julie said.

Ray gave her a soft smile, seeing so much of Rose in her, and in Carlos too. She might be gone, but she lived on in their kids, and Ray suddenly didn't feel so lonely anymore. She was right there with him, even if only spiritually.

"Yeah, eventually."

"Alright enough of this mussy garbage," Carlos said breaking away. "I propose we eventually-and by eventually I mean right now-have ice cream for supper, because no offense papi, but that pot roast is bad."

Ray rolled his eyes-he had been trying to do the cooking, but it had never been his strong suit. "Well we're not having ice cream for supper-maybe for dessert. I could make spaghetti?"

"I like spaghetti," Carlos replied.

"Me too," Julie piped up.

"Alright, spaghetti it is," Ray stated.

Ray rolled up his sleeves, getting everything ready, grinning when the kids helped him do the chopping and prep, making it a true family meal. Sure the spaghetti wasn't amazing by any standards, but to Ray it tasted delicious, as it was made with love.

Yes, it was still hard not having Rose there beside him, to laugh and cry with, to grow old with. But he felt like maybe he could do this, and one day, he could look back with fondness instead of grief.

He'd get there-eventually.