#you have no clue how much this means to me and how needed it was

[bluukive]

From the Back

summary - uh-oh! Your fiendish boyfriend caught you staring at his fingers again. Luckily for you, he knows what you want.

wc - 2.1k words

content - Toji x reader, p slapping, fingering, clit play, dumbification kinda? idk, he's mean, it's all consensual pinky promise

an - uh so I procrastinated this cus im ill and nothings proofread or makes sense to me !! I also dislike fingering so wtf do I know lol lmk what needs changing thx gng

Toji doesn’t know where he got the ring that he’s spinning idly between his fingers. It’s a cheap thing, and he’s got no clue why he's kept it around. Regardless, Toji keeps twirling the ring around, thick fingers dipping in and out of it periodically as he lays on one end of the couch. 

It kills you. You’ve never wanted to swap places with a piece of jewellery so desperately in your life before. One of your knees bounced almost anxiously as you watched him from the other end of the couch, eyes trained on his fingers. As for getting wet, you were beyond that point. You’ve been aching for him ever since you first saw him removing the ring off his finger.

His fingers were thick and tanned, joints prominent from years of doing damage. There were rough scars everywhere, the careless sort you loved to pepper kisses all over when you held his hand in yours. You’ve felt those hands pry your thighs apart so that he could get a taste of what lay in between. You’ve seen those same hands bruised and battered, fingers twitching and flexing after a rough night out. 

But right now? They were relaxed. The ring was nestled between two of your boyfriend's fingers before he tossed it and caught it in his weighty palm. You weren’t even ashamed at how blatantly you were ogling at the veins that rose from below his skin. 

Toji doesn’t notice it straight away, the heated, yearning glances coming from you. He just hums low, almost like he’s thinking about something. A thick thumb rubs over the edge of his ring with a precision that’s languid, whilst his other hand rests on his thigh. He rubs at the bulky limb, fingers splayed out, and you flinch. 

Without warning, Toji’s eyes meet yours. They’re lazy but incredibly knowing. He knows what you want, but he wants to hear it from your own mouth first.

“Gonna keep eye-fuckin’ my hand? You’ve been quiet for a good while now,” he says casually, as if he hasn’t got the sleaziest smirk appearing on his scarred lip. You know damn well he’s pretending to have known you were staring at him the entire time, but you couldn’t focus on that. You can’t. 

Toji’s fingers are flexing again, all for show. The ring clinks against his prominent knuckles as his voice drops low. You watch as he slouches in his seat, thighs fallen open a little wider. It’s clearly an invitation for you to come closer.

So you do. 

۫ ꣑ৎ

You don’t even know how you got here. One second you were sassing back, getting all defensive as he called you out on your perverted behaviour. The next moment, you had both of his heavy thighs over yours, pulling them apart and locking them in place. It’s comical to Toji how you flinch at the sound of his voice so close to your ear, scar rubbing against the tender flesh of your lobe.

One nip, then another. His tongue flicks out as you shudder, ass nudging up against his crotch as you remain at your boyfriend's mercy. “You like my hands that much, hm? Shoulda said somethin”, he murmured, hot breath fanning against your temple. “You could have had them on your cunt much sooner than this if you spoke up.”

“And have you call me easy? No thanks,” a scoff leaves your lips as you writhe in Toji’s lap, but his legs have you immobilised. An awkward yelp escapes you when the man begins to massage at your inner thighs, the pudgy skin barely covered by your shorts. His thumb pinched and rolled the skin around before sliding beneath the fabric of what you were wearing. 

Toji clicks his tongue. “Nah, believe me. I’m flattered, doll. Gets me all hot and bothered when you’re whorin’ over me like this,” he murmurs as his hands feel up the warmth at the crease of your thighs. 

“Language-”

“Who gives a fuck about language when I’ve got your cunt in the palm of my hands. Literally,” Toji scoffs, one of his hands sliding out from under your shorts and cupping your pussy and giving it a confident squeeze. The warmth seeps into his skin and he groans appreciatively. His actions are met with a wanton little mewl, your body slouching against his.

“None of that. You wanted this, remember?” Toji lifts you up so that your back properly meets his strong front, his lips mouthing at the side of your neck eagerly. This action was met by a hitch in your breath as his middle and ring finger dragged up and down the seam of your shorts in a painfully teasing manner. Your hips buck upwards, chasing more of his touch, but his free hands lays flat against your pelvis and pushes you back down. 

The pressure you felt down below alternated, ranging from intense nudges with his knuckles, to the light scratches of his nails against the print of your pussy. “You’re squirming. Where's all that sass gone, huh? ‘S it all gone now that my hands are right where you want ‘em?”

Toji’s words are punctuated by another slow drag of his fingers, this time right past the leg opening of your shorts and between your folds. Your clit is prominent and pulsing, met with stroke after stroke with the increasingly soaked digits of your smug boyfriend. You’re twitching, fighting between closing your legs or keeping them spread real nice and wide. 

“F-fuck, Toji…!” You whine, face scrunching up as Toji’s fingers capture your clit between the joints of fingers. He tugs, and the sensation is borderline uncomfortable. You can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop being mean, too focused on the sparks of pleasure that have your hole clenching around nothing. It’s pathetic. 

“F-fuck, Toji!” he mocks, a cruel huff of laughter rumbling in his chest. You can feel his front almost vibrate behind you, but the erection prodding up against the curve of your ass is even more of a distraction. “No whining, brat. You’re getting what I give you when I think you deserve it.” 

The thick fingers leave you, making you choke on a breath out of sheer disappointment. “No, cmon. Toji, that’s not fair,” you practically hissed, a hand flying out to grab his arm. You tug and tug, just enough to have his knuckles grazing your inner thigh. You can feel the man you’re sitting on exhale gruffly, and the atmosphere shifts from one that’s less playful to one that’s more…charged. You didn’t dare look back at your lover, knowing you’ve put him in a mood. 

To put it bluntly, Toji’s had enough. 

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ mouthy,” Toji tuts in mock disapproval, making quick work of moving his legs momentarily so that he could shuck your panties and shorts off. Without missing a beat, his thighs are over yours, cool air hitting the slickness between your legs. You were mortified.

“Hey now…”

Slap. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

Another wet slap. 

His entire palm rubs against your stinging mound as your lips fall open, breath hitching in your throat as you screw your eyes shut. This wasn’t the first time Toji had caught you off guard, but you loved it. He knew you loved it too, with the way your entire pussy seemed to throb even harder on his hand. 

“Oooh, you liked that,” he grins, attempting to soothe the sting by dipping his fingertips into your hole. Barely. He pulls back out, cock oozing precum when you shake your head side to side. “Awh, don’t be like that. Just sit there all nice ‘n pretty whilst I play with this nasty pussy.”

“No, you’re n-not even playing with me properly…,” you complain, and Toji doesn’t know how you have the nerve to. You should be grateful he even decided to entertain your little hand fetish in the first place. A faux sigh of impatience leaves him, and dread builds up in your gut. 

What if he leaves me here, you thought, all alone and needy with no fingers in your pussy. How would you cum then? 

But no. Toji decides to be merciful, which was a rare occurrence. 

“Alright, alright. Fine, I’ll play with you. But don’t start cryin’ later,” was all he said before easing his fingers into your pussy. There were two long fingers at first, delivering agonisingly slow strokes inside your cunt. He curls them once they’re buried to the knuckle, a lewd squelch emitting from you. It’s a noise that has your ears reddening in embarrassment, but he continues. 

“A-ahh, just like that…,” you manage to stammer out, until the pad of his thumb joins in. He massages your clit, cooing at how you melted against him as your shoulders hunched in on themselves. Toji’s free hand groped at one of your tits through your t-shirt. Well, his t-shirt. One that was bunched up around your waist. Both of you were too distracted to take it off. 

“Atta girl. Taking these fingers like a champ,” he grunts, the speed of his fingers increasing inside of you. Despite the fact that your body was held back by the asshole behind you, you rolled your hips as best as you could so that you could fuck yourself on his digits. Each grind had your ass milking his cock through his sweats, the front dark from beads of precum soaking the soft material. Whilst the friction was beyond delicious, Toji didn’t falter. Not for a second. 

“Heh, look at you,” condescending words met with a harsh thrust of his fingers. “You start feeling good and forget who’s really in charge around here.”

The warning goes over your head, and your eyes widen when you can feel his free arm hook itself snugly around your throat. Toji fully intends to keep you in place with this headlock. 

“You wanna hump me like some bitch? Now do it,” he drawled lowly, slowly hunching over your back as his mouth drags over your jaw. Two fingers turn into three, relentless as they fucked the arousal out of you. “Slutty pussy droolin’ all over my lap.”

You’re gasping and moaning, all whilst being unable to move. The arm around your throat isn’t too tight, but he periodically flexes it just to remind you of your place. “Gonna cum, think I’m g-gonna cum, oh-”

“Nah, don’t think so,” and so he withdraws his fingers. He does so without warning. A full body shudder leaves you, frustration and the urge to cum becoming overwhelming. “Fuck, you feel that? Pussy didn’t want me to let go,” Toji muses out loud, the sounds of licking coming from behind you when he rolls his tongue around his wet digits. As filthy as ever. 

You want to berate him, tell him off for being disgusting. But his nose buries itself at the crook of your neck before gives your clit a little tug. 

“Toji, please!”

And who was he to deny you when you begged so sweetly?

First, he spread your lips open with his fingers in a scissor-like motion. Then, you felt your boyfriend stuffing you full once more, causing a mini-sob to leave your lips in sweet relief. He moaned deeply at the heat that enveloped his fingers again, curling his fingers in a hooked manner. 

“S-so close, I swear,” you were letting the tears flow freely now, breathing coming out unevenly as Toji took in your words with a feral sort of glee. At the prospect of your approaching orgasm, Toji doubled his efforts. In and out his fingers plunged, speeding up and slowing down at a pace he deemed fit for your pleasure. 

“Make a mess on me, doll. Know you can do it,” he urged feverishly, sounding as desperate as you felt. Drops of sweat beaded on his temple, drenching the neckline of his own compression shirt. The headlock Toji had you in tightened just a fraction as his palm wetly smacked against your pubic bone repeatedly, causing the dewy splatters of your orgasm to leave you at long last. Your stomach tensed, ache in your pussy growing unbearable until that coil snapped and you came with an embarrassingly loud squeal. Toji hushed you, fingers slipping out and focusing on prolonging your orgasm by massaging your clit once more. 

“Thaaaat’s it,” your boyfriend grinned wolfishly as you spasmed against him. But that wasn’t enough. Not for him. You hadn’t squirted yet, and he was dead set on testing your velocity. You shouldn’t have been surprised when Toji’s fingers began its filthy rhythm once more, all whilst his lips pecked at your temple. 

“You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

the ending is rushed eek sorry

divider by @omi-resources

[iamthatonefangirl]

So I’m not completely sure how requests work but I NEED a fic where the reader like gets into an argument with the winter soldier about something small or big like how he never opens up to her (whatever you prefer) and then some HATE sex after (not really hate just frustrated yk)

disconnect - nsfw winter soldier

I received a few asks that inspired me to develop a story combining them. this is my interpretation of them.

pre-established relationship. if you're new here, there's a mention of a prior event.

disclaimer: fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. dark/sad themes, similar to depictions of depression. read at your own discretion.

~~~

it's stupid, really.

the mud boot tracks all over the entryway when you get home. the huge disaster area the kitchen is.

is it really that difficult to not leave a mess everywhere?

you make your way to the bedroom and drop your bag somewhere on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed to chuck off your shoes and jacket.

you sit there for a moment, head buried in your hands.

the weight of your situation gets to you more often than not. a lot of those thoughts in your head go unsaid for a number of reasons, particularly because he doesn't have the emotional capacity to care, in your opinion.

is this really the life you thought you'd end up living?

if you wanted to quit working, you could. he brings in more than plenty.

and you'd never have to worry about being sexually frustrated a day in your life.

is that really the sum total of your relationship?

you let out a sigh.

you feel stuck.

~~~

he comes into the bedroom ten minutes later, fresh out of the shower, covered in water from head to toe minus the towel wrapped around his waist.

he goes straight for the bed, lying down on the fresh sheets, soaking them.

"seriously?" you ask, looking up at him, exasperated at this point.

he tilts his head in your direction and gives you a blank stare as though he has no clue what you're talking about.

you take a deep breath and shove down your anger. he's been gone for a week, cut him some slack, you tell yourself.

"everything go okay?" you ask.

you don't want to know the gory details, and he wouldn't tell you, anyways. his face contorts, giving you a disgusted look as though you're crazy for even asking.

he proceeds to shove his hands behind his head, closing his eyes to get some rest.

another deep breath.

"are you hungry?" you offer. the mess in the kitchen tells you that he's not, but you're seriously trying here.

he lets out a low grunt, which you take to mean 'no.'

"can you stay awake for five minutes to fucking talk to me?" you say, anger rising in your chest as you struggle to keep your head straight.

"not talking to you about work," he grumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"clearly, you're not talking to me at all! fuck, I mean, when do you ever?" you yell, standing and walking over to the side of the bed next to where he's laying.

in your anger, you grab his arm and roughly yank it out from under his head, surprising him. his eyes shoot open and he glares up at you as though you've just personally offended him.

"you never fucking talk to me! I- I don't even know if you like me! it's like you just live in my apartment so you can fuck me whenever you want!" you yell at him. your emotions are getting the better of you, your insecurities and your anger twisting in your head. you're completely helpless to stop your mouth from speaking them into reality.

not a word in response. his face is completely devoid of any emotion.

"I don't even know why I expect anything different from you," you scoff. "you're a heartless motherfucker. you don't even care about me."

you feel so empty inside. all the sacrifices you've made, all the times you've cried over the fact that you can't just be normal, all because of what he does for a living, who he is.

all while having to stomach the nausea of simply knowing why you have to keep him a secret.

it's too much to deal with anymore.

he watches as you drag an empty duffel bag out of the closet and begin throwing various items of clothing inside it. it takes a few moments, but it finally clicks in his head: you're leaving. and he doesn't know when, or if, you'll be back.

he stands, grabbing your arm as carefully as he can, stopping you from continuing to pack. "no. stay," he tells you. he sounds so calm, his voice is void of its usual sternness.

he's only calm because he's panicking inside.

you take his calm demeanor to mean that he genuinely does not give a fuck.

"get off me. I'm leaving," you tell him, pulling your arm away from his grasp. that's all you can say, because that's all you know right now. you have no plans for where you're going or when you're coming back.

if you're coming back.

you shove a few more things in your bag as your eyes tear up.

what has your life come to?

~~~

the door slams behind you on your way out, shaking the whole apartment. eerie silence follows.

no sounds of pans clattering in the kitchen. no music blaring while you shower. no keyboard clicking while you work. no more of your laughing as you watch videos on your phone.

no more you.

all there is is dead silence.

he used to live in the silence. he took comfort in it; he'd be able to hear a threat coming from a mile away as long as he lived in the silence. it was his way of protection, his entire way of life.

it doesn't have that comforting effect anymore.

because now?

he's alone.

now, alone, in the silence he once reveled in, he roams the apartment in contemplation. he sees everything he didn't see before.

the mess he left everywhere, destroying the effort you put in every day to keep a tidy home.

but more importantly? he sees the disconnect. the stark contrast between your carefulness and his tendency to act as a bull in a china shop opens his eyes to reality.

he always saw you as a team.

but now?

he realizes that you're not.

you're normal. he isn't.

he never could be.

~~~

your best bet for now is to go to a friend's place, you think. you sob your eyes out as you sit in the driver's seat of your car, and you come up with a lie that's at least semi-believable.

you take a few deep breaths as you click her contact on speed-dial.

"hey, so you'll never believe my luck," you begin, trying to hide your sniffling from the microphone. "my building is infested with rats. I don't know how long it'll be until they've dealt with it. at least a week, probably. do you think I could spend a few nights at your place?"

your voice is choppy as you speak, and it's clear you've been crying, but she doesn't question it. she gives you the 'okay' to come over, and you hang up quickly before the tears start again.

that's how you end up sleeping on her couch that night, sobbing silently into your hoodie as you try to determine what the hell you're supposed to do now.

for so long, you've put up with his bullshit, kept his secret, kept your mouth shut, all for one reason: you love him.

but he's not capable of loving anyone.

~~~

for a while, the feeling of isolation doesn't bother him. all he feels is indifference.

yet as he finally cleans up after himself, the ache in his chest begins. he almost wonders if he's having a heart attack; he's never felt this before.

yes, he has.

he freezes in place, the memory coming to him. he injured you, once, purely by accident. that's when he's felt this helplessness, this emptiness, this deep-seated pain in his chest.

guilt?

he's not sure.

he kneels on the cold hard tile of the entryway, not bothering to put on longer pants or a towel to protect his knees as he wipes up the mud he tracked inside. he doesn't deserve that comfort.

he lays in bed alone that night, mind empty. sleep never finds him.

the following morning, before the sun has risen, he makes a decision.

he opens his bank account and navigates to the most recent transfer, forwarding it back to the sender with one message: deal's off. busy.

~~~

the next morning, you wake up, still feeling terribly nauseous. you look in the bathroom mirror to find your eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying.

you never should've gotten involved with a cold-hearted killer.

every bone in your body is saying to leave. get out of New York, quit your job, leave him and this whole life behind.

instead, you make a cup of coffee and force some yogurt down your throat before going to work.

you're up early, and don't care to deal with the traffic driving further into the city, so you might as well take the train.

~~~

he has absolutely no clue where you are.

he knows none of the addresses of your friends where you might have gone, not even a single one of their names.

if you didn't have to work, he wouldn't even be sure that you were still in the state.

work.

he doesn't even know the address of your workplace. he has a vague sense of the name of the company, how hard can it be to find?

so that's where he starts.

he camps out down a side street near your office, giving him a narrow field of vision to the entrance while staying hidden. it's the end of the workday, you should be coming out soon.

normally, scouting out a target is easy. he takes a short amount of time to watch them, determine their routines, and find the best course of action to take them out in the most efficient way possible.

there's always a plan, an end goal there. here?

he has no plan. there is no end goal.

for now, he needs to know where you're staying. so he watches and waits for you to come out of the one place where he can count on being able to find you.

he's not prepared for the pang of some unfamiliar emotion that he feels when he sees you come out of the building. you look exhausted; clearly, you didn't sleep last night, same as him.

you still look perfect.

he assumes you're heading to the parking lot, and he realizes he didn't think this far ahead. he doesn't have a fucking car, how is he supposed to follow you to find out where you're going?

he would never make this kind of bullshit mistake on a job.

he's scanning the area, trying to find the most inconspicuous car he can find that he thinks he might be able to hotwire-

you walk right past the parking lot.

he begins to trail you from across the street, mind working through all the possible answers as to where you're going. for now, his focus is keeping his eyes on you at all times.

he refuses to acknowledge the way his chest hurts even more as he follows you down the street and into the train station.

he hates when you take the train, hence why you always drive. to him, the train isn't safe. there's too many variables, too many things could go wrong. today, though, it works to his advantage.

all he can do for now is get on the train car behind you and wait to see where you get off at.

~~~

you're so tired, it's probably for the best you didn't drive today, lest you wanted to accidentally total your car by falling asleep at the wheel.

you want nothing more than to go home to him.

you don't. you get off the train and walk into the first bar you see.

it's after the workday, just past 6pm on a Tuesday, so it's packed, full of both blue- and white-collar workers in need of a drink.

you sit at the bar with the rest of the men as you all contemplate your life choices. you drink way too much, consuming more alcohol than is safe for you to have in your system while walking back.

oh well.

as you walk in the darkness, your head feels heavy, your body warm from the alcohol. you're being reckless, you know you are.

you don't have it in you to care. you feel like your entire life is being ripped apart at the seams, and it's all your fault. you're aware of the reality; you shouldn't ask for more than he can give. that's not fair to him.

no. this isn't fair to you.

~~~

he hates every fucking second of this. you're acting stupid, putting yourself in danger, getting drunk in public while operating under the assumption that you're all alone on these dark streets.

is this how you feel every day? do you feel alone even when he's there?

is he nothing more than a nuisance to you, a reminder of all your fears and all your lost dreams rolled into one?

at least he knows he's there to protect you.

to him, you were his savior.

but to you, he's nothing more than a ball and chain around your ankle.

his chest grows even tighter.

once you get inside the place you're apparently staying at, he relaxes somewhat. you're inside, you're safe.

that means nothing to him. to him, you're only safe within the confines of your own home. you're only safe when you're with him.

does he make you feel unsafe?

he finds another dark alley to hole up in. he's not going anywhere, not going home, not sleeping until you've got this figured out.

~~~

days go by. he learns your friend's schedule, learns the area, learns that you're drinking every day after work.

he knows he doesn't have the right to approach you. he'd lose you for good if he did, he thinks.

except on the fourth day of you being gone, after all these sleepless nights of him sitting on the cold, hard ground, you don't go into work. he watches your friend leave, but not you.

something's wrong.

in the back of his head, he hears your voice from your fight, if he could even call it a fight, saying,

"I don't even know if you like me!"

"you don't even care about me."

the words float around his mind, amplifying the tightness in his chest by 100 times.

that's it. he's done waiting, done watching you like you're a target, done pretending like you're both not miserable. he's done pretending he doesn't care.

~~~

you don't go into work on Friday.

you've spent all week ignoring your problems, ignoring the nausea in your stomach, drinking so much alcohol that you're lucky you don't pass out in the street, alone.

it's time to make a decision.

you don't get up from the couch until mid-morning, getting up to take a shower before heading to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

as you finish preparing your drink, staring down into the mug, you think you hear something in the distance. but the noise is so faint, you attribute it to your lack of sleep and food. you're fine, there's nothing there.

you hear it again, louder this time, and you turn towards where you hear the noise coming from-

from behind you, a hand slips over your mouth, and an arm wraps itself around your waist. you're about to panic when you hear the figure speak,

"it's me."

you let yourself relax against him. he scared the absolute shit out of you, making you fear for your fucking life, but you don't care. he's here.

but then your anger returns with a vengeance.

you put all your weight into throwing yourself forward, out of his grasp, and he lets go.

"how dare you!" is the first thing you say, and then you turn to face him.

woah.

if you thought you looked like shit from lack of sleep, it was nothing compared to how he looked.

you pause your yelling at him for a moment to take in the fact that he looks so tired he might be ready to collapse, that he looks like he hasn't showered or eaten in days.

you push past your worry and begin again, your anger boiling over as you continue yelling.

"how do you know I'm here? have you been fucking following me?"

he forces himself to speak.

"yes."

you scoff. of course he has.

"I'm not a child! I'm a fully grown adult, James!" you yell.

"then why the hell have you been acting like you're a goddamn child?" he yells back.

you've never heard him raise his voice like this before.

"you could have gotten yourself killed. you're lucky I was there. you did everything wrong, against how I taught you to keep yourself safe!"

your entire body is vibrating with the range of emotions you feel right now. you're so pissed off at him, but you've finally gotten him to speak to you. you hate that he's been watching you like his prey all week, but it means that maybe, in his eyes, you're worth losing sleep over.

you both stand there for a minute as you delay responding. your hair is soaking through your pajama shirt, which you realize as you stand there, is one of his t-shirts. your coffee is spilled everywhere from when he startled you, the mug flipped on its side on the counter.

you try to gather your thoughts to respond. you end up coming back to the one thing that you haven't been able to forget about all week, the one thing that breaks your heart more than any of it.

"you didn't even fight for me," you say quietly. you do everything in your power to take deep breaths, blinking your eyes quickly to stop the tears in their wake. "you didn't even fight for me to stay. you just let me go."

you give him the benefit of the doubt when he doesn't respond immediately. you know he needs to gather his thoughts.

you wipe your eyes a few times, listening to the silence, just praying that you mean enough to him that he'll respond.

"I'll never make that mistake again."

you've missed him so much, even in your rage and despair, that those words are all the reassurance you need to hear from him. he steps closer to you, slowly, waiting for your permission to approach.

you take in his appearance once more. he clearly hasn't eaten or slept in days, and he looks dirty. you connect the dots in your head: he hasn't even gone home, hasn't left your side once all week.

the idea of him following you all week pissed you off only minutes before. but now?

your tears spill from your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, embracing him as though he's your entire world.

he's never felt as relieved as he does when you cling to him. the aching in his chest finally begins to dissipate for the first time in a week.

you may be in some random apartment, but he's finally home.

he wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up. you get the hint and wrap your legs around his hips, holding onto him as he walks you over to the couch you've spent the last few days crying on.

he lays you down and begins to peel his shirt from your body, revealing every inch of your beautiful skin to him.

he knows has to show you how sorry he is, the only way he knows how.

he adjusts your positioning so you're sitting face forward on the couch, legs dangling over the edge, and he spreads your thighs as he gets to his knees in front of you.

it about takes your breath away.

this man, who is so possessive over you, so afraid of showing even a sliver of weakness or vulnerability, so against the idea of giving up any form of power, is on his knees for you in apology.

you know this isn't easy for him. this is the biggest display of trust you think you've ever seen from him, and your fears about not meaning anything to him begin to disappear.

you're the most important thing in his life. he wishes he had the words to tell you that.

he wraps his hands around the back of your knees, bringing you closer to him, and he pushes his tongue between your legs so softly.

his mouth is wet, and warm, and he hasn't eaten in days, but he'd rather you be the only thing he tastes for the rest of his life, anyways.

a few more involuntary tears spill from your eyes as he laves his tongue over you. you feel so sensitive, the combination of lacking his touch for so long and the emotion behind his actions is making you so much more conscious of his every movement.

he buries his tongue in you over and over again like it's his only mission in life.

he feels the entire lower half of his face, having gone unshaved for the last week, is soaked, covered in you. he hopes he leaves you with a mild rug burn between your thighs so you feel him for days afterwards.

you're so perceptive to his every move, you feel it distinctly when he begins to trace shapes over your clit.

A, E, S is all you make out.

James.

he's writing his name on your skin with his tongue.

you let out a whimper when you realize it, and your gentle hold on the back of his head tightens, pulling his face closer against your cunt.

"James," you whisper as he begins to work you faster, "please."

that's all it takes for him to push you over the edge. your thighs close on either side of his head, and he can mostly hear the way you whine his name as you come for him.

you barely have a second to relax your muscles before he's crowding you on the couch, repositioning you so you're laying underneath him.

his mouth begins to attack your neck, your rules against him putting hickeys on your neck be damned. and you gladly let him, you don't care right now.

he takes no time at all to shove the fabric of his pants out of the way, wrapping your legs around his hips once more, pushing himself down into you.

"fuck," you whisper at the stretch.

he continues his assault on your neck, marking you up and down all the way to your breasts, anywhere he can reach.

he bites back a groan every time you moan so perfectly, filling his ears, repeating his name every few thrusts.

but there's still something in the back of his head he needs you to know.

he doesn't stop, doesn't quit fucking you so beautifully as he brings his mouth to your ear.

"of course I like you," he admits so quietly, and his tone makes it sound like it's the most obvious thing in the world. you're brought back to the other night when you expressed your deepest vulnerabilities to him, and now, he's making up for what he should have told you then. "and of course I care about you."

you clutch him against you as tight as humanly possible until you're both letting yourselves go, feeling the comforting warmth as he releases inside you.

his body gives out, collapsing on top of you, exhausted from the physical and emotional toll of the week.

you finally feel tired too, more so than you have all week. it's as though your body is finally poised to truly rest now that he's with you again.

you can't sleep yet.

"take me home, James," you whisper, and he doesn't hesitate.

~~~

(guys as I'm writing this I'm about to cry)

yeah so I think I spent about six hours on this total y'all

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[smileysuh]

me and the devil - TEASER

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “I can be your manager. It’s something I have experience in. But we’d need to form a contract, and it’s not the type of contract most singers agree to.” Johnny takes a breath. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m the Devil, honey, and if it’s fame that you want, you’re going to have to make a deal with the Devil.” 

tw/cw. Unprotected consensual sex, slight monsterfucking themes (Johnny has a big forked tongue), monster/big cock Johnny, pussy eating, breast worship, multiple reader orgasms, small vs large kink, soft dom devil John, dirty talk, praise, etc… I pet names: (hers). Honey, songbird. 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.9k 

🍭 aus. devil!Johnny, singer!reader, supernatural au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This fic is inspired by the songs Me And The Devil by Soap&Skin and The Devil Wears A Suit And Tie by Colter Wall, it also loosely draws inspiration from the TV shows Yellowstone, Landman and Supernatural. 

You take a deep breath, wrapping your arms around your pajama-clad body. “I need you.”

“You have me, it’s in our contract.”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean, Johnny.”

He stares at you for a moment. “If we slept together, wouldn’t this be an unfair power dynamic? I know how ‘woke’ you humans are nowadays. Think of it, you, a new singer, sleeping with her manager who also happens to be the Devil… what would the tabloids say?”

He’s making a joke out of it, but you appreciate that he’s even broached the subject of there being a power imbalance between the two of you. Because he’s right, the contract - and the fact that he’s the Devil - are major obstacles, not to mention, you don’t have a clue how much Johnny actually feels for you. 

“If there had been a clause in our contract that by accepting, it would mean we could never be more than manager and client, I maybe wouldn’t have signed it,” you state.

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. “There was no such clause, I’m only preparing you for ramifications. I’m the Devil, honey, and regardless of what happens to us, I’ve agreed to be in your life for the next twenty years. For me, that’s just a blip, but for you, that’s a quarter of a lifetime, and I know how attached you humans can get.”

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[unsuperingyournatural]

emotional time capsules

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

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The TV is off. The lights are low. A record hums in the corner, something old and scratchy and soft, like it’s been playing the same tune since 1962.

You’re both sitting on the floor, backs leaned against the couch, legs tucked under a shared blanket. The bottle of wine between you is nearly empty, forgotten. It’s quiet—the kind of quiet you only get with someone you trust not to fill it.

“I used to sneak out of bed to watch old movies,” you say, chin resting over your knees. “I’d turn the volume so low, I had to lip-read half the time. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to be there.”

Pedro smiles. “Black and white?”

“Always.” You glance over at him, your eyes a little glassy from the wine and the memory. “I fell in love with the way people used to speak. There was something so deliberate about it. Every line felt rehearsed in the best way. Bette Davis saying ‘fasten your seatbelts’ like it was gospel. Gregory Peck with that stillness. The shadows, the drama—it was all so much, and somehow never enough.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just listens, his elbow resting lightly against yours.

You shrug a little. “I didn’t even understand half of what was going on. But I felt it. Like they were showing me the shape of feelings I hadn’t had yet, but would.”

He exhales softly. “That’s exactly what it is, isn’t it? It teaches you how to feel before you know what to call it.”

You nod, quiet. “Movies raised me.”

Pedro hums, eyes going distant. “We didn’t have a fancy setup or anything. Just an old TV and whatever VHS tapes we could get our hands on. My sister and I would watch anything. Didn’t matter what it was—cartoons, westerns, romantic dramas from the ’80s. It was the ritual of it. Piling on the couch. Arguing over snacks. That was the magic.”

You smile, watching him remember. There’s a softness in his face now. One you’ve seen before—when he’s looking backward like this. And maybe, just a little, when he’s looking at you.

“Favorite old movie?” he asks after a beat.

“Rebecca.” The answer comes without hesitation. “I watched it when I was ten and it haunted me in the best way. That voiceover at the beginning? The house? The quiet dread? I didn’t sleep for two nights. I was obsessed.”

Pedro laughs under his breath. “You would love a gothic ghost story with no ghosts in it.”

“Implied ghosts are the most dangerous kind,” you say seriously. “They stay with you.”

He nudges your foot under the blanket. “Dangerous. Got it.”

You tilt your head toward him. “What about you? The one that stuck.”

He thinks for a second. “Cinema Paradiso. I saw it way too young, but something about it cracked me open. The love, the ache. Sure, it was about movies—but really, it was about memory. About how we carry the people we lose.”

You don’t respond right away. You just let the weight of that hang between you.

Then, quietly: “That’s beautiful.”

Pedro glances sideways. “I’ve probably watched it ten times. Still gets me.”

The record winds to silence. Neither of you moves to put something else on.

“You ever think,” he says, voice low, “how those films—the ones we watched half-asleep, or too young to understand—somehow shaped who we became?”

You nod. “Like emotional time capsules. Little clues we didn’t know we were following.”

His hand finds yours under the blanket, easy and familiar. There’s no fanfare to it. Just contact, quiet and steady.

“Maybe that’s why this,” he says, barely above a whisper, “feels like something I’ve known before.”

You don’t look at him. Not yet. You just let your fingers curl between his and hold tight.

He shifts, presses a kiss to the side of your head. “We should watch Rebecca sometime.”

You smile, still facing forward. “I’ll talk through the whole thing.”

He chuckles. “Good. I want to hear what you see in it.”

Finally, you turn your head, your cheek brushing his shoulder.

“I see everything differently with you,” you say.

And there’s no need to explain what that means. Because he already knows.

[maxdibert]

your essay about Snape and classism made me think of the implications behind the Weasleys being the definition of poor in the magical society, according to the books.

They're pureblood, think less about muggles and they never speak about their only muggle relative, yet they don't seem to fit with the aristocrats because they're "blood traitors"?? What does that mean?

Despite being poor, the father and breadwinner for the family works at the Ministry, and Percy joins him later in a higher rank. Meanwhile, the eldest brother works on a bank (THE bank? is there any other banks that isn't Gringotts?) and we have no clue about how people see dragon breeding as a job.

I don't know where I was trying to get to, the Weasley's place in society confuses me. Any idea?

This is a very European dynamic that happens in most countries that still have monarchies or a strong aristocratic elite and a tradition of class systems based on nobility: the figure of the poor aristocrat. In Spain, for example, there is the figure of the hidalgo, which is the aristocrat with a title but without property or land, perhaps even poorer than a bourgeois, but still maintaining their aristocratic status. And this figure exists in other countries too; in fact, it's quite common in popular culture.

The problem with this is that many people (especially from the United States, obviously) think that in old Europe, class is defined by money. But that's not necessarily true, because an aristocrat will always be socially above —even for other aristocrats— regardless of being poor or a "class traitor," as opposed to a bourgeois without a family name. And this is something that is very well reflected in the fact that even Slytherins consider Ginny a "catch." The pureblood Slytherins don’t consider Ginny a catch just because she’s pretty, but because even though she’s poor and a “traitor,” she is still pureblood. She still has “aristocratic” ancestry and comes from the same roots as them. A pureblood would choose a “traitor”—as much of a traitor as she may be—a hundred thousand times over someone who can’t help continue the bloodline. This is pure traditional European aristocratic mentality.

So yes, the Weasleys may be traitors and perhaps not as wealthy as the Malfoys, but the Weasleys are still far above any other wizard in the magical society because of their blood status. Because in an aristocratic society, economic capital is not enough to match social capital: you need both. Lucius is above Arthur because he has both social and economic capital. But Arthur is still above any Muggle-born or half-blood wizard who might have as much or more money than Lucius. Does that make sense? Because despite the hatred and contempt Lucius has for Arthur, he would still be willing to save Arthur twenty thousand times before saving any half-blood or Muggle-born, no matter how wealthy they might be, because Arthur can help preserve the bloodline, and the others can’t. And this is something those of us who grew up in societies deeply affected by these value systems understand quite well.

There’s also the fact that Rowling has never truly grasped what poverty is. For Rowling, being poor means not being as privileged as the most privileged. She doesn’t know what it’s really like to be poor or to suffer from true poverty. The Weasleys always had a hot meal on the table, they could dress themselves, and they could buy things for their children and even spend lottery winnings on a family vacation. A truly poor family could never afford the luxury of spending lottery winnings on a trip, they literally need it to avoid starving. The Weasleys are poor from a privileged perspective, but they are not poor from a class perspective, nor are they truly poor from a sociological standpoint. And even less so considering the author of the books is British.

[sunnynwanda]

Helloooo I hope your having a fabulous day, and I absolutely adore your work. So I have a request, can you do it?

Its a situation where the Villain kidnaps a well known detective and tries to get them to spill intel on the Hero’s identity. But the problem is, the detective IS the hero. ;) tyy

Talk

"Get. Off. Me." The demand is met with a snarl as Villain spins the chair around, looming over their prisoner like Damocles' sword. The Detective stares up at them, unyielding and unbothered on the surface, while on the inside their mind wanders in more ways than one. How they are supposed to get out of this one without compromising their cover and career is beyond them.

"Talk," Villain insists, their voice low and menacing, but the Detective doesn't flinch, shaking their head instead, their lips sealed by much more than promise or duty. If only Villain knew who they had at the tips of their fingers - part of Hero the Detective was tempted to reveal themself with a demonstration of power, but dominating the room wasn't their goal at the moment. They needed to make it out of the room without revealing the layers of their occupation and identity.

Villain growls, fed up with spinning in circles of astounding stubbornness they both possessed, as engaging as it was. Time is running out; they have missions to attend to and chaos to create. They roll the chair by tugging at the leather binds restricting the Detective's arms, pulling them between their knees and getting in the other's face.

"Hero won't save you from me," they narrow their eyes in warning, wondering why the Detective wasn't scared of falling victim to a battle that was not theirs to fight, "But I can promise to let you leave if you give me a clue."

"Why?" The Detective asks, tilting their head to the side, curiosity etched on their face, biting the inside of their cheek to hold back a chuckle at the irony of the situation. It was entertaining, watching Villain struggle with something so near it was under their nose, eluding them by the sheer modality of perception. "What do you need their identity for?"

"I was thinking of paying them a visit," Villain offers them a crooked grin, unable to decipher their amusement. Suppose the Detective's line of work demands some level of composure, it still does not justify the calmness they are exhibiting. Any other normal person would be scared - no, terrified out of their damn mind, yet here was the Detective, looking almost bored with the situation.

The Detective scoffs, the corner of their lips twitching up in a small smile that had no business being this attractive. "A visit, huh? Since when were you that courteous?" They ask, earning a disbelieving - and offended - huff from Villain. "To Hero, I mean."

"Excuse you? You know nothing of our relationship with Hero," Villain claims, at which the Detective only raises an eyebrow. It was so tempting to just tell them - for the sake of witnessing the look on their face when recognition dawns and all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

They are so close to cracking up that it's not funny anymore, but bursting out laughing would be a quick way of giving their identity away, so they stay put, searching for alternative ways of distracting Villain. "What makes you think I know their identity? Hero wouldn't trust anyone with that type of intel."

"You're the best detective in the city," Villain points out, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  "You mean to tell me that you have no clues, that you've never wondered who you've entrusted your lives to? That blind trust is astonishing and reckless, don't you think?"

Gods, was it hard to hold back from blurting it out!

"I don't know your identity," the Detective counters, smirking at the evident agitation of their captor. Villain groans at that as if they didn't look alluring without the perturbed pout on their pretty face. "Not for lack of research, need I say," they grin, tilting their head to the side in a challenge of wits.

"You've researched me, have you?" Villain drawls, studying the Detective's expression and confident posture - too confident and self-assured, in Villain's humble opinion. They could tell something was off yet failed to identify what.

The Detective found that comical but hid the laugh behind a cough, shaking their head to compose themself. "I might have attempted but failed nonetheless," they admit, licking their lips as an idea forms in their head. "Would you be willing to spill some hints? In exchange for useful information on your nemesis, of course."

Villain pauses, their mouth hanging open like their brain malfunctioned and had to rewire. The Detective Hero offers a crooked grin, satisfied with the effect their offer had on their enemy. They use the momentary shift of Villain's attention to free their hands, keeping them behind their back to avoid raising suspicion too soon.

"I could consider that," Villain mumbles under their breath, still at a loss for words, which was a first for their ever-eloquent self. They look flabbergasted, which only adds fuel to the fire of Hero's amusement. Villain felt like a mouse in the paws of a cat that's playing with its food, stroking until the claws pierce through their trembling throat.

"Take your time," the Detective chuckles at how they've rendered their favourite nemesis silent. "I'll be glad to welcome you in my office," they add and - much to Villain's dismay - get up from their seat, walking towards the door as if that was nothing short of normal.

Villain remains seated in their place in a state of complete confusion, their brain short-circuiting as they watch the Detective's retreating figure, wondering how on Earth their plan resulted in this. They glance at the leather binds on the floor and pick them up, the pads of their fingers brushing over the burned edge of the laser cut.

Villain pauses, silent as they take in the current state of affairs. They might not be ready to reveal their true identity to a well-known detective for the sake of gaining intel on Hero, but it won't hurt to visit them for the sake of (potentially) talking some information out of them. And if it doesn't work out? Well, they definitely won't mind getting to know the Detective.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I had fun with this xD Been going through some not so pleasant things recently, this was like a breath of fresh air. Thanks for the chance to get everything off my mind.

xo Sunny

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[tryandbehappy]

Hey !

Since I discovered your blog, I'm literally obsessed with it ! I spend so much time reading your posts, it's sooooo good ! Thank you for bringing us hope, we seriously need it with the season we have so far 😅

What do you think will happen with Luke and Rose ? I mean, I don't see how Nick and June can be together if these two are still in the picture you know ?

I feel that the writers will give us the " impossible love " thing. Like Nick and June love each other but can't be together at the end. That they'll confess their love for each other but realised that they will and can never be together. I don't know if what I'm saying is very clear, english is not my first language 😅

But thank you for all your posts, please never stop writing them 😅

Thank you so much, that really means a lot to me. Now, as for predictions about what’s going to happen next… Honestly, I have no clue. I never make predictions, because mine are always wrong. What I can do is analyze the emotional state the characters are in right now and what brought them there. I can look at the parallels, interpret their behavior based on the material we’ve been given. But predicting what’s next? Completely impossible.

That said, logically speaking, The Handmaid’s Tale isn’t a dark show in the way some might think. They’ve given redemptive arcs to nearly every major character except Fred. They don’t even let Nick hit true rock bottom (I mean he’s framed like a “dark horse”). But if you look at what Nick did, it’s barely even a “betrayal.” The show has already moved past it, judging by June’s reaction to him at the wedding, the way she looked at him with those doe eyes. That tells us everything: this conflict isn’t lasting.

And if we’re being honest, Nick and June have always been the emotional center of the show. That becomes very clear if you go back and rewatch all of their scenes. Sometimes it’s easy to forget because there’s so much happening in the series overall, and time feels stretched out, but when you focus on their scenes specifically, the emotional weight, the intensity they’re almost always hopeful, tender, or empowering. This is literally their first real conflict in six seasons. So it’s incredibly unlikely that the show would suddenly decide to permanently break them apart.

So what do I expect next? I’m sure we’ll get an incredibly emotionally charged Nick and June scene or several. I think either the whole finale or a large part of it will be focused on them. Something like season 4 episode 9, where we had almost a full episode centered on them. It won’t be some cheesy soap opera; there will be stakes and drama, but we’re going to get multiple scenes, and they’ll be shot beautifully and acted powerfully. That much I feel confident about.

As for tone I’m expecting something hopeful. Maybe it’ll be bittersweet, like they get their happiness for a moment and then lose it. Or maybe everything seems stacked against them and then against all odds they end up together. What I’m sure of is that we’re about to be thrown onto an emotional rollercoaster. There’s going to be heartbreak and joy. The only question is: in what order? I think since we’re already in heartbreak territory now, it makes sense for it to build toward hope and catharsis.

As for Rose and Luke, honestly, I’m not even concerned. Those stories are done. June already said she’s with Luke out of obligation and Nick heard that. Nick has also made it clear that he’s ready to walk away from Rose the moment he gets the chance. There’s no weight left in those dynamics. The only unresolved question in the whole damn show is: Will Nick and June be together? That’s what’s keeping the fandom on edge.

And listen I know a lot of people are mad at the writers right now, worried there’s not enough time left, worried we’re not going to get what we want. But I don’t feel that way. I actually like the pacing. I get why the tension is drawn out this way. It’s a narrative choice, a dramatic strategy. They’re making us feel it. Because if there wasn’t this level of uncertainty, we wouldn’t be nearly this emotionally invested.

The scenes we’ve gotten so far? They’re incredible. The writing, the lighting, the angles, the acting, everything is so carefully crafted. I say that as a video editor who studies every detail. And that’s why I trust them. I trust the crew, I trust the actors, I trust that they know what they’re building toward and I believe that the finale is going to destroy us in the best possible way.

[minsu-the-cowardly-human]

I know who you pretend I am

16+, swearing & slight references to previous sex but none in here, angst, no happy ending

2.6k words, insp by @/shapeplex's drawing & Rebecca Sugar's drawing of Sadie n Amythest

Summary:

Shapesmith has been 'hanging out' with Scott regularly after the incident but after talking to Kate, he knows something needs to change.

Shapesmith opened the door to Scott’s apartment with a small sigh. He knew what he was doing might ruin everything he had with him. However, after talking with Kate, he realized something needed to change.

Scott was sitting on the couch with masked excitement for when Shapesmith would come, as they met up almost every other day. He looked over at Shapesmith and…

…huh. His eyes widened a bit before waiting a few moments as Shapesmith stood at the doorway awkwardly. He cleared his throat. “So…are you going to…?” He asked softly, twisting his wrist in a circle.

Shapesmith should have figured he couldn’t just show up here and expect him to know everything that was happening in his head. Though, that would make things a hell of a lot easier. He walked over and sat down beside him. He tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t. Mostly because the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t have much of an explanation or excuse for the way he was feeling.

Scott straightened his back, his hand scratching his neck. The more he looked at Shapesmith…well, not looking at him, the more he started to catch on that something was wrong. “Look…w-we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. I should thank you for just putting up with me for this long.” He said with a giggle before clearing his throat once more.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, even as Scott still didn’t have a clue what was going on. Shapesmith slowly moved his gaze up from the floor, to his hands, and finally his face. His eyes stared into his, scanning for any clue of what he was thinking. Though, he didn’t really know if he wanted to know now.

He gulped, trying to start off light. “...you…you really miss her, huh?”

…what an odd question. I mean, he did, obviously, but they hadn’t talked much about her since…well the incident. God, he was so pathetic that night, crying and wailing like a baby. He jumped a bit but still responded calmly. “Yeah…yeah I do. She was great…” He put his hand on his knee, his hand cupping his cheek as he thought about her.

“Yeah…” He responded, more disappointed than what he had meant to sound like. “I wish I got to meet her before…” He looked down at his hands. He felt filthy enough as is, but just…acknowledging her existence and reveling in her memory…it makes him nearly fall into a pit of total despair, and why wouldn't it? He had never met Becky, and Scott never once talked about her around Shapesmith and yet…

Scott put a hand on his shoulder, looking down. “Yeah. You would've liked her.”

Shapesmith looked at him, really looked at him. He had his eyebrows upturned and despite his slight smile, there was a deep sorrow in his eyes by how he was holding back crying, just barely. That's not surprising given it was only 5 months ago. Still…seeing him so much pain, genuine pain, made his own guilt that much worse. 

During their time together, doing this masquerade, Shapesmith had unknowingly convinced himself that the real reason he was with him was because maybe he was questioning if he was gay or bisexual, or that he hated his wife or that she was awful and he just wanted to rewrite history with him transforming. Much in the same way that people use age regression to cope with their childhoods. To see that he actually cared and loved for her as much as he loves Scott feels…humiliating. He knew he was a Martian and all, but even he should have known the reality of their escapades.

Even with that, though, it felt wrong to be so hurt, since he was mourning his wife. His eyes widened for a moment, like a deer in the headlights whilst he slowly grasped Scott's hand, moved it away from his shoulder and let it go, though his fingers lingered for a moment more. 

This…this is when the alarm bells went off in Scott's head. It should have gone off the second he didn't transform, or brought up his wife, but now they were really going off. But maybe, maybe he just needed a break and he wanted to make sure Scott was doing alright with the loss before continuing, so he didn't shapeshift to show how genuine he was being. But with this, what…happened? Shapesmith was always receptive to his affection, no matter how small. This was unlike him.

“Shapesmith…are you, are you feeling alright?” His hand instinctively went out to comfort him, but he quickly retracted it with a pang of hurt in his heart. “Again, we don't have to do anything tonight…”

“I-I don't want to do it…at all anymore.”  He said softly but quickly, trying to get it out before his body rejected to express what concerns were of his brain. Unfortunately, his heart had a tune of its own, and it was immediately horrified he had uttered that. But his heart was no match for his head, for once.

… “What?” His eyes in surprise. “What…what's going on? Why are you deciding this so suddenly?” He gulped hard as he had a despicable thought. “Did you ever feel forced to…?”

“What? No, no!” He immediately cleared up without even thinking. He put his arms out in front of him, waving them side to side to emphasize how much he meant it. But then he paused. His hands returned to his side before one of them crept up along him and rested behind his neck. “Well…kind of.” He said, barely above a whisper.

Shit. “What...what are you saying?” He loved all their time together but he never wanted it to be something he felt like he was forced to do, like that was his duty as a hero to help a dangerous “villain”-more like vigilante-stay sane by any means necessary. He sat straight up, ready to hear the worst.

“...” He moved his hand, rubbing his arm. God he couldn't stop moving, even if it was his fingertips going along his arm. “Not...not the activity but…the transforming itself.”

Scott let out a big sigh of relief. “Thank God.” Those two words gave Shapesmith more hope than it should. There was a peaceful…enough atmosphere as Shapesmith got most of what he wanted to say out of his system, even if his heart was aching. That was until Scott realized something. “Wait…you're going to…stop transforming into her?” He asked, his voice wavering like that was Earth shattering. His world, at least.

“Yes, Scott. It's wrong…”

His expression was hollow, his eyes losing their shine and his smile dropping. What? What was even wrong with their arrangement? There wasn't a thing wrong, he thought they had agreed to do this together, and that he understood the implications of what that meant. He wasn't about to argue with that though, as annoying as he viewed that to be.

What he would argue, however, would be far closer to what goes against his values. “You're a hypocrite. You say it's ‘wrong’ to transform into her-” He pointed a finger at him. “-but you're always playing the part of somebody else. How is what we've been doing any different than what you do everyday?” His voice was raised and an anger was present in his aura that he usually only unleashed onto…other superheros.

He…didn't have much of a response to that. If he was being honest, that's what his greatest fear and doubts were about talking about this. Maybe it was his anger, but he started to feel something bubbling in him as well. Who the hell was he to talk about morals when he was the one who asked Shapesmith to transform in the first place, despite wanting the “truth” about everything else.

“Well…” Shapesmith started, he didn't want to start a serious argument because he wanted to be with Scott…just not as his wife. “That is true…to an extent. When I'm transformed into Rus, most people I encounter…don't know who he is. When I transform into your wife, you know her. You can directly compare me to her.”

God what a non-argument. Just because he's transformed into somebody that most people outside of the GDA don't know about him doesn't mean that it's right to be him. People knowing who you're transformed into or not shouldn't factor into whether or not you shapeshift into them. I mean if we're going with that, you could argue that it shouldn't matter what you do to civilians, because most people don't know them. 

“And that makes it okay? If he was a celebrity would it be different? And…and you know that's not what I'm doing here. I just…want to see my wife again, is that so wrong?”

“No, but…” He felt awful enough for stealing his identity, especially given how the real Rus was invaded by Sequids. “I'm not…pretending to be him. I don't go by Rus and I don't try to go by Rus, and nobody believes I am him because of how I act. With you…you expect me to be your wife.”

“What? No I don't. I know…who you are.” He coughed awkwardly, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He was living a picture perfect life with a perfect wife and perfect child. Then Invincible destroyed that and instead of picking up the pieces, he, purposefully or not, deteriorated himself.

Shapesmith really, really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He liked Scott as a friend and a crush. He still wanted to view him charitably. However, he knew if he didn't bring this up now, things would never change. If nothing else, at least his fears would be proven wrong, maybe Scott would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. He just…needed to hear it. “Then why do you call me Becky? Why do you bring up ‘our’ kid? Why do you expect me to remember memories that I never lived?”

“Look, just because I mistake you for her sometimes doesn't mean anything.”

“Then…” He put his elbows on his knees with his hands cupping his cheeks, looking at him. “Why do you want me to transform into her so badly if you know it's me? Why can I never just…be myself around you?”

He gritted his teeth. “But this isn't you! You're flopping around in Rus's skin like it's your own. You can't keep acting like this, like this is your form or that I'm a tyrannical king putting all these restrictions on you, ok! I ask you to be my wife because I miss her, God!”

Shapesmith's throat went dry, a little taken aback by not only his voice becoming even louder, filling up every spot of silence in the room, but also by his response. His frustration for not being understood for what he's trying to say was starting to take its toll on him. He could feel an unfamiliar rage start to build itself in him.

Still, what he said next was said calmly, but the deep rage in him was evident with his teeth gritting and him rolling his eyes. “Does missing your wife make you only calling me when you want to play house right?” He covered his mouth with his hands. Oh god, what was he becoming?

Scott's mouth opened slightly.  What did he think was going on here? That he was trapped in a cage? Forced to perform like a circus attraction? He had as much of a choice in this matter as he did. His eyes narrowed as he stood up in one sweeping motion with a loud boom as his shoes hit the floor. “You can get the FUCK out of here!” He yelled, pointing over to where the door was.  

“Scott-Scott please listen to me! I want to stop being your little dolly you kiss every night!” Shapesmith stood up to join him, both of his hands balled up into fists, slamming down into a nonexistent table. “I want to stop being a replacement for something you'll never get back! I want…to be your boyfriend, not your wife.” His heart pounded as he recognized what he just said. Not only his confession, but the awful hatred he just spewed more out of. It was true, but it wasn't going to help this situation de-escalate.

Scott started actively sparking with electricity from the anger and pain he was going through. What in the world gave him the right to talk about his wife that way? He knew what happened, he wasn't a moron. He didn't need an alien telling him about humans in such an analytical and logical way. It was like he didn't have a heart. And to have the audacity to say he wants to be with him? After being so patronizing toward his wife? He wasn't a baby with no object permanence, just because she's gone doesn't mean he'll just…fall into his arms. “I KNOW that! I'm not a goddamn moron. And trust me, you could never replace her. She was…perfect. I just want to see her face again. That's it.” He felt a pang in his heart for his confession but he brushed it aside. He was straight, after all. 

He put his head in his hands. He's never felt this frustrated before, ever, really. He couldn't help but think he was talking to a broken record and he was starting to fully lose his cool, which was saying a lot, considering he, himself, had to have things repeated to him quite a bit. “Stop lying to yourself! You wouldn't kiss me as her and hold my hand and stuff if you just wanted to see her. Just…just be honest with me. For one second, ok? Can you do that? Please?” 

Scott actually shut his mouth, his sparks dying down in their intensity but very much still being there. He nodded.

Shapesmith sighed. “Would you ever do anything that you did with ‘her’ if I just stayed myself? Or Rus or whatever you call this form?” He let his arms fall to his sides, just staring up at him like he had the answer to everything. Like he was the only hope he had in the world. Despite Scott's responses, he hoped and prayed that when push fame to shove, something would happen, something would change, he would have an epiphany that he did all of this because he was scared to confront the fact that he was bisexual or that he likes somebody again or just…SOMETHING.

…his sparks died down, completely gone now. His fists unfurled themselves as he straightened his back. He tried to think for a moment. He wasn't asking if he would do anything with him now, necessarily. But would he ever get with him, even if he didn't get married…? If he had never met Becky and only knew Shapesmith, would he? But then again, that doesn't matter because he does have a wife. Or, had, it's hard for him to remember with how much he sees a copy of his wife act so normally. He didn't react with a nod or shake, not one expression change, not one peep.

Shapesmith started walking over to the door. Scott wanted to stop him, but both of his options resulted in him leaving. He could either do nothing, or tell him that he wouldn't. 

“I should have fucking known you would have used me like this. You really are a villian.” Shapesmith said with poison in his voice as he slammed the door shut

Scott fell back on the couch, pulling his hair back with his hands. He didn't do anything wrong but then…why does it feel like it?

The end

Hi howdy hello! Thank you for reading, I hoped you enjoyed it but I do accept concrit!! Specifically, I really hope everybody was relatively in character because it felt like a soap opera at some parts, haha ^^; anyways but ye!! >:)

[number1greekhater]

The would-be murderer of a centurion kept his eyes on her. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Good gods, he simply wanted her to get out already so he could continue doing his job. His job, that he's had ever since he can remember. His job, which makes a real difference, or at least he'd like to think it does.

"You're wrong." He said simply when Claudia said he's lost the blessing. "I still have it. I get visions, messages. Not as often, though shouldn't that be a good thing? The gods have nothing to tell us, shouldn't that mean that it'll be smooth sailing for the camp for a while, hmm? They have no danger to warn us of, shouldn't you be happy about that? The gods still answer my questions given by others. Jupiter himself answered a question that Juno kid gave."

He knew he had minimal power, only a shadow of what respect people once had for him, if any at this point. He was painfully aware that it was all his doing. Had he not been so power hungry, he'd probably be better off now, maybe people would even smile when he walks by. And it cannot be fixed now, he knew that.

He gave a light scoff and took a step back, trying to still control the situation, however stupid it felt. He probably could just tell her to get out, he was higher in rank than she was... why didn't he do that? He had no clue, but he felt the need to defend his position. He always did, the stubborn man he was. He needed her to know who was in control here, even if he didn't feel like he had much of it left. "They don't care, I know that. I've known that for years, you're not telling me anything new. Though that would still stain your honor, wouldn't it? Nobody wants a murderer in power."

He put his hand on the handle of the knife the emperor gave him. He was no pet, he didn't serve Commodus like a dog would a master. No, the man made it obvious that it wasn't how their relationship operated. He told him. He said he was adopting him. Evem if Octavian didn't know why he'd do that, he was sort of an adoptive son to the emperor.

"I serve the senate. I give confirmation whether the gods approve of our decisions or not, give warnings from them. And I do not serve Commodus."

Claudia walked into the augury with a frown. The rumor the Octavian was alive seemed to be true, gods that irked her. He was so...weak. His voice was whiney and pathetic, he could barely fight, and he didn't even use real animals! Gods she hated that the most, just one of the many ways New Rome had fallen from it's former glory.

"I bet," She said, her voice sharp like the spear she wielded, "the Gods would listen if you used real animals. Those stuffed animals are a mockery of what the augur is supposed to do."

The Augur was doing his usual things, just hoping that this time, maybe, he'll get answers. Somehow, someway, he would get them. Gods damnit he will, he just knows it- maybe he hasn't been trying hard enough or something, he didn't know. He just continued doing things as he was, as he always does, stabbing stuffed animals and trying to read anything of the future from their insides.

"Had you been paying attention, you'd have heard by now that I am not opposed to doing so, though clean-up would be one hell of a job. It is not me who made us switch to stuffies, rather the gods having grown tired of blood sacrifices." He answered bluntly, not even sparing the person that came in a look. "Either way, if you've no business with me, I suggest you leave and not waste my time."

[narwhalandchill]

oh my fucking god i feel. SO stupid rn at How i didnt make the (super sane very normal just absolutely. Yes. Surely) connection earlier but uhh

so anyway im now like 89% certain that whatever the "traces" of the narwhal that remain on ajax and facilitate their (ever-growing) innate connection are like. an actually fundamental aspect of it (them?) more or less.

why? because if you consider its pov just for a moment. the narwhal was literally about to depart teyvat for good. it had nearly finished consuming the primordial sea and preparing to breach surface to finish the job by eating the french for the leftovers their human bodies were made from. its an interstellar voyager it does not linger on planets it devours. it goes glug glug and it leaves.

and like if it wasnt for traveler intervening its confirmed through narzissenkreuz and renes world formula that teyvat wouldve just been destroyed. no one could have stopped the narwhal not neuvillette not focalors not anyone.

so what was the one other thing it did right before going for that french brunch? calling for ajax. getting them reunited in the primordial sea. like all the possible implications aside bc theres many different ways to speculate on the exact reasons why and the nature of that link. the point remains.

it wasnt leaving teyvat without finding him.

like the narwhal is about to fucking Dip from this cringe planet and whatever part of it that ajax carries within himself his narwhal Absolutely wanted to be reunited with. what the fuck am i supposed to read from that. hoyo???????!??! answers?!?!?!

and its not only the calling from the narwhal side itself either bc this is ALL coinciding with the growth of a 'restless power' within ajax and his vision malfunctioning (the things celestia is literally confirmed to harvest energy thru to repair its damaged authority) and his connection with the narwhal reaching an actual conscious level (arguably subconscious n emotional too bc i find it Curious his mood is poor right as the narwhal is repeatedly described as positively malding to the point its boss fight mechanic is literally a rage meter). ajax' power is growing. his destiny is starting to shift and something is drawing him to fontaine... right as the narwhal is getting close to finished with the primordial sea. funny how it overlaps eh. how it aligns 🤨🤨 why are they orbiting each other like this (they should kiss)

(& not to even Mention how ajax just Happened to get that absolutely exponential and borderline unbelievable feat of power spike in extending his foul legacy endurance as massively as he did. while. within the primordial sea. with his narwhal. who had at that point all but incorporated the power of that sea into itself. i s2g if childe was getting passive home turf co-op bonus exp with a 4x multiplier automatically the whole 40+ days 💀💀)

[no1ryomafan]

Been forgetting to use here because I’m using bluesky more shocking I know but god having Kikaider worms AGAIN and at some point I’m gonna need to go through the manga again just to compare everything in the anime even if it be very very long because really reading the manga in like a entire day because I was bored and brain rotted from my rewatch solidified the anime harder as not just one of my favorite animes but my favorite adaptation for a manga I think-

I need to read more manga in general though but wow they fucking cooked so hard which is why I’ll forever be conflicted if a new anime does end up happening with that one post I put awhile ago

[mantisgodsdomain]

Apparently there's a fic reading challenge thing this year, but after doing a quick skim of the goals... we don't think we'll be touching it with a ten-foot stick. Some of these goals put a VERY bad taste in our mouth. The idea of a "diversity checklist" isn't supposed to be... literal, we don't think? No? We're remembering that one quote about "listening to people of color being like eating your vegetables for white activists" and we're feeling like it may actually have been understating whatever the hell is going on here.

[fruit-snacker]

I always decide to get major hair changes AFTER I get pictures done

[vaguely-functional-directions]

.

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[cyber333angel]

sevika making you squirt <3

a/n: sevikas kind of a bully, we dabble into watersports at the end, kind of dubcon but barely, enjoy (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

she had you sat down in between her legs, spread out and flustered while she worked you up with her thick fingers and harsh lips. bullying you with every touch and word that she knows will have you crying and cumming in just a moment, all you had asked for was for sevika to help you out a little but she just had to be so mean.

her orders were simple enough, she had told you to “ keep your legs open and your hands away from your cunt or ill stop yeah?” and you nodded, pliant to whatever she needed you to do, you just wanted to cum. you didn’t think it would be so difficult until sevikas hand we’re down your panties, your quivering legs closing on instinct when ever she would rub your sensitive clit in those mind boggling circular motions.

first rule already broken. but as it’s known, sevika was wrapped around your finger and always bended the rules for you with enough begging. she gave you a warning which was enough to fix yourself and behave before she really had to be strict with you.

with a small grunt from behind you, you immediately open your legs with an apology, “m’sorry vika..!” and she doesn’t praise you in response, you know better. the gentle grip she had on your throat tightened for a moment, feeling the cold metal against your skin only added to the pleasure, her mechanical arm always had that kind of effect on you.

the abuse on your cunt was resumed as she slid her thick fingers back into your sopping hole, thrusting them in and out that pulls the most jarring cry from your throat. “so fucking wet..” and with that you feel a heaviness in chest, you unconsciously buck your hips more into the palm of sevikas hand. “jus wait se-“ your arms fumbling around for some kind of release and you can’t even finish your sentences while sevika is basically laughing at you. “such a needy little pussy.” its all too much, the chokehold she had on your throat, her fingers deep in your cunt and the vibrating murmurs of her voice behind you.

without thinking you break rule two. it was inevitable honestly, sevikas fingers were so deep and slippery inside you along with her course thumb rubbing at your clit.. your hands innocently flew over sevikas, trying to grab a hold of the overstimulation and just calm yourself down for a moment despite your girlfriends stern orders. with your hand on top of sevikas you feel no motion. she stopped, just like she said she would. “what did I tell you hm baby?” placing kisses on your forehead, this fake sweet tone was all a facade for what she was really preparing you for. sevika had told you enough times to listen and just stay still but you just had to ruin it, with a pout you look back to sevika with your please-forgive-me eyes. “m’sorry I didn’t mean to sevi! please-just keep going..” you go on and on about how you’ll be a good girl and will listen properly this time, while she just watches at you blabbering waiting for you to stop.

you get the clue and stop talking with tears in your eyes, just hoping sevika would give you another chance. “good girl. finally taking the fuckin hint.” you try to make yourself small and hide into her hold until your back is against sevikas chest, dropping your head down to listen carefully. “you know i don’t wanna be mean to you baby..ill let you cum but you’ll have to work for it hm?” you perk up with all smiles as you turn around to kiss her on the cheek, chanting “thank you!”s repeatedly.

what you were not prepared for was actually having to work for it to cum, you were so used to being spoiled all the time you didn’t think she would purposely make you do all the work. you were still in her lap as sevikas thick fingers were held still in your cunt, laying there with no movement. she was making you fuck yourself on her fingers. not only was it embarrassing but it was tiring you out already. grinding your hips up and down sevikas digits as your slick runs down her hands. your crying as she holds your waist with her other hand, kissing at your back with humiliating praises. “feels good huh pretty girl? fucking dripping all over me..” the thought of even forming a full sentence was long gone, your head was blurry from all the whining and pleading you were doing. “please! need your help vika, can’t do it like you..” you gave up. you needed her help, needed to feel the way her fingers curled into that spot she knows oh too well in your cunt.

with a few thoughtless weak thrust on sevikas fingers you rest yourself on her chest, hazy eyes struggling to stay open. sevika thought about it and yeah, she’ll give you what you want. you asked for it anyway.

next thing you know your achey legs were on the sides of sevikas thighs in her lap with her hand around your neck, fingers deep and swift in the heat of your pussy. “always fuckin complaining huh, is this good enough for you princess? hm? im making this needy pussy feel good?” you both know it’s rhetorical but god you wished you could answer, it did feel good, unbelievably good. she shakes your throat with her hand and you start to croak. legs twitching across the bed with your back arching off sevikas abs. “stay still, you needed me right? can’t help if you squirm like that baby.”

your babbling incoherent pleads weakly and the feeling of her inside you starts to feel like too much —an invigorating pressure on your bladder specifically. “think im gonna pee vi-vika its too much!” her fingers slip in and out of your sopping hole, moving so hastily that the sound of your wetness was heard all around the room. and sevika was behind you enjoying the sight as if you weren’t struggling to control yourself. “s’not funny sevika I think I’m gonna cum!” damp thighs shaking on top of her legs as you shut your eyes, reaching your hands to clasp at the back of sevikas neck for some comfort. hiccuping and moaning at her.

sevika had her fun and finally gave in to let her baby cream on her fingers, surprised but impressed when she hears the spurts of liquid come out from your cunt. whines filling the air while sevika praises you on and keeps the same pace of her fingers in your pussy, “oh that’s my fucking girl, keep going. cumming so good for me messy girl.” placing a kiss to your temples and rubbing at your sensitive bud as your stream slowed down. now your crying with quivering thighs and soaked sheets while you sit spread out and embarrassed. “attagirl, it felt that good? huh? didn’t know you loved my fingers so much.” you groan sarcastically as you struggle to get up from the woman making fun of you, falling back into her lap with her arms wrapped around your waist. “im just kidding baby.” feeling her wipe your tears away with a smile.