#𝅘𝅥𝅮 ✦ it's you it's you it's always you

[problemnyatic]

It's too late, I've already depicted you as the ugly pathetic "soy"jack (the soy is because soy has estrogen in it, this is bad because it makes you less masculine and more like the inferior female sex, because men should only be manly otherwise they're "failed" and thus lesser and deserving of ridicule) And me as the White Handsome Blue-Eyed Blond Man With Impressive Facial Hair Who's Memetic Association Is With Being Objectively Correct (This makes sense because he is the ideal Aryan specimen, all of these features obviously make him objectively superior to other people). This means I win and definitely look good here, you should really just pack it up. I'm a leftist btw

[chloesimaginationthings]

Elizabeth Afton bets on losing dogs in FNAF..

[shotmrmiller]

who is taking full offense that you're not wincing as you take a seat after spending all night split open and why is it ghoap? because it's ghoap.

it's johnny choking on his eggs while you plop onto the chair, legs creaking under the weight. he'd remembered having to warm compress for days after his first ghost lay. hissing through his teeth every time he had to sit on any flat surface. even now, as a seasoned veteran, he still wakes to a lingering ache. it'd be impressive if he didn't feel a bit slighted. (you took them both last night and the only thing average about him is his height.)

it's simon, thinking about how johnny made him take it easier on you. dinnae wanna scare 'er off, he'd said, yer too intense, and here you are, prettier now that your neck and chest is peppered in their love bites, wearing his shirt and johnny's boxers, with an appetite to rival that of price's. clearly you can handle him. handle them. he'll test your mettle soon enough. (that he wants to see you look up at him with discomfort pooling in your eyes after the fact is something he'll keep to himself.)

(it's you, limping to the bathroom in the middle of the night and almost sobbing when you spot the bottle of tylenol on the counter, swallowing it with a cupped hand full of sink water. as you sit in front of them now, foot coming to rest on simon's thigh, there's a lingering ache that no doubt would've left you curled up in bed for most of the morning. thank god for medicine.)

[a11eya]

Bakugou’s always gone to bed really early, you hear. So it doesn’t surprise you in the early days of your relationship when most nights you find yourself climbing into bed after he’s already been asleep for a while.

But those first couple times, no matter how quiet and careful you try to be, you always wake him.

He transitions from sleep to wakefulness in a heartbeat, startling you. Pinning you down, pressing you into the bed with his body, before his eyes even have the chance to register what’s in front of him. Hero reflexes, you guess.

Gradually, he gets used to it. Used to you being part of how he begins his days and ends his nights. And you make an effort to go to bed earlier, conscious of the fatigue that sometimes settles into his shoulders, his face.

These days when you crawl into bed, he stays asleep—for the most part. Some part of his brain stirs, his body reacts, because he always pulls you in close, mutters your name. He only settles once you say his name back, the lines of his body relaxing against yours.

[cerealmonster15]

well he did his best. i think. 😔

[sceletaflores]

come on and show me a little bit of spine!

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 5.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, smoking, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, public sex (alleyway hehe), biting, blood but not blood play, pain kink, scent kink, a special guest (!!!), jealous logan muahahaha, emotional constipation but like wtf is new, nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, probably ooc logan and friends sorry i'm just a girl, porn w/ plot (a little???), no use of y/n.

author’s note: HAHA BACK ON MY LOGAN BULLSHIT! who’s laughing? not me. i can’t stop writing for him it’s insane and selfish i know i know i’m sorry. bee tee dubs this is part two to all’s fair in love and viscera cus i couldn't get them out of my head so...kisses!

five x-men walk into a bar, only three walk out…

All men are the same. X-gene or no x-gene, they're all immature pigs.

You've come to find that it's more than just skin deep. If you took a knife to every man in this bar, you'd surely find the exact same little metaphorical mass of arrogance ingrained in every single one of them once all the layers are peeled back far enough.

And that's what Logan is, a man.

A stubborn, arrogant, mind-numbingly frustrating man who's convinced he could never be wrong just because he's had a little more time than normal to perfect the art of being completely insufferable.

No adamantium skeleton or foot long claws of death can change that.

You could set him on fire, drown him, watch him regenerate from a single cell, and nothing would change.

So, in hindsight, you really should have seen this coming.

It was Ororo's idea to go out, insisting the team needed it. A casual night at the bar across town to raise bravado after a few close call missions.

It sounded fun at the time, and for the first thirty minutes it was.

Getting to shed your hero skin for a few hours every so often is always nice, and you love your team. Love getting to just sit and live with them. You hardly get nights like this anymore, filled with playing pool and darts like people do.

That being said, you were reaching the top of your limit. Fast.

It started at the bartop, with Logan sauntering up next to you for the first time tonight. 

He slid into the empty seat to your left, leaned against the bar casually, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His lips tugged into that half-smirk he wore that night in the training room.

“You avoiding me?” he asks, voice low, bent down just enough to speak directly into your ear. "Haven't seen you all night."

You almost scoffed, almost turned to face him so he could see the look of irate disbelief on your face. Almost, but you didn't want to give him the extra attention.

"I could ask you the same thing."

You didn't miss how things had changed between the two of you after your night in the training room. Something shifted, and not in the romantic 'so...what are we now?' territory.

It shifted into Logan disappearing, closing himself off. He didn't go out of his way to avoid you, didn't even go as far as ignoring your existence entirely. He didn't need to, you knew it was different.

He refused to talk about it, refused to even acknowledge it, completely shutting you down the one time you tried bringing it up.

It stung. The feeling of rejection, especially after that night. You felt like you bared a part of your soul to Logan on that dark blue training mat. You swore you saw something different in his eyes too, a subtle shift, something that said this ran deeper than just a messy fuck between friends.

It played on your mind like a loop, every detail. You nitpicked almost every single thing you did, searched your mind for what you could have done that scared him off.

It has to be you, it always is.

It took a week to get over it. A week to wash away the feeling of Logan's hands on your body, of his lips on yours, of his cock carving a space for itself in your cunt, of his blood sliding down your throat and slicking the palms of your hands.

Eventually, that sadness gave way to self-reflection. Self-reflection gave way to anger, and now you're just plain pissed.

This has nothing to do with you.

Logan is a grown man, not a goddamn baby. He should know how to communicate by now, should take the stick out of his ass and drop the whole 'I'm no good for you baby' martyr cross he's carried around for over a century and talk to you.

But if he wants to be alone to sulk in self pity and sorrow for two hundred more years, you'll let him.

Logan's smirk falters, his expression falling with a heavy sigh. He leans back, one boot moving to rest on the rung of your stool. "You really want to do this here?"

"You came up to me," you shrug, finally turning to face him. The warm glow of the bar lights catch the edges of your frustration. "If you’re here to talk, then talk."

Logan doesn't respond, just meets your gaze with a raised brow. His eyes scan over your face slowly, taking in the pinch between your brows and the stern look in your eyes.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Scott's voice pierces through the tense air between you. His tone is casual in a way that's undermined by the smug smile turning the corner of his mouth up. It's too knowing, like he'd been listening in before.

Logan's brows pinch together in irritation the same way they always do when Scott talks, but he holds your gaze. His silence is infuriating because it's the same old routine—he just stares, brooding, like he’s waiting for the problem to magically solve itself without ever opening his damn mouth.

It makes your blood simmer just under the surface, the tips of your fingers burning with it.

You grind your teeth, balling your hands into fists where they sit on the bar. "Scott," you say, not breaking eye contact with Logan, "go play fetch or something."

Scott raises his hands in mock surrender, but you know he won’t leave without a parting shot. “Just looking out for you, you know. Can’t afford you two tearing each other apart over a little lovers spat before the night’s even over.”

As he saunters off, you turn your full attention back to Logan, who’s still studying you with that infuriating intensity. It’s as if he’s trying to decode some secret language written across your face.

You almost want to laugh at how predictable he is, how he thinks he can just sit there, unbothered, while you’re ready to explode.

“Are you really just going to sit there?” you challenge, leaning closer, daring him to respond. “You can’t keep dodging this forever, Logan. You think I’m the only one feeling this? We were both there that night."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think you see the flicker of vulnerability beneath the gruff exterior. But then it’s gone, replaced by that stubborn wall he always puts up.

“I don’t need to talk about it,” he mutters, his voice low, but there’s an edge of desperation that catches your attention. “What’s done is done.”

“‘What’s done is done’?” You can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes you. “Is that your new catch phrase? They gonna start printing that on the front of your action figure's box?"

Logan's brows furrow deeper, his mouth turning down in a hard frown. "Watch it," he warns tersely, the edge of a snarl on his lips.

You lean forward, desperate to get anything out of him. "Or what?"

The bar buzzes around you, laughter and music blending into a distant hum, but all you can focus on is him—the way his eyes flare with that familiar spark of rebellion, how handsome he looks under the bar's dim lights, the way his smell is starting to warm your insides despite how mad you are.

You raise your brow, waiting, hoping. He stays silent.

That's it.

You stand abruptly, causing your stool to scrape against the floor loudly. Logan straightens, eyes narrowing as he watches you, but you’re more than done with all of this. You've had enough.

"I'm going for some air." you say evenly, slipping your jacket off the back of your chair. "Don't follow me."

You turn and walk away before Logan can answer, heading in the direction of the bar's alley door.

You try your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, the first tendrils of dread wrapping themselves around you tighter with every step. Your eyes burn embarrassingly each time you blink, but you refuse to cry.

You’re emotionally spiraling a couple feet from the door when someone suddenly steps in front of you, and you crash into them.

“So sorry, ma’am,” A familiar voice says from somewhere in front of you as two strong hands grip your waist to steady you. “Completely my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

You crane your head up, eyes dragging from the blue gingham button down stretched over impressive muscle until they land on a pair of blue eyes and blonde head of hair you recognize.

“Steve?” 

Steve Rogers smiles down at you, his hands still lightly resting on your waist. His expression is soft, apologetic, and a little surprised. Your name falls from his lips in a warm greeting, his hands lingering for a second longer before he drops them and takes a small step back.

“I’m surprised you still remember me. It’s been a while,” he says with the same boyish charm you remember, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly barge through the door like it owed you money. “How’ve you been?”

You blink up at Steve, the frustration from your situation with Logan still fresh, swirling through your system like a storm.

How’ve you been?

What a loaded question.

“Better,” you answer with a tight smile, barely convincing yourself. “Just tired. We’ve been so busy recently, you know how it is.”

Steve gives you a searching look, his eyes skimming your face with the kind of care that makes you want to shrink into yourself. His brow furrows slightly, concern flickering in those crystal-clear eyes of his as he studies your face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, genuinely, like he’s already picked up on the fact that something’s off. 

How could you forget, he’s got the emotional radar of a saint. Lucky you.

"Yeah, sure," you lie, adjusting your jacket and pointedly avoiding the obvious upset that’s probably plastered across your face. You force a smile, hoping he buys it. "Just needed some air. This place is packed."

The furrow of Steve’s brows deepen, his lips pressing into a thin line like he doesn’t believe you. You feel worse under the intense pressure of his knowing stare, like a bug trapped under a magnifying glass.

You’re about to say something—anything—to fill the awkward silence, but then you feel it. That heavy, unmistakable presence at your back.

Of course he didn’t listen.

Steve’s eyes flick over your shoulder, and you don’t even have to turn around to know Logan’s right there, brooding like a dark cloud about to burst. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him in waves as one strong arm slides underneath the thick denim of your jacket and around your waist.

“Cap,” Logan’s clipped voice greets from somewhere behind you, laced with barely concealed irritation as his fingers dig into the cotton of your shirt, staking some sort of unspoken claim.

Steve gives Logan a respectful nod, though his expression remains calm, measured, the same quiet authority he always carries. “Logan,” he greets, smile faltering for the second it takes him to drop his eyes to Logan’s arm. “Nice to see you doing well.”

Logan hums noncommittally, you feel the rumble of it against your back. “Didn’t think this was your scene,” he says to Steve, brow cocked in suspicion.

Steve shakes his head, a small laugh falling from his lips. “It’s not, usually. I got strong armed into joining a few friends.”

“Right,” Logan replies, tone flat like Steve would have a reason to lie.

You can almost see the tension thickening in the air, an electric pulse that shoots straight through you. Logan’s grip tightens subtly, an instinctive reaction to Steve’s presence, but you can feel the subtle heat rising, the way your heart races under his touch despite yourself.

It’s infuriating, and for a second, you’re tempted to dive right into it, to unearth the chaos lurking beneath that chiseled exterior. But then you remember where you are, why you walked away from Logan in the first place—how public it is, how many eyes are on you.

“Steve and I worked together, a base infiltration in Albany a few years ago.” You cut in, shooting Logan a look over your shoulder, like a sharp glare alone could get him to calm down, if only for a second. But he just meets your gaze with that familiar stubbornness, eyes dark and unyielding. 

It’s infuriating, and for a moment, you’re tempted to dive right into it, to unearth the chaos lurking beneath that chiseled exterior. But then you remember where you are—how public it is, how many eyes are on you.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” Steve says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

And it does. 

You think of Kevlar squeezed around your ribs, of explosions and buildings falling and the smell of gunpowder.

"Yeah, it does," you reply, ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach and forcing a smile.

“God, you look…” His gaze rakes over you like he can’t help it, the bright blue of his eyes trailing from your face down your legs and back up all over again. You can feel Logan bristle next to you. 

”You look amazing,” Steve finishes with a small shake of his head, million dollar smile still pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Buy you a drink?”

“We were just leavin’, Cap,” Logan cuts in tersely, his arm tightening around your waist even more. His grip is possessive, but it’s not affectionate—it’s an unsaid challenge, a warning. “Calling it an early night.”

You whip your head around, confusion evident on your face. "We?" you parrot back, the word hanging in the air like a challenge of its own. “We haven’t decided anything.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, that familiar stubbornness rearing its head again. His hand splays flat over the span of your lower back, pushing just enough for you to feel the power behind it but not enough to really move you. “Let’s go.”

You look at Steve, then Logan, then the crowded bar, then the door to the alley, and repeat. 

It should be an easy answer, an easy way out of going in circles with Logan even more than you already have.

But you find yourself stuck, feet rooted to the floor as your mind races with a hundred different thoughts in the span of a second.

Your lips part, and you’re not even sure what you’re going to say, when Steve beats you to the punch. 

"She can decide for herself," he says evenly, though there's a subtle shift in his tone. It’s calm, but there’s a steely edge to it, like a well-honed blade concealed beneath all the politeness. He’s still smiling, but it’s less soft now, more hardened around the edges.

Logan’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging in like he's daring Steve to push the envelope any further. “Yeah? Don’t think she needs you speakin’ for her, either.”

"Enough," you snap, stepping out of Logan’s hold with a sharp turn, your voice cutting through the growing storm between them. You turn to him with a hard look, brows pinched in anger. "Fine, let's go."

Your smile feels strained, the edges sharp and jagged as you face Steve, the weight of Logan’s presence at your back heavy and suffocating. “It was great seeing you, Steve. Really.”

Your voice sounds strained even to your own ears.

“We’ll have to catch up some other time,” you add, though the words taste bittersweet on your tongue. 

You can tell he wants to say something, his smile completely dropping as his eyes flit between you and Logan a few times. You give him a pleading look, a reassuring nod that you’ve got this. 

Steve hesitates, you can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing the situation and trying to gauge the tension in the air. But ultimately, he nods, offering you one last smile that’s laced with concern.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice warm despite the tension hanging in the air. “I’d love to. Just let me know when.”

With one last nod to Logan, he turns and walks away to meld into the crowd until you can’t make out the blue of his shirt anymore.

You don’t turn to Logan as you finally walk out the door. The clunk of his boots follow you the whole way out.

As soon as you’re outside, all the anger sets in at once, burning hot in your stomach as you spin around to face him. The fresh air hits your face like a slap, cool and bracing, but it does nothing to quell the fire simmering inside you.

"You really can't leave well enough alone, can you?" You snap, folding your arms defensively. “You just had to go and stake your territory?”

Logan’s face hardens, his eyes dark under the dim streetlight. “What do you expect me to do? Let you walk away and get buttered up Rogers while I sit at the bar with my dick in my hand?”

“Steve wasn’t doing anything!” You exclaim, frustration seeping into your every word. “He was just being nice, we’re friends.”

Logan lets out a disbelieving snort, shaking his head hard enough that his hair sways with it. “Nothin’ about that was friendly, kid. You’d have to be fuckin’ blind to not see that.”

You huff, turning your eyes to the sky in exasperation. “Why do you care?” you fire back, heart racing at the challenge. “We’re not together! You’ve made that more than clear!”

Now that the seal is broken, it’s like you can’t stop. Words fall out of your mouth faster than your mind can keep up, all the pent up frustration you’ve felt over the past few weeks boiling over.

“You’re the one that’s acting like nothing happened!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, your voice rising with every word. “You’re the one who disappeared, who’s been avoiding this whole thing like it didn’t mean anything!”

He growls, stepping closer, his presence looming. "You think I don’t know that, kid? You think I haven’t been dealing with this shit—with us?"

"Well, you sure as hell don’t act like it! You don’t talk about it. You don’t even try! You just stand there and expect me to what? Read your mind?”

For a split second, Logan’s expression falters, his shoulders stiffening as if your words struck a nerve. But just as quickly, the mask falls back into place. "I’m no good for you, kid. And you know it. I’m doing you a favor."

"There it is again!" You bark out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "The martyr complex. You’ve been alive for over a century, Logan. You’ve got time on your side, and you still can’t figure out how to be a decent human being in a relationship?”

He flinches slightly, but his eyes remain locked on yours, anger and frustration swirling behind them. "It’s not that simple."

“Of course it is!" You step forward, closing the gap between you. "You just don’t want to do the hard work. You don’t want to open up, to be vulnerable, because then you’d actually have to face yourself. And God forbid Wolverine confronts something he can’t claw his way out of.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his eyes blazing, and for a long beat, the two of you stand in a tense, electrified silence. The world around you seems to fall away—no bar, no missions, no X-Men—just the two of you, standing in the alley, raw and exposed.

You don’t know who moves first, you or Logan, before you can register it, the distance between you disappears, swallowed by the pull of all that unresolved tension.

His lips claim yours, fierce and urgent, as if this was the only language he’s fluent in—raw emotion, violent passion. His hands find your waist again, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss is messy, desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues, but it’s exactly what you expected. It’s how you and Logan have always been—no finesse, just fire and stubborn intensity. It’s the only way he knows how to communicate, the only way he can let go, even for a second.

Your hands slide up into his hair, yanking roughly as a guttural growl vibrates from his chest into your mouth. You feel the heat of his skin, the coiled tension in his muscles, and it ignites something wild inside you.

The anger hasn’t left—it’s just morphed into something darker, something hungrier.

The kiss is nothing like the ones from that night in the training room. This one is full of anger and frustration, all the emotions that have been simmering between you two finally bubbling over in an explosive release. His lips are hard, demanding, and the taste of whiskey lingers faintly on his breath, mixing with the metallic scent of the alley.

You push back just as fiercely, your hands tangled in his hair as you try to pour all of your hurt, your confusion, and your pent-up rage into that single kiss. For a moment, it’s all- consuming—hot, reckless, like trying to catch fire in your hands.

“You’re such a fuckin’ punk,” he grates against your lips, kneading the meat of your hips roughly like he’s trying to anchor himself to you. His teeth scrape your bottom lip, his growl vibrating through you like a warning shot, but it only spurs you on.

"You’re one to talk,” you bite back, the heat between you both as volatile as ever.

You drop your hands to his chest, gripping the leather of his jacket in your fists and yanking him closer until there's no space left, until it's hard to tell where the anger ends and the need begins.

Logan growls, the sound reverberating deep in his chest, as his hands move up your back, possessive and rough. “You keep pushin' me, kid. You really wanna see how far I’ll go?"

"Maybe I do," you shoot back, biting down lightly on his lower lip. You taste the blood—his blood—and something primal stirs in you. His healing factor kicks in almost instantly, but the heat between you spikes with the sharp tang of it. It always does.

Logan hisses sharply, tongue swiping over the blood still dotted along his lip before he’s pushing you backwards.

You have no choice but to move with him, blindly stumbling back a few steps until your shoulders hit the wall of the bar. His lips attached to your neck the whole way, teeth nipping at the rapid flutter of your pulse.

It’s like a wildfire spreading between you, all heat and destruction, and the alley around you seems to fade into the background, leaving nothing but the chaotic mess of you and Logan.

You consider the risks of fucking Logan in an alleyway for all of two seconds, every single warning bell in your mind going silent when his hands tighten their hold on your hips to spin your around, pushing you up against the brick roughly.

“Fine,” he concedes, yanking the fabric of your skirt up hard enough you hear a tiny rip. “I’ll give you what you want, princess.”

The sound of his zipper being tugged down might as well be a gunshot with how loudly it reverberates through your mind. Your thighs slide together slickly, aching cunt clenching in anticipation.

The soft sound of Logan pushing his jeans down is the only warning you get before the thick head of his cock is sliding over the wetness staining the fabric of your panties.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the lace to tug it aside and slip the length of himself through your slick folds. “You need a cock in your hungry pussy to feel better?” He lines himself up with your fluttering entrance, pushing gently until the very tip slips in.

Your lips fall open, brow furrowing as he starts feeding you his length one infuriating inch at a time.

Anger still warms your gut, but you find yourself nodding wordlessly. Tiny, desperate sounds escaping your throat the deeper he sinks in.

The stretch of him is almost too much, like he’s splitting you in two. It’s the kind of sting that just barely toes the line of pain and pleasure in the best way. It has you crying out when he finally bottoms out, pressing your forehead against the brick to try and ground yourself.

Logan’s considerate enough to keep still, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips as you adjust.

“God,” you groan, shifting your hips enough to feel the way his cock rubs along your walls. The burn starts to melt away into pure pleasure with every grind.

“That’s it, baby,” Logan goads, hands still planted on your hips as you start to bounce on his cock in earnest. “Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

His words just spur you on, a high whine falling from your lips as you set a steady rhythm. The slap of skin on skin getting louder, echoing around you lewdly. 

“Mm, feels good huh?” he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder.

You barely choke out a garbled ‘yes’, thighs starting to shake with the effort of thrusting yourself back. 

“Sorry,” he says, gripping the meat of your hips to pull you back against his cock roughly. “What was that?”

“Yes!” you mewl, cheeks burning. The anger steadily drains from your body the closer you get to come, until it's an afterthought just present enough in your mind to still matter. “Feels so good, please Logan…”

Logan groans under his breath, pulling his hips back back back until he’s reaming forward. He thrusts once, twice, three times before he’s taking over. Big hands anchored to your hips to drag you back on every snap of his hips. 

Your entire body lights up, the pathetic noises passing through slack your lips barely register over the white noise rushing through your ears. Logan’s fucking you like he wants to break you, heavy hips pounding into the meat of your ass like an animal. The slap of it stinging your skin only for him to pull out and leave you empty before filling you again.

You go pliant in his grip, a high moan escaping you as he expertly hits that spongy spot inside of you that has heat pooling in your gut.

“God, I missed this,” he admits into your hair, one hand sliding around to press against your lower stomach. Logan’s hand is massive and blisteringly hot over your skin, cupping and feeling where he punches up into you with every thrust from the outside.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, pressing his forehead to your back desperately. “Do you feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, stuff you so full you’ll be leaking for weeks.”

“Logan,” you gasp, heat coiling in your belly. 

“I know,” he breathes, hips speeding up impossibly faster. “I got you, honey.”

You turn your head, the skin of your cheek scraping over the rough bring with every hard snap of his hips. The thick muscle of his forearm fills your eye line, strong and tan where it cages you to the bar. You swear you can see the blood pumping through his veins. Your stomach jerks with need, your mind buzzing.

Without thinking, you lean forward and bury your teeth in the muscle there. The coppery tang of blood on your tongue sends you reeling, a deep groan rumbling through your chest.

“Fuck!” Logan exclaims, giving one last thrust before he’s burying himself as far as he can. His cock throbs, pulsing as he unloads inside you. Rope after rope of come paints the shaking walls of your cunt, slicking the thrust of his that much more.

Pleasure goes off in sparks all up your spine, lighting up every vertebrae until the fireworks go off in your brain. Your hands claw at the wall desperately, eyes screwing shut as you fly over the edge.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you come, hands digging into the brick hard enough that it cracks and crumbles beneath them, falling to your feet in little rock’s.

Everything around you fizzles out into nothing, just a dull hum cocooning you in this moment, and for just a second it’s like you're floating. 

The heave of Logan’s chest against your back and his lips on your neck only add to that far away feeling, nice enough that has you leaning into the warmth of his body. 

A car horn blaring somewhere in the distance jerks you out of any warm, fuzzy feelings and deposits you back in the real world. Your eyes refocus on the building in front of you, and a displeased groan rips from your chest.

“I made a mess,” you murmur quietly, looking at the two matching dents in the bar's wall and the same red powder staining your hands.

Logan huffs into the sweaty skin of your neck, an amused noise. “That’s alright,” he says, barely out of breath. He pulls out just enough to let his come start leaking out around his dick, sliding down the length of him in thick rivers of white. “So I did.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disgust as he steps away with a snort. Your voice is breathy and small when you speak, “You’re disgusting.”

It's quiet for a long time, both you and Logan dressing yourselves in silence. The thrum of traffic around you mixed with the muffled music bleeding through the wall is the only noise filling the space.

You drag your eyes to him, watching as he yanks up his jean’s zipper while you smooth your skirt down.

“I told you not to follow me. When we were back inside,” you say, voice steadier than before but just as breathless.

Logan meets your eyes, and there’s a pause. For a second, you think maybe he’ll turn around and leave, run away to try and forget this too. Instead, you hear his boots scrape against the gravel as he steps closer.

"I don't take orders well, remember?" His voice is gravelly, like he’s chewing on the words before spitting them out.

"Obviously," you huff under your breath, a humorless laugh shaking your shoulders slightly.

Logan’s lips quirk into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile, but it fades just as quickly.

He takes another step closer, close enough now that you can feel the warmth radiating off him again, his presence as heavy as ever. But this time, there’s something different.

He looks drained. Not physically, but emotionally. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits quietly, his voice tired. “You know that.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck in that rare, almost vulnerable way he does when he’s out of his element. Finally, he meets your gaze.

“I’m…" he trails off, mouth pulling into a wince like it physically pains him to apologize. "I’m sorry…”

“Wow,” you say slowly, head tilting to the side as you study him. “That was the worst apology I’ve ever gotten.”

Logan narrows his eyes at you, a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement flickering across his face. “You gonna let me talk?” he asks curtly, but there’s no real bite to it.

You sigh, nodding your head for him to continue.

He shifts his weight, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. “I know I’ve been a stubborn ass. I’m used to keeping everyone at arm’s length. It’s safer that way. I’ve lost too many people to just let someone in without a fight.”

His voice drops, laced with a vulnerability you rarely see. “I thought if I just stayed away, it would make things easier for you. I’m not relationship material, kid. I can’t be that guy for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping in more as he talks. “I’m a damn mess, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I do. A lot. It just scares the hell out of me.”

For a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. Part of you wants to lash out more, to keep the anger burning because it feels safer than the vulnerability you’re feeling now.

On the other hand, for the first time tonight, you see the man behind the adamantium, behind the claws and the gruff exterior. The man behind the Wolverine.

You only see Logan, who’s lived through centuries of loss and pain, who’s learned to build walls so thick even he can’t break through them sometimes.

And damn it, you hate how much you still care. You hate that, even after everything, Logan is the one person who can make you feel like this—angry, frustrated, and vulnerable all at once. But you can’t deny the truth any longer.

Because underneath all the anger and hurt, there’s still that spark. That stupid, stubborn spark that refuses to go out.

You take a step closer, your hand gently reaching for his. “You don’t have to be anything, Logan. You just have to try. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He nods, a slow, deliberate movement. Taking a slow set closer to you, he takes your cheek in his hand. The bright red rawness of your skin is slowly draining, tiny cuts knitting themselves together. “I can do that.”

He slides his thumb across your cheekbone and somehow, you believe him.

It’s not perfect. It’s not a promise that everything’s going to magically be okay. But it’s a start.

Maybe that’s enough.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

@making-you-in-spore

Incredible works of art from a limited medium, the blog favors quality over quantity and I am always in awe when a dancing creacher in Spore [2008] crosses my dash.

His spores often take him multiple hours to create, and he will go through astounding amounts of effort to commit to the bit. He made his cull poll in spore and then blew it up. Hes also super responsive and active and seems really eager to share his creation techniques and spread the joy of making things in spore [2008]. His blog almost singlehandedly sparked a significant resurgence in interest and playerbase of a 16 year old game that most people see as nothing but a meme. Hes just a guy who likes spore [2008]

i say vote for making you in spore because seeing them blow up their opponents after they win is hilarious

@amtrak-official

Top tier content that will also radicalize you for public transport reform, this is what tumblr was made for

[dragonpyre]

Stephanie Brown is to the batfamily like what Shawn Spencer is to the Santa Barbara police department

[screampied]

𝜗𝜚 LIKE THIS P☆SSY DESIGNED FOR YA !?

☆ sum. you’re supposed to hate him and yet here he is talking you through yet another órgasm. toji, gojo, nanami, geto, choso.

warnings. fem! reader, exes trope, hate / make up séx, possessiveness, unprotected, dirty talk, manhandling, semi-public, toji slander, bréeding, praise, fīngering, feral whipped men, squīrting, breath play, cunnīlingus, edging, overstim.

☆ SUGURU GETO.

“sit on it.”

he didn’t have to tell you twice—because you lost the battle of temptation the second you found yourself hovering over your ex’s face. his pretty face, he’s got that same smug grin that curls against his lips with a few dimples prodding near each side of his cheeks. hooded sly eyes glance at your sopping cunt that’s dripping right through your panties and he leans back against the bed.

“c’mere, you,” and you moan once his hands leisurely drag your hips down toward his spit slick lips. geto was never one to apologize—but even if he did, instead of using words, he’d let his tongue do the talking. with his teeth, he peels your panties to the side. like always, he couldn’t stay away from you as much as you couldn’t stay away from him. you hated it, you swore you hated him and yet he’d make those feelings vanish the second his tongue’s swirling around your cunt, reminding you how hungry he was.

how hungry he was for you.

it would always be like this - after every argument, the outcome would always end up with geto between your thighs.

sure, he’d say sorry. . after his tongue’s buried inside of your cunt.

“fuuuck,” he’d grunt, laid back as his hair was all sprawled out against the sheets. geto’s voice was dangerously deep and raspy. each time he spoke, his words would vibrate against your pulsating wet pussy - his favorite meal. he could eat you out for hours until his jaw tightened and locked. the literal definition of a pussy pleaser . .

“aw, she’s missed me so fuckin’ bad,” he’d whisper in a gruff tone, dipping his pointed tongue in and out of your folds. your folds were all soddened - sopping wet and dripping like a faucet. he groans, feeling your candied juices stream down from the opening part of your clit as you throbbed in his mouth. he was slurping you clean, relishing in your sweetened fervor that ruts against his slick mouth and chin. “yeah, i know. i know,” and as you whimper with pursed quivering lips, geto lolls out his tongue allllll the way, plunging it deeper inside of your convulsing cunt. with a smug grin flattening against the edges of his lips, he licks a long stripe from top to bottom, tasting all of you. your sweet slick fully paints against the lower part of his chin until it runs down the crevices of his lips, and he moans at how sweet you tasted.

he was so messy and unapologetically so—you’ve got your knees bucked toward the sides of his head whilst you’re unsteadily grinding into his mouth. “sugu, fuck,” you’d moan, letting off a following of sweet cacophonies of ‘ooh's’ and ‘ah's’ each time his tongue slithers toward your puckering hole then back towards your needy cunt. a pretty glistening fall of water dribbles down the inner sides of your thighs and he laps it straight up as thin brows of his curve into a fixated furrow. “we didn’t even finish t- the conversation.”

“later,” he purrs in a rough hoarse tone, silencing your babbles the second his teeth playfully nibble towards your clit. you whine, feeling your weak knees on the verge of collapsing before he spat on the entrance of your folds. sloshes spurt away from your soaked cunt as you’re making a mess on his face, feeling that familiar pressure arises within the lower part of your tummy. it’s like someone was pressing down on your stomach, a wave that was preparing to crash and cause havoc. it felt so good, it was impossible to miss geto’s tongue. whenever he ate you out, he’d always eat you out like a starved man—like your sweet pussy was the last meal available on earth, and he did it with no shame.

as your hips continue to thrust sloppily against his mouth, a sleazy grin goes against his lips and he holds your thighs firmly in place, whistling against your slobbering folds. “mhm, that’s it. atta girl, less talkin’ more ridin’ this face.”

as you paw a hand through his thin tangeled tresses of hair that run through your clammy fingers—you whimper once his tongue reaches a certain spot inside of your pussy that scratches a lustful itch in your brain. “fuck!” you whine out, your hip speeding accelerating quicker. you continue to ride his face, nearly suffocating him with how your thighs had him in such a secure lock - to which he loved it, and it’s up onto the point where you end up cumming hard.

you’re gnawing on your lip once you end up finally releasing, swerving your ass against his face and feeling him slurp your entire high clean. even still, geto’s got the priggish grin plastered on his lips whilst he’s laid underneath you, two big hands glued to each sides of your thighs.

“atta fuckin’ girlll,” he’d repeat in a teasing hum, his tongue creating a slimy trail from the back part of your cunt until it reaches the tender bulb part of your clit. he sucks against it, toying with your puffy hood with his tongue before he feels you spasming on his mouth. so sweet, his long lashes flutter shut and he’s holding you tight so you stay still. “good, jus’ like old times.”

and as you’re panting, he departs his slick lips before dragging a thumb down your throbbing clit. very slowly, slippery long strands of your own juices coat his fingertip before he gives your pussy a single sloppy kiss. “now, you were sayin?”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“f- fuck you.”

“yeah girl, i’m trying,” toji snarls, using two big hands to reel you back into his sharp churlish hips.

you moan, slamming back down on his thick cock after each mouthwatering thrust. toji would be having you in doggy, spread out on all fours, arched over for him and all. it’s fat, his tip mashes through your walls and french kisses deeply against your g-spot, coating it with dozens of slick smooches. toji’s enormous girth rams through your cunt, giving it a reminder of just how much he’s missed you and it makes your toes curl every time. you could never forget that curve of his—the curve where once he dips his hips a certain way, he’s plowing his thick cock into you so deep that it makes a shiver run down your spine. he makes you feel it all, and once you grow quiet his ego gets fed a good sum.

“fuuuck, that’s it. shut that pretty mouth up ‘n take this shit,” and you whimper, feeling him claw a rough hand through your scalp. it’s a soft tug, but your head pulls back nonetheless as he’s drilling into you mercilessly.

he’s fast, toji’s got the hips of a maddened madman.

and he was always not the best whenever it came to feelings but he loved you - still.

you’re always on his mind, no matter how many rebounds—he still saw your pretty face at the end of the day. tasting you, feeling you from the inside, you had him whipped and it fucking annoyed him.

“ngh, tojiiii,” you whimper, gasping at the immense loose barrage he makes with his stocky shaft. the stretch always leaves you speechless as a plethora of inaudible babbles perish out from the back of your throat. his sack hangs loose as he fucks into you raw. a soddened slimy ring forms around his base from your wet cunt slapping back against him and he clenched his teeth, watching the fat of your ass slam back against his chiseled pelvis. “right there, right fuckin’ there toji.”

“don’t tell me how ‘ta fuck,” he gruffs, and with one mean perfunctory thrust — you let off a screaming moan, tearing your chords before a sheepish giggle follows. the dark haired man rolls his eyes, giving your ass a teasing smack. “such a nasty ‘lil bitch. forgot how much this shit turns you on.”

the bed continues to dip from the constant masses of weight slamming onto the cushions before you feel it gradually falling forward. your crossed eyes found themselves flickering back to the outer voids of your skull as you claw at the bawled up sheets. “fuck, fuck you. broke bitch.”

“girl please. let’s not even,” he pauses, smacking his lips. always so sassy. you moan once his swollen tip stills itself inside of you and you pout, not being fond of how he’d randomly stop just to mess with you. cool air sets against your skin as your back remains arched and toji swats another hand toward your ass. smack! the sting makes your body jolt in depleting rapture and you coo out a soft ‘ah’ with your lips parting.

he grunts once he ogles down at your sloppy cunt, puffed lips and aching clit. leisurely, he pulls out before bringing a fat thumb towards your entrance, maneuvering a few teasing circles. “you still let this broke bitch fuck again, so now what?”

silence was your answer — but a moan shortly follows and you eat your words, your left cheek shoved against the mattress. “f- fuck y-”

“stop talking over your pussy. have some class, baby,” and you whimper, feeling his swelling tip rub against the back of your clit. you’re drooling wet, it’s almost embarrassing and he could feel your body shaking - more, you wanted more.

toji always did this, stop fucking you in the middle just to play with you and make you squirm for him to continue. bastard. once the room shifts into utter silence, his cockhead bangs against your cunt without warning and it’s a loud sloppy ‘smack!’ that gives you whiplash from the spine down. “good girl. ‘s all i wanna hear. pretty squelches all for me, mhm.”

he continues to toy with your cunt before he leans down, spitting near the slit opening entrance whilst his scarred lips carve into a pout. “lotta talk for a pussy this fuckin’ wet,” he hears you starting to protest but your words only come out in inaudible babbles. once you try to sit up, he lightly pushes you back into the bed, having you slump forward with a soft ‘oof.’

toji grunts, feeling his heavy cock tighten up at the sight of your exposed sopping cunt seeping from the folds before he aligns his angered tip once more. “lie back, little girl. we’re far from finished,” and he spanks your cunt, sloshing soddened spurts of your own slick plopping onto his palm. “isn’t that right, gorgeous?”

and his eyes avert towards your cunt - not you. “yeah, thought so.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

choso can’t live without you - he’s an entire mess the second you let him fuck you for ‘one last time.’

has you in a mating press because he insists on seeing your pretty face, doesn’t care if he’s tearing up mid thrust either because he’s missed you so so bad. “you’re so pretty,” he’d moan, pumping his cock into you slowly. each thrust reminded you of the times you both spent together . . the memories, why you and him even split in the first place. choso grunts, continuously bruising your cervix with his fat tip over and over. as you’re laid on your back, your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and he flashes you a cheeky needy smile and darkened circles under his eyes. “have i told you how pretty you look right now, baby?”

“probably over ten times, ‘cho,” you’d sheepishly say, blissful moans sliding past your lips. your cunt’s grip against was purely enticing - it always was. he was forevermore addicted to the way you held onto him tight, squeezing down on him like a vice. you drag a few fingers down his undercut and he lets off a humming purr, leaning into your touch. “fuck, don’t stop, baby. keep goin, mhm.”

“missed you so bad,” he’d whine, burying his face into the crook of your neck. choso moans from the alluring scent of your perfume alone, almost tasting you in his mouth. so sweet, so so sweet and he wanted more. his perfectly sculptured body that rocked into yours started to get more sloppy with its movements. he’s passionate with his thrusts, and he knew like always he wasn’t gonna last long. he never did, not with you. choso’s slim body ruts into you, steadily grinding into your own before he starts to suck on your neck. “mpmh. ‘s been torture without you, you know. had such . . strange dreams.”

with a soft simper, you cup his flushed face, a thumb stroking against the right side of his cheek. “wet dreams, choso?”

“y- yeah,” he swallows thickly, growing embarrassed. wet dreams, that explained why whenever he’d wake up in a good mood after having erotic dreams about you—he felt so hard, so . . aroused. his cock’s aching for more, and his bulbous pink tip continues to rummage through your insides until it inspects through every spot. each ‘pop’ your cunt makes ring through your ears and he sucks his teeth at the realization of just how wet you are. “had a dream we heh, got back together. settled down, started a f . . family.”

your heart races at his words, and choso’s deeply staring into your eyes, getting lost in your tender gaze. gentle darkened irises of his dilate as he gawks at you and oh, he’s so in love. his heart thumps quicker in his chest as he pistons his hips. the punctuation of his hips grow more exclamatory with each slam against your cunt. he’s rough, but gentle at the same time - sloppy more than anything. “a family, huh?” and he can’t help but whine, hearing the words slide past your glossed lips with such simplicity.

he gives you a nod, kissing near the corner of your twitching mouth. “a baby or two,” he moans, his speed starting to get more relentless. he’s thick, his length resumes to curve and and meander through your walls, leaving it’s very mark and your legs wrap around his slim waist. as he speaks, he’s staring to paint the exact picture of a future he wants into your brain and his. “or maybe five. you’d look pretty with a plump swollen belly,” and he kisses your quivering bottom lip, this time leaning down to suck on your chin. “mhm, i just wanna make you a pretty wife. my pretty wife, ‘s what ‘m basically saying.”

as the two of you both moan in unision, you plant a wet chaste kiss on his lips. choso groans, slowly pumping more inches in and out of your sloppy cunt before leaning into your grasp. your hips were just as greedy as his were, if not more. “let’s do it then,” you’d whisper between kisses, glossed strands of saliva entangling with each other, creating viscid cobwebs. “make me your pretty wife, ‘cho. gimme a baby.”

choso’s eyes widen to the size of saucers before his thrusts slow - deep but deadly.

he’s very slow with his movements, making sure you feel every single inch, every single vein that prods down his fat cock. “okay,” he shakily says, his ears twitching at your sweet words. he’s still pressing his weight against you, feeling his piles of sweat glue against your own body and he leans in one more time, pressing a long wet kiss on your lips. he’s cutely shaking from your touch once your hands run down his back, pulling him closer. he’s fucking you deeply but at a much more romantic sweet pace. “ugh,” his eyes roll back in rapture, and he can feel himself preparing to give you the filling he’s been oh so desperately waiting for. choso grips your chin, smearing a thumb over your lips before whimpering against your lips.

“ ‘m gonna make you the prettiest mommy. promise.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO.

never in a million years would you have thought you’d be in a predicament like this—arched over an office desk with your husband, ex-husband directly behind you. he’s fucking sense back into you, giving you a simple reminder of how good you had it all with the thoroughly deep hits of his cock.

“s- sweetheart,” he’d groan, repeatedly tapping his swollen crown against your most sweetest spots. it leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth, and you’re just casually being fucked into the unsigned divorced papers. your visions clouded, all your glossed eyes were met with was the scribbles of writing and multiple lines that ran across that papers. the wood creaks and groans at the pounds of pressure slamming back and forth into it. “god, i missed you,” he’d whisper, running a hand down your sensitive spine. he created a soft tapping trail with his fingers, continuing to plummet his weighty dick in and out of your pasty walls. “can never stay away from my wife.”

soft whimpers spew past the cracks of your lips as he continues to drill into you, repeatedly thrashing his leaky mushroom tip against your precious g-spot that makes you shrill louder. your moans ricochet off the walls of the spacious office and he lightly tugs on your blouse. “kento, ken—fuck,” you’d suck your teeth, feeling each hooked curve of his dick hunt through every part of your cunt. the loud clangs of his belt sing each time his halfway pulled down slacks hits against your ass. he’s missed you, you can tell by his thrusts and the way he’s running a hand down your body. “fuck me, fuck me ‘ken. please.”

“shhh,” he leans up close to you, pressing a smooth palm over your mouth. your moans grow muffled as he continues to drive his fat cock into your cunt, hearing your heels clank and tap against the slick wooden floor. “not so loud, wifey,” he purrs, and you moan once his tip reaches there. it doesn’t take long before his flushed crownhead’s smothering your cervix wholly with rich french kisses, making your legs shake. nanami feels you leaning into his touch with your ass pressed all the way into him. “as much as i love your sweet sounds, you wouldn’t want anyone else to hear them, would you?”

your answer was muffled so you give him a slow nod. nanami chuckles, a tear of sweat racing down the left side of his forehead. “no, silly. we don’t want that,” and he brings a kiss toward the nape of your neck, nibbling on your tender skin. he’s fucking you over the desk, ignoring the groans and creaks of the old wooden desk. “no one should be able to hear how—” and he pauses, slightly lifting up your leg to get a more thorough deeper angle. “… sloppy you sound, no one but me, sweetheart.”

nanami’s still buried balls deep—his swollen full base remains to smack against your ass, creating an unforgettable perspiring sting amongst skin. every time he’s inside—he falls in love right over again, he can’t help it. “ ‘m gonna cum. you’re gonna wring me dry like you always did, my love,” he grunts, his cock repeatedly kissing at that poor bullseye of a target that’s buried inside the deep depths of your cunt. tap tap tap, he’s hitting that same spongey spot to make you whimper out those desperate cries of his name. cobwebs of saliva souse all over his palm as his hand remains cupped over your mouth. the loud fax machine continues to spit out mechanic whimpers of its own in the background while you’re getting drilled into the divorce papers the two of you were ‘supposed’ to sign.

but fuck that.

“inside,” you whine, your lips moving on its own the second he pries his hand away. your pussy gripped him tightly, aching him badly. you could feel yourself salivating at the thought of him filling you up again, dumping such a hefty load that his mess would spill right down the plush crevices of your thighs. “don’t miss ‘ken, finish inside.”

“anything for the pretty wife,” he’d rasp, bringing two hands toward your rickety waist. as you’re arched over the cornered table—the moment finally comes where he finishes with three deep thrusts that vigorously punctuate against your cunt. you whimper, and within seconds he’s spraying out thickly stringy amounts. velvety ribbons of cum that pour into you sprays inside your womb deeply, oozing out your folds. nanami’s lips glue against your skin and you can hear him faintly whining into your neck. “fuck,” he whispers, and it’s rare to hear him curse, but when he does, it always made you throb - like now. his cock’s still shoved inside and he’s still giving you his anticipated fill before he pulls out, smearing his tip over your drooling cunt.

“so pretty,” he weakly says, caressing your ass with a free hand. nanami’s eyes scan toward the desk with scattered divorce papers and he sheepishly rubs his neck. the blond turns you around to face him and he cups your chin—lifting you up and making you sit on the edge of the table. “but,” and he presses a kiss near the side of your lip, a few thick fingers feeling against the sloppy mess that spills out of your pussy. “you’d look even prettier with a ring around your finger again,” and he licks your neck, hearing your breath hitch as he whispers against your skin.

“i’ve missed you, mrs. nanami,” and he lowers his head down to plant a kiss against your throbbing drenched clit. “and i’ve missed you especially.”

☆ SATORU GOJO.

satoru doesn’t even have to fuck you. his fingers always did the job more than anything. his long fingers that were so fucking long for no reason. doesn’t care what time it is at night, he’d whine to you at how much he misses your pussy - his pussy. but you’d constantly tell yourself one more time, one more time wouldn’t hurt . . right?

wrong,

because those ‘one more times’ turned into dozens of times where you’d find yourself pathetically gushing on his fingers if not his cock and tongue. “relaaax, angel,” he’d purr against your neck, having you lie flat against his back. you’re a whimpering mess, biting the inside of your cheek as you feel his slender thin fingers expand and shove all through the swollen layout of your pussy. sloshes of wet sobs ring through the insides of you and you whine, realizing just how wet you were. “i know, i know. i’d fuckin’ throb if i was this soaked too.”

“s- satoru,” you’d moan, a hand of yours tightly gripping onto his wrist. a thumb of yours brushes against a vein that runs down his arm and he kisses near your neck. breathy hot pants ghost down near your skin and your thighs violently shake, feeling his fingertips prod against a particular spongey texture. there, he’s located your g-spot and you let off that cooing ‘ooh!’ as your head collapses back into his bare chest with a loud thud.

his fingers, you’d never be able to wrap your head around on how long they were. so long, they create an unforgettable stretch that makes tears of sweat drip down the sides of your forehead. they curl and entwine their ways inside, scissoring themselves inside your cunt before thrusting in and out of you at a slow degrading pace. “fuck, ‘toru ‘m gonna cum. ‘s gonna make me cum quick.”

“such a mess,” he huffs, prying your jittery legs open more with a single hand. you moan, feeling something prick behind your back and you knew that had to be his rock hard bulge that rubbed off against his sweats. it was hard to mistaken it, you felt the outline of it press against your bare ass.

he was so hard, and it was always because of you. as satoru’s got two fingers diving in and out of your slobbering pussy, he snickers against your ear. “i bet any other guy that touches this cunt doesn’t have fingers as long as mine, huh.”

there goes his fucking ego again. .

you tried to roll your eyes but instead it ends up making you create a lewd expression. his thin fingertips reach deep, and you’re slathering down both twin digits fully with such slippery sap.

“fuckk y- you,” you hiss out, grabbing his wrist to go faster. a throaty chortle leaves from his lips before his fingers start to twist inside of your sweet cunt even faster. “toru, satoru ngh!”

once his lengthy middle finger taps against there, your mind goes completely blank. you let off a squealing sob, your head thumping back against his chest once you gush right out yet again.

it was so abrupt. . there was barely any buildup, it just happened. you’re shivering as his fingers continue to crimp themselves inside of you, hearing your own pussy squelch out such carnal moans of its own. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper in broken cries, feeling your chest sink inward. the ivory-white sheets were now soaking up with a translucent colour as you release, biting his name within each syllable on your tongue. “satoru, satoruuu.”

“still the same ‘ole sloppy girl i remember,” he says in a raspy tone, feeling himself get hard just from your own arousal. you’re violently shaking, tasting every twinge of pleasure that surges through your veins as you squirt on his fingers. satoru’s fingers slide in and out and it’s so loud, it echoes through the four walls of the bedroom you both once shared and he simpers cockily. “can’t help but soak me right with you, yeah?” and before you could even get another word out, he slides out his fingers, hearing the cute ‘pop’ that exits out of your throbbing crying folds. “poor baby,” and he waves his fingers in his face as you pant against his chest. satoru hums, popping both fingers in his mouth for a taste he’s missed for the longest.

with a grunt, his free hand squeezes your cunt and you moan, the back of your head cutely hitting against his chest in defeat. “mhm. still taste the same too,” and as you’re still shaking on his lap, he gives the right temple of your cheek a kiss. “missed my messy baby.”

[fumiliar]

kento's a real man.

a man who uses your purse with no shame, even if everyone stares at him.

a man who does not feel ashamed in doing 'feminine' activities, in his eyes, it's just an activity. since when is cooking or knitting shameful?

a man who doesn't have the need to control your every move. he doesn't always need to be in a position of power over you.

a man who flaunts your achievements, even if they're greater than his. in fact, he could never be prouder.

a man who understands the decision of the amount of children to have entirely is up to you.

a man who isn't scared to buy feminine products and in fact volunteers to buy them when you are in need.

a man who understands that housework is a shared activity and that being a housewife is a real job.

a man who understands the sacrifice of becoming a full-time mom and makes sure you know you're appreciated in every single moment.

note: beabadoobee reference, got an idea while listening to her song

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

The final part for The House of Glass! Everyone has a lot to figure out, but progress takes time. Follows from this. This was my first ever complete comic from start to finish, I hope you guys enjoyed the journey!

If you've enjoyed this comic, please consider donating to Aya Yasser, a 19 year old university student from the University of Palestine. She had to pause her studies due to attacks on Gaza. Her 55 year old father is ill and she is trying to evacuate him and her brothers.

You can find her blog @samaagaza

It's like two in the morning right now so I might be a bit incoherent, cw for discussions of racism, homophobia, biphobia, sinophobia and classism

I've really wanted to write Chang as someone who's made to be a perpetual outsider. As a Chinese person born in the UK I've always been made to feel like a foreigner no matter where I go - obviously I am a foreigner abroad but I'm also treated as such in the very country I was born and raised in. I think a lot of east Asian people can relate to being treated as a strange exotic foreigner first and a person second.

As a working class orphan he would probably have been treated as disposable by society at large too. As soon as he's rescued by Tintin in the Blue Lotus he immediately asks why Tintin bothered saving him, and in his letter to Tintin in Tintin in Tibet he writes that he's unworthy of his uncle's hopsitality. We don't get much from Chang as he doesn't make many appearances but it seems he's internalised strong feelings of a lack of self worth. Tintin may have been the first person to recognise his humanity since Chang's birth family passed.

Being queer is also very isolating at first. You're not born into a culture you can reference or make sense of your experiences initially, it's something you have to seek out. I wanted to explore learning to love yourself through others. We're all weird to some degree, we're all in this together!

I genuinely have no clue how I'd follow this up, I have ideas for future stories but I'm not sure what would follow directly from here!

[kyri45]

Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (PREV / FIRST / I know this probably goes against the show name, but Growing outside of your own parents shadow and becoming your own person is something that every child has to go through. if we ever want for MK to see Wukong as, not only as a father figure, but as a parent, I had to first be sure that he doesn’t see them as only “the monkey king” anymore. And of course, MK can’t only be a copy of his father. I know that in the show he doesn’t always uses Wukong powers exactly like him, but now that he’s also discovering his Stone Monkey powers and Macaque’s, he has to find a way to harness and use his own powers in his own way.

Can you guess what this means? It’s TRAINING ARC PART 2!

[lifenconcepts]

Tf you mean people don’t keep their bedroom windows open for long amounts of time? You ACTUALY close it at night?? Dude.. I haven’t closed my window since give or take a bit around the start of spring.. and even as im freezing my bone off I refuse to close it completely - I NEED the circulating air. Do inform me.. is it actually common practice to close your window at night?

[mlarty]

The Blade 🗡

"Now, you stand above your father. Above all those lesser men. Soon, the entire world will kneel at your feet. And I will always be by your side, my Blade."

[3liza]

there's a bunch of news articles today about how Gen z is getting fired a lot from their first jobs out of college which seems pretty normal, i assume 21 year olds get fired a lot in general. all the criticism of Gen Z's lack of formality or social skills etc is just a repeat of every generational criticism since the dawn of time, which is that people who are twenty years younger than you are know less stuff than you do!! wow amazing! when I was 20 I fucked up a lot more because I didn't have hundreds of extra days of experience dealing with horseshit as I do now!!! and I almost never see anyone proceed to the logical endpoint of such criticism which is that every perceived "failure" of a young person is actually the failure of their teachers and parents, whoever they were. every time you see someone bagging on young people I want you to automatically shift your focus towards all the millennials who were responsible for educating them. a 18 year old doesn't know how to read an analog clock??? gee maybe someone should have explained it to him at some point during his mandatory twelve years of public education. whose responsibility was that